The Silver Skull by Mark Chadbourn Page A
Authors: Mark Chadbourn
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, General, Historical, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Great Britain - History - Elizabeth; 1558-1603, spy stories
Ads: Link
is a great secret to the way the world works. Nothing is as it seems."
Will appeared to dread that was true, but as Grace glanced back at the four men loping in her wake, elbowing each other and flashing lascivious grins while their eyes remained furtive and hard, she fervently hoped that was the case.
The street to her right was wider and had more traffic. Grace took it in the hope that the men would leave her alone under the gaze of others. But she had not gone more than twenty paces when a rough hand grabbed her arm.
The youngest of the men, with sandy hair and a ruddy complexion covered with pox scars, said, "Walk with us, lady. These are rough parts and you need strong arms to keep you safe."
"I fear that cure will be worse than the disease," Grace said. "Leave me. I would walk alone."
She tried to throw off his hand, but he only held her tighter, and then the other three men were moving to surround her.
"Aid me!" Grace called to the people moving along the street. A man with grey hair and hollow cheeks only winked at the men and moved on. A fat woman threw back her head and laughed, and her friend pointed and made a sexual gesture at the men, who laughed and called back rudely.
"You will get no help round these parts," the pox-scarred man said.
Grace launched a sharp kick at his shins, and as he yelped and staggered back towards his associates, she ran. Along the street, jeers and encouragement to pursuit rose up loudly. Catching her quickly, the men bundled her through the open door of one of the tenements.
Grace careered across the mud floor to come to rest against a damp wall. The place was bare apart from a table and a chair, and a fire stoked with cheap coal smoked into the room.
Laughing as they loosened their hose, the four men ranged across the room, blocking her escape.
"Come near me and I will tear out your eyes," she hissed. The men only laughed harder.
Sliding up the wall, Grace hooked her fingers like claws as her attackers approached.
Through the filthy window, she glimpsed movement: more of the jeering locals coming to witness her degradation, she guessed.
But when the door clattered open, it was four cloaked men who burst in. Grace had as little time to react as her attackers before a drawn sword was thrust into the heart of the pox-scarred man, and just as quickly withdrawn and slashed across the throat of another. Grace had only ever seen one person exhibit that degree of skill with the blade.
"Will," she murmured with relief.
The remaining two attackers had only a second to plead for their lives before they too were run through. Sickened by the cold efficiency of the kills, Grace turned away, but she was also troubled that a part of her was triumphant.
When she turned back, her saviour stood before her. She went to throw her arms around Will, only for an unfamiliar face to be revealed when the hood was thrust back: aristocratic, with an aquiline nose and dark eyes that were as charismatic as Will's, a waxed moustache and chin hair, swarthy skin.
"Greetings, mistress," he said. "I am lion Alanzo de las Posadas, and you will now accompany me."
"Spanish spies," Grace gasped.
Don Alanzo gave a curt bow.
CHAPTER 12
SPECIAL_IMAGE-00061.jpg-REPLACE_ME
SPECIAL_IMAGE-00026.jpg-REPLACE_ME assing through the flow of drunks from the tavern, Will and the others joined the rear of the crowd at the entrance to the tenement. As people jostled for a view of the mysterious spectacle, Will eased his way past sharp shoulders and elbows until the laughter and quizzical shouts gave way to sudden silence. A moment of confusion ended in panic, shrieks, and barked warnings, as those near the front tried to drive back into the flow of the ones joining the crowd.
When Will broke through the flow with renewed urgency, at first he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Slumped across the step against the door jamb, the local children had placed a scarecrow, straw protruding from the
Will appeared to dread that was true, but as Grace glanced back at the four men loping in her wake, elbowing each other and flashing lascivious grins while their eyes remained furtive and hard, she fervently hoped that was the case.
The street to her right was wider and had more traffic. Grace took it in the hope that the men would leave her alone under the gaze of others. But she had not gone more than twenty paces when a rough hand grabbed her arm.
The youngest of the men, with sandy hair and a ruddy complexion covered with pox scars, said, "Walk with us, lady. These are rough parts and you need strong arms to keep you safe."
"I fear that cure will be worse than the disease," Grace said. "Leave me. I would walk alone."
She tried to throw off his hand, but he only held her tighter, and then the other three men were moving to surround her.
"Aid me!" Grace called to the people moving along the street. A man with grey hair and hollow cheeks only winked at the men and moved on. A fat woman threw back her head and laughed, and her friend pointed and made a sexual gesture at the men, who laughed and called back rudely.
"You will get no help round these parts," the pox-scarred man said.
Grace launched a sharp kick at his shins, and as he yelped and staggered back towards his associates, she ran. Along the street, jeers and encouragement to pursuit rose up loudly. Catching her quickly, the men bundled her through the open door of one of the tenements.
Grace careered across the mud floor to come to rest against a damp wall. The place was bare apart from a table and a chair, and a fire stoked with cheap coal smoked into the room.
Laughing as they loosened their hose, the four men ranged across the room, blocking her escape.
"Come near me and I will tear out your eyes," she hissed. The men only laughed harder.
Sliding up the wall, Grace hooked her fingers like claws as her attackers approached.
Through the filthy window, she glimpsed movement: more of the jeering locals coming to witness her degradation, she guessed.
But when the door clattered open, it was four cloaked men who burst in. Grace had as little time to react as her attackers before a drawn sword was thrust into the heart of the pox-scarred man, and just as quickly withdrawn and slashed across the throat of another. Grace had only ever seen one person exhibit that degree of skill with the blade.
"Will," she murmured with relief.
The remaining two attackers had only a second to plead for their lives before they too were run through. Sickened by the cold efficiency of the kills, Grace turned away, but she was also troubled that a part of her was triumphant.
When she turned back, her saviour stood before her. She went to throw her arms around Will, only for an unfamiliar face to be revealed when the hood was thrust back: aristocratic, with an aquiline nose and dark eyes that were as charismatic as Will's, a waxed moustache and chin hair, swarthy skin.
"Greetings, mistress," he said. "I am lion Alanzo de las Posadas, and you will now accompany me."
"Spanish spies," Grace gasped.
Don Alanzo gave a curt bow.
CHAPTER 12
SPECIAL_IMAGE-00061.jpg-REPLACE_ME
SPECIAL_IMAGE-00026.jpg-REPLACE_ME assing through the flow of drunks from the tavern, Will and the others joined the rear of the crowd at the entrance to the tenement. As people jostled for a view of the mysterious spectacle, Will eased his way past sharp shoulders and elbows until the laughter and quizzical shouts gave way to sudden silence. A moment of confusion ended in panic, shrieks, and barked warnings, as those near the front tried to drive back into the flow of the ones joining the crowd.
When Will broke through the flow with renewed urgency, at first he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Slumped across the step against the door jamb, the local children had placed a scarecrow, straw protruding from the
Similar Books
