Free The Devil's Looking-Glass by Mark Chadbourn Page B

thought. How terrible would be her vengeance if she ever escaped.
    The steps ended at another heavy oak door marked with mysterious whorls and symbols inscribed in red paint. Cecil hesitated, looking up at the portal with dread. Will thought his trembling master was about to fall to his knees and pray for their salvation. The silence was heavy, but it was not the silence of emptiness. Will sensed that the cell’s occupant waited on the other side of that door, listening, dangerous, poised, perhaps, for any opportunity that might arise.
    ‘Go, then. Ask what you will,’ Cecil whispered. He held up the lantern so that Will’s shadow swooped.
    The spy leaned in, his nose almost brushing the wood. He couldn ’t imagine the prisoner’s terrible beauty, though he had heard stories: a beauty that could drive a man mad or blind. But he imagined her lips parting in a dark smile.
    ‘Your Highness,’ he began.
    Her laugh sounded like an echo in a deep well.
    He dabbed the side of his right hand to his nose where a droplet of blood had formed. ‘My name is Will Swyfte,’ he continued. ‘I am in the employ of Queen Elizabeth of England, and I have dedicated the last ten years of my life to fighting your people for the tragedy you inflicted upon me.’
    Another uncaring laugh punctuated by a low scraping. Will pictured her drawing her long nails over the rough oak, perhaps imagining, in her turn, his skin peeling, his eyes being drawn out.
    ‘I have killed your kind,’ he said.
    Silence.
    ‘You think yourselves greater than mortals, but your lives still pass on the end of cold steel,’ he continued.
    After another moment’s lull, her musical voice rolled out. Though muffled by the wood, her words were laced with humour but had a cold, cold core. ‘You speak boldly. Would you do the same if you stood beyond the protective sigils, deep within my cell?’
    ‘I would. For I speak truly.’
    ‘Very well.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Is the indignity of my imprisonment not enough, that you have come to taunt me further?’
    Will reached his fingertips towards the surface of the door. Just as they were about to brush the wood, something crashed against the exact spot on the other side and he snatched his hand back involuntarily. ‘I have no interest in cruel sport,’ he replied. ‘That is the province of the Unseelie Court. I hold myself to higher standards.’
    ‘Indeed, you
do
think highly of yourself. That a mere man should speak to a Queen of the Unseelie Court like an equal,’ she mocked. ‘Were you here beside me, I could, if it suited me, peel away your flesh to the rough construction that is your essence. But we are craftspeople, delicate and skilled, and we can find subtler ways to teach harsh lessons.’
    ‘I have seen some of those ways. One whisper in an ear that can turn thoughts in such a way that it drives a man mad.’
    ‘We see the weakness in all men’s hearts. That one flaw that we can prise apart with a few words until it becomes a yawning chasm. I see into your heart.’
    Will glanced back down the steps to his master, assuring himself that Cecil could not overhear the conversation. ‘I know my own heart well enough.’
    ‘No, you do not. No man does. You only think that is the case, and that is why the truth drives you from the illusion you all hide behind to stay sane.’ Beyond her muted words, he heard a faint scraping as if she were stroking the door. He imagined a lover’s caress and shivered, despite himself.
    ‘You waste your breath—’
    ‘I see sadness, a deep, abiding sadness.’ The Queen rolled the words around her tongue with pleasure. ‘I see the pain of loss and separation, a life that has become corrupted by mystery to such a degree that it can no longer be lived. You would rather know the truth and be destroyed than live in this twilight world any longer.’
    Will raised his head in defiance. ‘And I feel anger,’ he replied in a low voice, ‘for you stole from me the only