CHAPTER 19

Santiago watched his wife follow Mistress Winterscale up the narrow spiral staircase to the first floor and disappear out of sight.

Had she really only married him for his name and title?

For a moment, back there on that hill in Hertfordshire, he had thought he actually was dying. That he had finally succumbed to the bullet that all pirates and smugglers secretly expect, and he would never get to make love to Lady Tiffany and her magnificent bosom.

And then she had appeared above him, like an angel, and he suddenly hadn’t been dying anymore, and she said she wanted to marry him, and now … was he misremembering? Had he got it wrong? Had all her talk of independence only lasted for as long as it took to get a ring on her finger? He could have died from that bullet, even though the wound hadn’t seemed fatal. He had seen men bleed to death from simple wounds to the arm or leg, and he had seen gangrene set in more times than he wished to remember. Tiffany was a witch, she could probably have cursed him to death, or pushed him down the stairs, or⁠—

But did he really believe that?

When they made love, she had looked at him with such love, such trust in her eyes. Could she have pretended that? Could it all have been a pretence? Out of all the people he’d met in London, especially the young ladies, Tiffany had been the only one not to fawn over him once she found out he was a duke. Exactly the opposite, in fact, which was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her. But was all that a pretence, too? Had she merely been playing a very clever game?

He shook himself and gestured Gwen and Madhu ahead of him, taking up the rear with his pistol ready. They were here to effect a rescue, and she had made it painfully clear that she didn’t want him here. Although it had been his idea that had got them to the right place…

From further up, he heard Mistress Winterscale say, ‘Stand back,’ and then there was the sound of a shot, and a door banged open. Feminine voices cried out, and he burned with frustration that he couldn’t see what was happening. Ahead of him, Gwen moved with agonising slowness, and he thought he might die before he ever got there.

Then finally he stood in the doorway to the room they’d been held in earlier, and there was Esme Blackmantle, helping another woman to her feet from a filthy pallet bed.

For a moment his heart stopped, because she looked so very much like Tiffany, with pale, silvery hair and fine porcelain skin. But she was older, and looked terribly tired and pained. Her gown was ragged and stained, and around one bare ankle was a manacle and chain fastened to the metal ring in the floor he had seen last time. It gleamed horribly in the pale light from the witches’ orbs.

She was staring at Tiffany as if she had seen a ghost, and the reaction was mutual. Tiffany stood frozen, gaping at the other woman in shock.

‘It is you,’ she whispered.

‘Tiffany?’ said the older woman. ‘Is it really you?’

‘Mama?’ Her voice was almost inaudible, her eyes glossy with tears. Santiago wanted to go to her, sweep her into his arms and tell her it would all be all right.

He almost laughed at himself. Three minutes ago he’d been despising her as a fortune hunter, and now he wanted to hold her close and beg for her forgiveness. How could he have been so stupid?

Because you fear losing her. And he couldn’t bear that. He loved her so much he was blind with it. He was clearly stupid with it. He must tell her he was wrong.

But now clearly was not the time. Tiffany was gazing at the woman who was unquestionably her mother, with such mixed emotions on her face.

‘You have grown so,’ said her mother. Amelia, that was her name. ‘I knew you must have, but it is still a shock to see you now, a full-grown woman. The last I saw you were such a tiny babe.’

‘And you left me,’ said Tiffany quietly.

‘I didn’t want to! I had to!’

‘Had to? What could have been so important you left your infant daughter? Your marriage to Papa was as awful as—’ She broke off, not looking at Santiago, and ice stabbed into his heart. As awful as ours? ‘So awful you left? And went who knows where!’

Amelia had tears rolling down her cheeks. Esme was practically holding her up. ‘Anywhere,’ she said. ‘France, Italy, the Netherlands. Anywhere that was far from you⁠—’

Tiffany’s face crumpled and Santiago couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed past the other witches and put his arm around her, drawing her against his body. I’m here. I’m here for you.

Even if you don’t love me.

Tiffany put her arm over his, squeezing it, and his heart swelled with hope.

‘Why?’ she whispered, and for a long moment the only sound was the crashing of waves outside. The mighty light from the tower above them cast its beam across the sea, but the night was otherwise dark and silent.

‘So I couldn’t hurt you!’ cried Amelia, and Esme held her close, much as Santiago did with Tiffany.

Oh, he realised. So that’s how it is.

‘Amelia was afraid of her power,’ Esme said, as Amelia sobbed in her arms. ‘Afraid she would cause harm to those she loved. Like you, Tiffany.’

‘And you,’ said Amelia, looking up at Esme. ‘I was so afraid of hurting people.’ She glanced over to the far side of the room, and said bitterly, ‘But that is all I have done.’

All of them looked where she indicated. Apart from Gwen, who was already there, standing over a sort of large basin and cooing. Beside the basin was a net on a pole, and a couple of toy boats. They were stained reddish brown. Around the basin, candles and heaps of wax stood, and eldritch symbols had been chalked on the floor.

On the basin itself was drawn a cockerel, curiously like the one on Santiago’s ankle.

‘Oh,’ said Nora, her eyes going wide.

‘It is afraid,’ said Madhu.

‘He’s just hungry,’ said Gwen, picking up a little toy boat.

‘He hasn’t eaten for days,’ said Tiffany. ‘He is considering eating your fingers, Gwen.’

Gwen pulled her hand back sharply, and there was a splashing sound as she dropped the boat.

‘What is it?’ Santiago ventured.

‘The beasty with the squirmers,’ cried Gwen. She seemed delighted.

‘A squid,’ said Amelia, wiping her eyes. ‘They don’t feed him for a few days when they want me to use him.’

‘Use him?’

She turned her face away as if she was ashamed. ‘To attack ships.’

The monstrous tentacles made of pure water that had grabbed him and hurled him from the sea; his ships that had vanished without trace; Mr Noakes’s account of the vast arms of the sea that engulfed a vessel.

‘That was you?’ he gasped.

Tiffany broke away from him and approached the basin. Santiago forced himself to remain where he was. ‘I have seen this,’ she said. ‘In puddles and ponds and lakes. I have seen it looking back at me. I thought I was losing my mind.’

‘It was when I thought of you,’ Amelia confessed. ‘When they made me perform the spell. I thought of you.’

‘But … why? When you were using this to kill people, you thought of me?’ Tiffany looked appalled.

‘Because that’s why I did it! They threatened you. They said they knew where you lived; they even told me you were getting married…’

She glanced at Santiago, who gave her an awkward wave. This was one hell of a way to meet your mother-in-law.

‘They lied, surely,’ said Tiffany. ‘Everyone knew I was getting married. It was quite the … um, event,’ she muttered, cheeks turning pink. Probably not wanting to admit to her mother that she had been compromised into marriage.

‘I couldn’t take the risk,’ said Amelia. ‘How could I?’

Esme patted her shoulder. ‘We should really get out of here,’ she said. ‘What did you do to the guards?’

‘Knocked them out and tied them up,’ said Nora. ‘Esme, how did you get stuck up here anyway?’

‘They took my key,’ she said darkly. ‘When I entered, they were in here, feeding the squid, and they knocked me out and locked me up with Amelia. We were trying to formulate an escape plan.’

‘Well, here it is,’ said Tiffany. ‘Gwen has your spare key, Esme, and⁠—’

‘I don’t have a spare key,’ Esme said, and Gwen looked a little shamefaced.

‘I made a copy,’ she said. ‘Probably why it don’t work so well.’

Esme looked as if she was about to remonstrate with Gwen for that, but changed her mind. ‘Well, anyway. We can use that to get back.’ She looked around the group and frowned. ‘Lilith? What are you doing here?’

Mistress Winterscale gave a polite nod. Her clothing seemed even more at odds in this room.

‘I just happened to be in the area,’ she said. ‘You know me, I do like a big world event. I felt a disturbance in the ether, people where they shouldn’t be—or when they shouldn’t be—so I came to investigate. I think I shall stay here for the now. Waterloo tomorrow. Don’t want to miss that.’

‘What is Waterloo?’ asked Tiffany.

‘Ah. Well, I might as well tell you. The papers will be full of it. Bonaparte and Wellington’s allies will be facing off in the morning. In Belgium, I believe. Esme, I don’t suppose I could…? No, well, I shall get there for the closing of it, and offer my assistance. What a pity you didn’t end up at Dunkirk, eh?’

This was met with blank stares from all round.

‘That will make sense in a century or so,’ she said. ‘Well then, I suppose I should find some clothes and a horse.’

‘And we should all go,’ said Madhu. ‘I can’t say how long those guards will stay knocked out for.’

‘How do I get free?’ Amelia asked, the chain at her ankle clinking. Santiago was about to suggest Tiffany draw some tools, when Nora bent down to inspect it.

She felt at the chain, where it was linked to the floor, and where it fastened onto Amelia’s ankle. The skin was red and raw, chafed especially where the manacle had been welded into a circle. ‘This might hurt a bit,’ she said, and inserted her fingers between manacle and skin. Amelia hissed, but a second later Nora had pulled the metal apart with a snap at the weld.

Amelia gave a sob, and flexed her ankle. ‘Thank you, Miss…?’

‘Leatherheart. Nora, ma’am. Happy to help.’

‘Now can we go?’ said Tiffany, and Santiago ached to take her hand.

Esme nodded, and Gwen handed her the key.

‘What about Squidbert?’ said Amelia.

There was a slight pause while they all digested this.

‘Squidbert, my love?’ said Esme.

Amelia gestured to the basin. ‘We can’t leave him. He’s been my only companion. Can’t we release him into the sea?’

‘He yearns for the sea,’ said Tiffany. ‘This basin is like a prison cell to him.’

‘We are worrying about a squid,’ muttered Santiago, as Nora rolled her eyes and marched over to the basin.

She hefted the heavy stone trough into her arms, and said, ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

They processed down the stairs, and Santiago really wanted to take Tiffany’s hand, but she was preoccupied, staring at her mother as she was helped down the stairs by Esme. Right. That was going to take some coming around to.

Outside, rain was falling. The lighthouse rose above them, shining its light out into the night. Rain fell gently.

‘He’s not going to continue attacking ships, is he?’ he said, peering into the basin where the squid, less than a foot across, peered back at him with its weird eyes. The pupils were oblong. ‘I think it is an octopus,’ he said, and Squidbert blinked at him.

‘He says you are correct,’ said Tiffany.

‘You can really understand his thoughts?’

‘Yes. He’s very intelligent. He does not like being made to attack ships, but he doesn’t blame my— Amelia for it. He understands they are both prisoners.’

Santiago gaped at his wife. Truly, she was astonishing.

He hoped to God she’d forgive him.

Amelia reached into the basin and touched the octopus’s strange head. ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ she said. ‘Enjoy the ocean.’

‘He wants you to hurry up,’ said Tiffany, still keeping her distance from her mother, who nodded, and Nora stepped away.

Then Gwen said, ‘What’s that?’

They all looked around, and then Tiffany said, ‘Hoofbeats?’

‘Oh no,’ said Amelia. ‘Quick, to the door⁠—’

Santiago grabbed Tiffany’s arm and sprinted. But it was too far. Even as they ran, shots rang out, and they all froze. He grabbed Tiffany to him, but her quick nod told him she was all right.

‘Well, this is interesting,’ said a voice, and Santiago thought he must be hearing things. ‘Now there are two of you.’

He turned, dreading what he would see, but he was not mistaken. The beam of the lighthouse illuminated the giant bearded man as he swung down from his horse and strode towards them.

It was de Groot.

‘Two witches at my disposal,’ he said, striding over, a pistol in his hand and a French rifle slung across his back. ‘Or maybe more?’

‘You cannot hold me any longer,’ said Amelia, defiant. From the corner of his eye, Santiago saw Mistress Winterscale reaching into her pocket, and wondered if he had time to reach for the pistol he’d holstered. But de Groot wouldn’t shoot him, would he?

‘I am the one with the guns,’ said de Groot. ‘And the guards.’

‘We also have guns,’ said Santiago, stepping forward, angling his body to protect Tiffany. ‘The guards are unconscious. Hello, mi amigo.’

De Groot looked genuinely startled to see him there. ‘Mijnheer Santiago? But—what are you doing⁠—?’

Santiago lifted his chin. ‘You are responsible for imprisoning my mother-in-law.’ he said.

De Groot threw back his head and laughed. ‘I had not thought of it that way! Of course, I knew her child had married you. Even a mere trader hears that kind of Society gossip. Do you know your wife is a witch?’

‘And a very good one,’ said Santiago proudly. ‘You have imprisoned her mother. And forced her to commit atrocities.’

De Groot shrugged. It was like a tree bending in the wind. ‘Would we say atrocities?’

‘Three of my ships went down with all hands,’ Santiago spat, anger boiling to the surface again. This was no imagined betrayal. De Groot wasn’t even denying it!

‘Ships sink, mijn vriend.’

‘Muller and Sons lost another one last week—that’s a total of four. Pernice’s lost two. Damsgaard has lost three now and you know how small his fleet is. Troop ships sailing home from the Americas have vanished. Packet boats across the Channel.’ Santiago shook his head. ‘Your own ships!’

De Groot shrugged again. ‘Oh, I lied about those. They came in. They are protected, you see.’

‘Protected by what?’

De Groot patted his own shoulder. ‘Remember that cock on your ankle? A splendid joke, ja?’ He nodded at the octopus in the basin Nora still held. ‘That thing is repulsed by it. Part of the magic. It’s clever, ja? All the French ships have them, carved in somewhere. And mine, obviously.’

The cockerel on his ankle. Was that why the creature had thrown Santiago to shore? The symbol had repulsed it?

And why he’d felt the magic, that night at Somerset House. That stupid tattoo de Groot had goaded him into. It had connected him to Amelia’s dreadful spells.

‘Did you know?’ he said. ‘Did you plan it?’ Had his friend protected him, even while he was merrily drowning innocent sailors?

De Groot shrugged. ‘I was pleased to think you wouldn’t drown. You are my friend, Mijnheer Santiago. But the cock … nee, it was some joke I will never remember.’

An accident. A drunken folly had protected him. Without it, Santiago could have gone down on any number of ships, and de Groot would have just let him drown.

Fury built in him.

‘Tomorrow,’ said de Groot, ‘the French will attack. It has been raining heavily in Flanders. You saw to that, my little witch, didn’t you?’

Amelia shrank back against Esme.

‘And the water that has fallen will not only churn up the Allied cannon, it will rise. Rise as a hungry beast. He hasn’t fed for a few days. He is starving.’

The true horror of that filled Santiago. That creature that had attacked him—it was going to come out of the mud and rain and devour the Allied armies. Wellington, and Tiffany’s father, and even that boy from her village. They would be destroyed by the small octopus in the basin Nora carried.

And Bonaparte would continue his rampage across the continent, unchecked by any opposing forces. The magnitude of it overwhelmed him.

‘But—why?’ said Santiago. He regarded the blond giant he had come to consider a good friend. ‘Why are you attacking the Allies? Aiding the French?’

De Groot’s brow drew down. ‘Because not all of us have the golden touch! Santiago the pirate and smuggler—so charming he walked out of Madam Zheng’s lair with only a scar to show for it! The legend around you grew and grew. Money, women, all fell into your hands. And then you inherited a dukedom and married a beautiful witch! Meanwhile I lost ships to the Cape. I lost goods to the Revenue. I lost a child to the typhoid. I am no lover of Bonaparte but the money was too good, mijn vriend.’

‘I am not your friend,’ Santiago said.

‘No. Indeed, you did not even invite me to your wedding! Not good enough for a feast attended by dukes and duchesses. Even royalty, I heard. The darling of the Society pages. Everything falls into your lap.’

Santiago could only laugh bitterly at that. He had told de Groot of his childhood, of his father’s absences and his mother’s religious fervour. Of the times he had to steal to eat, and slept in the street, and stowed away on ships.

‘Maybe you will understand when you have a family,’ said de Groot.

‘He has one,’ said Tiffany. She came to stand beside Santiago, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He swore warmth spread from it.

She stood beside him, his equal. His family. Something so precious he would fight to the death for it—and in his heart, he knew she would, too.

His wife faced the enemy with her head held high and said, ‘We are his family. And we are witches, and there are seven of us. Plus a pirate.’ She squeezed Santiago’s shoulder and his heart nearly burst with pride.

‘Pretty words, but what can you do?’

‘I could punch your nose out through the back of your head,’ said Nora, conversationally.

‘I could blind you, or suffocate you, or make you see God,’ said Madhu.

‘I could send you into the middle of next week,’ said Mistress Winterscale. ‘Literally.’

‘I could do this,’ said Amelia, and suddenly Squidbert the octopus was flying from his basin and landing on de Groot’s face. The octopus, who had after all been quite hungry, wrapped its arms around his head. Santiago knew that in the middle of those undulating limbs was a beak that could penetrate hard shells, and that it injected a toxin that could paralyse its prey.

De Groot screamed and flailed, and fired wildly with his pistol. Santiago was already turning away, back towards the lighthouse, when he felt Tiffany suddenly sag beside him.

She clutched at her chest, and he saw blood blooming there.

Cold horror swept him. ‘Tiffany?’ She was already sinking to the ground, taking him with her. ‘Tiffany, no. No.’

She fell heavy against him as he knelt with her in his arms, her breath coming hard and uneven.

His hands shook. There was so much blood. His mind stuttered, helpless, useless. ‘Tiffany. No. I love you. Mi amor, please don’t die, I love you⁠—’

She was gasping now. The others crowded around him, Madhu kneeling before him and tearing at Tiffany’s bodice. ‘Light,’ she snapped, and several appeared above them.

‘Tiffany?’ gasped Amelia, beside him. ‘My love, my baby—please. Not when I’ve just found you!’

Santiago knew he was trembling. He couldn’t take his eyes from Tiffany’s beloved face, pale in the moonlight. Her parted lips gasping for air, her sea storm eyes rolling back in their sockets, her silver hair falling from his pins and trailing on the wet ground.

I can’t lose you, I can’t, I can’t

If she died, he didn’t know if he could survive it.

Everything they’d shared flashed before him. The way she’d leaned over him when he was injured, and her breast had brushed his arm. The way she conversed with the kitchen kittens when she thought he wasn’t listening. The scent of her skin. Her resilience and strength. Her amazing magic. The way she gasped and clutched at him when he made love to her.

I love you.

Mi amor,’ he whispered, and tears blurred his vision of her. ‘Te amo, Tiffany.’

Then she gave a great gasp and coughed, and wheezed, ‘Ow.’

And Madhu said, ‘I have never seen that before.’

‘What?’ He tore his gaze from Tiffany’s face to her chest, where Madhu had uncovered Tiffany’s stays and was prising something from the central busk.

It was the lead bullet, flattened out like a ragged coin.

Santiago was quite sure his heart stopped. ‘But⁠—’

‘They say silk stops a bullet,’ said Esme doubtfully.

‘I’d say it was less the silk, and more the quarter inch of solid maple,’ said Madhu.

‘I told you,’ said Gwen, with some satisfaction. ‘June.’

Santiago could only stare. Madhu carefully prised apart the shattered busk of Tiffany’s stays, peered beneath it, and said, ‘There are some nasty splinters. But the breastbone is intact. You have been very lucky, Tiffany.’

Amelia made a sound like laughter forcing its way through a sob. ‘Thank God you weren’t wearing those stupid light stays!’

Santiago wanted to sweep Tiffany against his body, but he was terrified of hurting her further. He bent over and kissed her face, over and over. She wasn’t going to die. She was alive.

‘I love you,’ he whispered, over and over. ‘I love you.’

Tiffany coughed again, and flinched. ‘Getting shot in the chest,’ she panted, ‘really hurts.’