The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [63]
"You do yourself a disservice, Will."
Shakespeare shrugged. "No matter. Ralegh was imprisoned in the Tower, and rots there still. But you - where did you go when I thought your bones were rotting in Deptford, done to death by slanderous tongues?"
"In my strange afterlife, the only kind that I am expecting, I have trailed these vanished colonists around the globe - from England to Spain, from Spain to France, from France to Germany, from Germany to Austria and from Austria to Italy, gaining in numbers all the way - until they have all come together here."
"Here?" Shakespeare repeated.
"Venice," Marlowe confirmed. "I have listened to their conversation in taverns and in alleys, and they talk of a conference which is to occur here, one that will concern great wealth and weapons whose like has not been seen before. I know not what is to happen at that conference, and I know not how these colonists from Roanoake are connected to it, but I like it not." A scowl crossed his face, and his fingers trailed through the puddles of spilled wine on the table, drawing patterns. "And I swear that late at night, I have seen a creature akin to the ones that attacked the Roanoake colonists flying above the spires of this fair city. Walsingham having died during my travels, I sent a message back to his cousin telling him of my discoveries. He knew that I was still alive, and he contacted the King. His Majesty, trusting in you, Will, sent you to investigate my claims."
Shakespeare shook his head. He felt as if he had fallen into a fast-flowing torrent of words, and was being dragged along by the current. "Kit, if your story were played out on a stage now I should condemn it as improbable fiction, but as it is you telling the tale, I must perforce accept it as it is. And now I am in Venice, the more fool I: when I was at home I was in a better place, but I suppose travellers must be content."
"What I still want to know," Steven asked, "is what you were doing in that house: the one with the basement and the pool?"
"The lost colonists have been congregating near it," Marlowe replied. "They drink in taverns around it, they lodge in hostels near it and they stand outside it, watching its doors. It has some connection to their presence, and this conference."
Steven looked from Marlowe to Shakespeare and back again.
"There's a man I think you both should meet. He's called the Doctor, and I think that he has some pieces of the puzzle that you need."
"And that," the Doctor proclaimed, pointing at an expanse of ocean on the map where two hand-drawn lines crossed, "is where we will find Laputa." He leaned back in his seat and, hands folded on top of his cane, nodded firmly.
Around Galileo and the Doctor, the hurly-burly of the Tavern of Fists carried on as if nobody had been kidnapped, pieces of the moon had not fallen to the Earth and creatures like demons did not stalk the streets and swim in the oceans.
"Let us not extend logic into areas in which it is not comfortable,"
Galileo muttered. He took hold of the bottle of wine and poured a generous measure into his tankard: then, for good measure, he swallowed the rest directly from the bottle. "We know," he continued after he had wiped his hand across his wine-sodden beard, "that this astral coach has fallen to Earth. We know -" and he indicated the map, "- as best we can ascertain, where the coach came to rest. We assume that at that point is this island of which you speak. We cannot prove it."
"We can prove it," the Doctor snapped, "by going there with as much haste as we can. You forget, sir - my companion is in danger.
""Galileo smiled despite himself and shook his head. "You have gall, I'll say that for you. Old men should be timid and cautious, but you... By God's breath, I like you, Doctor."
The Doctor smiled. "Thank you, Mr Galilei. I shall take that compliment in the spirit in which it was -"
"Galileo Galilei?" a voice said from beside them.
"Not again," Galileo sighed, and turned to see a man of medium height and build standing