As Nicholas left the palace, he saw two figures standing on the steps of the cathedral and recognised one of them immediately. Hugo Usselincx was deep in conversation with a priest. The Dutchman was gesticulating with both hands. The priest was nodding solemnly. When he caught sight of the book-holder, Usselincx excused himself from his companion and trotted across to Nicholas. The diffident smile appeared.
‘How was your play received?’ he asked eagerly.
‘It was much admired, Hugo.’
‘And so it should be. Westfield’s Men are superb.’
‘We strive to give pleasure.’
‘My dearest wish is to watch you again somehow. Is Love and Fortune to be staged, by any chance?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Then I will do all I can to be here.’
‘You will be most welcome.’
‘What of Cupid’s Folly?’
‘A decision has not yet been made about that.’
‘Please let me know when it has been. I would not wish to miss the joy of seeing Master Gill at his finest.’
Usselincx fell in beside him and they walked into the second courtyard together. Chatting pleasantly, they left the castle and made their way down the hill. Nicholas noted how quickly the Dutchman seemed to have settled into the city. It was clearly not his first visit there. Half-way down the hill, Usselincx came to a halt and took in the view with a gesture.
‘What do you think of Prague?’ he asked.
‘I like it.’
‘How much have you been able to see so far?’
‘Enough to fill me with admiration.’
‘Has it been worth the effort of getting here?’
‘We think so.’
‘The city is blessed by your presence.’
‘It has saints enough to give a proper blessing,’ said Nicholas, smiling as he looked at the profusion of church spires. ‘What has surprised us is the number of foreigners here. Italians, Poles, Hungarians, French and Spanish.’
‘Do not forget the Dutch and the English.’
‘Prague is truly a meeting-place of nations.’
‘That is one of the things which drew me here.’
‘What are the others?’ asked Nicholas with interest.
Usselincx gathered his thoughts before replying. As soon as he began to speak, however, he was interrupted by the sound of running feet. Panting stertorously and white with fear, George Dart was struggling up the incline towards them. There was no sign of the costumes he had been sent to fetch.
When he reached them, he fell into Nicholas’s arms.
‘Slow down, George,’ said the latter, supporting him. ‘What means this haste?’
‘I have just been to the Black Eagle,’ he gasped.
‘That was your commission.’
‘I went up to Mistress Hendrik’s chamber.’
‘And?’
‘She was not there.’
‘Haply, she has stepped out for some reason.’
‘She would never leave the costumes in that state.’
‘What state?’
‘You told me they were being repaired,’ said Dart, trembling under the weight of the news that he bore. ‘Yet those costumes have been torn to shreds and scattered over the floor. And that is not all,’ he added, as he gulped in more air. ‘The whole room is in disarray. There has been a violent struggle.’
***
The Black Eagle was in turmoil. Nicholas sprinted all the way there and burst in through the door to find the rest of the company engaged in a frantic search of the premises.
‘Has George Dart told you?’ asked Firethorn, rushing across to him. ‘Anne has disappeared. We have looked everywhere for her, Nick, but she is not here.’
‘Let me see the chamber,’ said Nicholas.
‘Prepare yourself for a shock.’
Firethorn followed him up the stairs and into the little room where Anne Hendrik had slept alone. Nicholas looked around in consternation. The stool and table had been overturned, the jug of water smashed, a tapestry torn from the wall and Anne’s belongings scattered everywhere. The costumes on which she had been working were in tatters on the floor, but it was another garment which made him shudder. Lying on the bed, slit open from top to bottom, was Anne’s white night-dress. Nicholas snatched it up involuntarily and clutched it to him.
It was Firethorn who first saw the letter. It had been hidden beneath the night-dress. He picked it up and read the name scrawled across it in a spidery hand.
‘It is addressed to you, Nick,’ he said.
‘Let me see it.’
‘Do you wish to read it alone?’
‘No. This concerns us both.’
Putting the night-dress aside, Nicholas took the letter and opened it. The message was short and unequivocal.
Bring the documents to the Town Square this evening. Stand beneath the clock when it strikes seven. Come alone or she will sleep tonight with Adrian Smallwood.
Nicholas blenched as he took in the full import of the demand. Anne had been abducted. Because of the pouch that he carried in his jerkin, her life was now in immediate danger. His mind was an inferno of guilt and apprehension. He blamed himself for what had happened to her. The man who had murdered Adrian Smallwood had not given up the hunt. He had simply been biding his time until he could strike at the most vulnerable point. Nicholas had no doubt that he would carry out the threat in his letter. His temples pounded.
‘What does it say, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.
‘See for yourself.’
Nicholas held it out so that his friend could read its blunt demand. Firethorn was so enraged that he immediately snatched out his dagger.
‘Meet with him there and I will follow you.’
‘No,’ said Nicholas.
‘I’ll cut out his black heart!’
‘That is not the way. I am to go alone.’
‘You will only put yourself in danger, Nick.’
‘If it will save Anne, I will happily do that.’
‘It is unjust,’ said Firethorn. ‘I was asked to carry those documents and not you. It was wrong of me to shirk my duty thus. Let me make amends now. I will meet him at the appointed place instead of you. He will get much more than the documents, I warrant you.’
‘We must comply with his orders or Anne will die.’
‘You must let me do something.’
‘Keep the contents of this letter to yourself,’ said Nicholas as he thrust it inside his jerkin. ‘Our fellows need know nothing of this. It is private business of mine.’
‘And mine, Nick!’
‘Only I may go.’
‘But you are dealing with a ruthless killer here,’ argued Firethorn. ‘We both saw what he did to Adrian Smallwood. He may be planning to murder you in the same way. What trust can you place in his word? Anne may already be dead.’
‘She is more use to him alive.’
‘You may be his next victim.’
‘That is a chance I am ready to take.’
‘Why?’ said Firethorn, searching for a way to protect him. ‘We are guests of the Emperor. Let us take this to him. He will send a whole army to comb the streets of Prague until they find Anne.’
‘Then would she certainly be killed.’
‘Use all the strength at our disposal.’
‘No,’ asserted Nicholas. ‘He has set the terms. I must abide by them. Let us call off the search and calm our fellows down. We are being watched.’
Firethorn eventually accepted his advice. While the actor-manager went off to round up the company, Nicholas looked down again at the night-dress. It was a message in itself. The dagger which had rent it apart would be used on Anne Hendrik without compunction. That could not be allowed to happen.
When he went back downstairs, Nicholas saw that George Dart was seated at a table weeping piteously, and being comforted by Hugo Usselincx. The book-holder’s first task was to confine the problem to the company. Though trying to help, the Dutchman was an
intruder. Nicholas bore down on them.
‘Calm down, George,’ he soothed. ‘There might yet be a simple explanation for all this.’
‘Might there?’ sobbed the other.
‘I think that you were misled.’
‘Was I? How?’
‘What has happened?’ asked Usselincx solicitously.
‘Nothing that we cannot deal with ourselves,’ said Nicholas, guiding him to the door. ‘I am sorry that you were caught up in this wild excitement. It was a misunderstanding on George’s part.’
‘Why all this commotion?’
‘Unnecessary panic.’ They were back in the street now. ‘Actors thrive on drama. On- and offstage. It is all over now.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Yes, Hugo. We do not need to keep you.’
‘But I want to offer what help I can.’
‘None is required.’
There was a pause. ‘I see that I am in the way,’ said Usselincx, moving away. ‘Forgive me. It was wrong of me to trespass on your privacy. Adieu!’
He turned on his heel and scuttled apologetically away.
Nicholas went back into the inn. Firethorn had gathered the whole company into a room at the rear where they could be alone. A tearful Dart joined them to hear Nicholas. The book-holder spoke with far more confidence than he felt.
‘There is no cause for alarm,’ he said firmly. ‘Mistress Hendrik is indisposed. We have the matter well in hand. She will be back with us very soon. Meanwhile, you may rest easy. This confusion was unfortunate and took you away from a more proper purpose. We performed at the Imperial Court today with resounding success. You should be celebrating that triumph. Go to it now and forget this unwarranted agitation.’
It took time to persuade the actors, but they eventually began to trickle back into the taproom to compare their theories over a mug of beer. George Dart hovered, wanting to believe Nicholas but prevented from doing so by his memory of the ravaged bedchamber. When he began to gibber his dissent, he was lifted bodily by Firethorn and carried off to join the others. Only Owen Elias and James Ingram stayed behind. Neither of them was convinced by the book-holder’s attempt at reassurance.
‘Where is she, Nick?’ asked the Welshman.
‘You have heard what I had to say, Owen.’
‘We are more interested in what lay behind your words.’
‘Yes,’ added Ingram. ‘You must have your reasons and we respect them. But do not forget us. You may not need us now, but our swords are always there at your command.’
‘Thank you, James.’
‘Swords, daggers and bare fists,’ emphasized Elias, as he held up both hands. ‘Put them to some use.’
‘If the bare fists could sew a fine seam, I would. We have costumes to repair and another play to stage tomorrow. Think on those problems. Leave all else to me.’
‘As you wish,’ said Elias, ‘but Anne will be ever in our minds. Sooner or later, we must learn the truth, Nick.’
Nicholas gave a soulful nod. As the two men went out to join the others, Firethorn came back into the room. He knew that they had only bought themselves a temporary respite. If Anne was missing for much longer, the company would be asking more urgently about her.
‘What of the hostess?’ wondered Nicholas.
‘She has been no use at all to us.’
‘Did she see nothing, hear nothing?’
‘Who knows?’ asked Firethorn. ‘The woman has no English and we have less than one word in Czech between us. Anne was the only person who could get a coherent sentence out of her and that by dint of talking in German.’
‘The servingmen?’
‘Complete idiots!’
‘Do any of them understand English?’
‘Not a jot.’
‘Someone at the inn must be able to help us.’
‘They are all blind and deaf, Nick. They saw nobody go up to Anne’s chamber and they heard no struggle. You saw the condition of the room. She must have fought like a demon. The noise would have been heard all over the inn.’
Nicholas gazed pensively up at the floor above.
***
Doctor Talbot Royden used one of the fresh candles to take a full inventory of his cell. It was an uninspiring task. The walls were stained by the passage of time and scored with marks from previous guests. Names had been scratched in the stone. A date had been patiently gouged out. Parallel lines of dried blood on one wall suggested that someone had tried to claw his way out of his prison. Royden wondered how long it would be before he sank to the same level of desperation.
No natural light came into the dungeon and the bars on the door were the only means of ventilation. Royden was forced to inhale the stink of his own excrement along with the foul stench left behind by his predecessors. There was no way out. Caspar was his only ambassador. He had great faith in his assistant but he knew how perverse the Emperor could be. It would take more than Caspar’s plea to instil some mercy in the wayward Rudolph.
Royden sank down into the straw and wondered what was to become of him. He had been brought to Prague as a brilliant astrologer with the gift of foretelling the future. Even his dreams had borne a mystic significance. Yet now he could not even foresee what would happen in the next hour. The symbols on his gown merged with the stifling gloom. His powers had been taken away from him.
A distant noise concentrated his mind. Someone was unlocking a door to descend the steps. Blowing out the fresh candle, he concealed it in the straw again and relied on the guttering illumination of the candle they had given him. He scrambled to the door in the hope of seeing Caspar again but the gaoler was alone. Torch in one hand, he carried a pitcher of water in the other. He was a slovenly man with a ponderous walk. It took him some moments to find the right key for the lock.
Opening the door, he thrust the pitcher at Royden without comment. The prisoner took it, then jabbered loudly.
‘I should not be here!’ he protested. ‘I am Doctor Talbot Royden and I demand respect for my achievements. Remind the Emperor that I have been his devoted servant. I have cast horoscopes, I have cured diseases, I have set bones. My skills have been of untold value in Bohemia. They have earned me the right to defend myself. Tell him!’ he insisted. ‘Tell the Emperor what I have said. He must hear me.’
‘He does hear you.’
The man looked at him for the first time and Royden saw the familiar face under the soiled cap. Rudolph gave him a sinister smile and stepped back. Before the prisoner could even express his horror, the door slammed inexorably shut.
***
Firethorn looked on in fascination as Nicholas set the pen, parchment and ink on the table. They were alone in the room from which Anne Hendrik had been kidnapped. Having first set the table upright, Nicholas now sat before it on the stool. He unhooked his jerkin to slip a hand inside. When he extracted the pouch, he heard Firethorn step up behind him to peer over his shoulder. Both men were anxious to see what it was that had caused them such tribulation on their journey to Bohemia.
Nicholas broke the elaborate seal and unfolded the sheets of paper. A letter was enclosed with four documents, but all were totally incomprehensible. They looked at the strange words and the mixture of numbers and symbols.
‘Is this some kind of jest, Nick?’ said Firethorn.
‘Far from it.’
‘The letter is not even signed.’
‘I believe it is,’ decided Nicholas. ‘That number at the bottom of the page discloses the sender. Everything is in some kind of code. It will be known to the recipient.’
‘Can Talbot Royden make sense of that gibberish?’
‘I think so.’
‘And was it those squiggles which got Adrian Smallwood killed and Anne Hendrik abducted?’ Firethorn scratched his beard. ‘What does it all mean?’
‘That Doctor Royden is a spy.’
‘For whom?’
‘I do not know,’ admitted Nicholas, ‘but I wager that there is espionage afoot here.
Hidden in these documents is vital information.’
‘About what?’
‘That will emerge in time.’ He picked up the quill. ‘At least, we know what we are dealing with here.’
‘Arrant nonsense!’
‘Secret orders. Valuable intelligence. Couched in a private language to ensure its safety. This did not come from Lord Westfield. We were couriers for a much higher authority.’
He dipped his pen in the ink and began to copy the letter. Firethorn watched in silence until all the documents had been transposed to the blank parchment. Having completed his task as a scrivener, Nicholas used the point of his dagger to ease off the seal. He melted some wax in a candle flame, folded the original documents, then dropped the hot wax over the marks left by the seal. Firethorn applied the signet ring he had worn in the play that afternoon and their work was complete. Who had sent the documents they did not know, but they now bore the seal of the Duke of Mantua.
‘What will you do now, Nick?’ asked Firethorn.
‘Exchange these for Anne.’
‘Let me come to guard your back.’
‘Stay here and guard these instead,’ said Nicholas, giving him the copies he had just made. ‘We will peruse them at our leisure and see what we can deduce from them.’
‘Nothing! This language is worse than Czech.’
‘That is perfectly lucid to those who understand it.’
‘Who is this fiend?’ demanded Firethorn.
‘I will tell you when I have met him.’
‘How did he know we were bearing those documents?’
‘That is one of many things I hope to ask him.’
When the seal had dried, Nicholas put the documents into the pouch and slipped them back inside his jerkin. He removed his sword but kept the dagger at his belt. Firethorn embraced him warmly.
The Fair Maid of Bohemia nb-9 Page 21
