by Simon Hawke
One of the Steady Boys came up to the table and whispered a few words into McEnery’s ear. McEnery glanced up at him with surprise. His comrade nodded and pointed over toward another table that stood nearby. McEnery nodded back to him.
“Go on then,” he said, “and keep an eye on him. Make certain that he does not leave.” He turned to Darnley. “Jack,” he said, “methinks you might want to come and have a drink or two with that chap at yonder table there.” He jerked his head in that direction.
Darnley glanced at him darkly. “What the hell for?”
“Because he works for Liam Bailey, that’s what for,” McEnery said.
“So? Why should I care a fig about Liam bloody Bailey?”
“Because Tuck bloody Smythe works for Liam bloody Bailey now and then, remember? And because Smythe said something very interesting to this chap he works with about what happened at the Genoan’s house that night, and this chap is drunk and running off his mouth about it.”
Darnley sat and stared at him a moment. “Is he?” he said, after a long pause. “Well then, let us go and listen to what he has to say.”
They got up and walked over to the table where the loquacious Bobby Speed sat with a couple of the Steady Boys, apparently deeply in his cups. He was holding forth with elaborate, expansive gestures that nearly caused him to overbalance on occasion and teeter on his stool. One of the Steady Boys reached out and grabbed his arm, to keep him from falling over.
“Take it easy there, friend,” said Darnley, laughing goodnaturedly as he clapped Speed on the back, pulled up a stool, and sat down next to him. The transformation from the dark and scowling brooder of a few moments ago to the cheerful boon companion seemed dramatic to McEnery.
It was as if Jack had become another man entirely. This was the Jack Darnley that always seemed to be the center of attention, the one the girls all liked so much, the charmer and the wit. But he knew another side of Darnley, a much more dangerous side that he both feared and respected. And also idolized. It was the Jack Darnley who had slashed away repeatedly at Master Leonardo while the others held him, demanding to know where he kept the money.
“Eh? And who might you be?” Speed asked, in a slurred voice.
“The name’s Jack,” said Darnley, holding out his hand to Speed. “Everyone knows me around here. What’s your name, friend?”
“Bob-bobby,” Speed replied. His cheeks puffed out and then he belched profoundly.
“Well, Bobby, you look as if you could use another drink,” said Darnley, clapping him on the shoulder. “Something to drown that frog in your throat, eh?” He signaled the serving wench to bring more beer.
“You give him much more an’ he’ll pass out,” one of the other Steady Boys said.
“Oh, now, never fear, Henry,” Darnley replied. “Ole Bobby looks like a man who knows how to hold his drink. Is that right, Bobby?”
“Ri… riiiiiiiight!” Speed belched in response.
“A ripper!” Darnley exclaimed. He took the pitcher from the serving wench and refilled Speed’s tankard. “Bottoms up, eh?”
He picked up his own tankard and made as if to drink, but refrained while Speed quickly quaffed his down.
“Now that’s the way to do it, eh?” Darnley said. “You know, they tell me that you work with my good friend, Tuck Smythe.”
“Ah. Good ole Tuck. Here’s to ‘im!”
“Right, here’s to him,” Darnley said, refilling Speed’s tankard and watching as he drank. His tone was jovial, but his dark eyes were like a predator’s, sharp and intense. “You know, Tuck was saying something about that Genoan merchant who got killed the other day. Methinks his name was Leonardo, was it not? We have all been talking about that. Terrible thing.”
“Aye, terrible, terrible,” said Speed, nodding so loosely it seemed as if his head would roll right off his neck. “Poor bloke.” He held up one finger dramatically. “But despite it all, they still didn’t get ‘is money!”
“They?” said Darnley, softly. “But I thought there was just one killer. And they have him locked up in the Marshalsea.”
“Hah!“ Speed barked, swaying slightly on his stool. “Hah! That’s what they think!” He leaned close to Darnley, conspira-torially. “Tuck says they got the wrong man!”
“Do they, indeed?” Darnley said. “How does he know?”
“Said so. Said Corwin ‘ad no money on ‘im when ‘e was arrested. A few crowns, is all. So if ‘e robbed the Genoan, then where’s all the money, eh? Where is it?”
Darnley looked mystefied. “I have no idea, Bobby. Where?”
“Need ‘t ‘ave ‘nother drink,” slurred Speed.
“And so you shall,” said Darnley, refilling his tankard from the pitcher. He watched intently as Speed drank with greedy swallows. “So,” he said, when Speed set down the tankard, “what did Tuck say happened to the money?”
“ ‘Twas all stashed away, y’know,” said Speed.
Darnley’s eyes lit up. “Where?”
“Ssshhh! ‘Tis a secret?” Speed whispered, putting his finger to his lips.
Darnley lowered his voice. “I shall not tell a soul! Cross my heart!” He performed the gesture. “However did Tuck know the Genoan’s money was all stashed away?”
“The daughter told ‘im,” Speed replied.
“Leonardo’s daughter?”
“Aye.” Speed’s cheeks puffed out again and a low rumble issued from his throat. He patted his stomach. “Settle down there,” he said, and then broke wind prodigiously.
“S’trewth!” said McEnery, waving his hand before his face. “Smells like something bloody died in there!”
“Be quiet, Bruce,” said Darnley, softy, but the tone of his voice demanded immediate obedience. McEnery fell silent instantly. “So the wench knew where the money was hidden?”
“Aye, she did,” said Speed. “Gold coins, moneys o’ account and letters o’ credit and what all… a bloody fortune, Tuck said. All stashed away! An’ they never even found it! Leonardo took the secret to ‘is grave! The poor, old sod.”
“Astonishing!” said Darnley, pouring him more beer. “And so where was it all hidden?”
“In a chest!” said Speed.
Darnley’s eyes narrowed. “A chest! The devil you say! He had all that money just hidden in a chest? Why, ‘tis not a very clever hiding place, if you ask me. You might think that anyone could find it in a chest.”
“Ooooh, ‘twas a special chest, this one,” said Speed, leaning close to him and nearly falling off his stool. “Wif a secret compartment inside it! Sssh! Mustn’t let anybody know, Tuck said. ‘Tis a secret?” He held up his forefinger and moved it around unsteadily in front of his mouth, but could not seem to make the connection between the finger and his lips.
“Mum’s the word,” said Darnley. “Where is this chest now? Still at the merchant’s house?”
“Nah,” said Speed, shaking his head, then grabbing it with both hands, as if to steady it. “Hooo! Head spinnin’ round!”
“Have some more beer,” said Darnley, pouring. “Hair o’ the dog. Settle things down. So… what happened to this chest?”
“Tuck an’ Ben brought it to the shop,” said Speed, “for safe-keepin’.”
“You mean Liam Bailey’s shop?” asked Darnley, his gaze so intense that his eyes seemed to glitter.
“Aye,” said Speed, nodding heavily. “For safe… keepin’.” He slumped forward and his head struck the table with a thud.
“Bobby?” Darnley said. He reached out and took a handful of Speed’s hair and raised his head up, then let it drop back down onto the table. “Dead to the world,” he pronounced.
“The chest!” McEnery said, eagerly. “I remember that old chest!”
“Bloody old sea chest,” Darnley said.
“Heavy old thing,” said McEnery. “We just dumped it out onto the floor. Damn! We should have looked at it more closely! But who would have thought it had a secret compartment?”
“ ‘T
would be just like a rich man to hide all his money inside a battered old chest, where no one would think to look,” said Darnley. “But now we know just where to look, don’t we?”
“In Liam Bailey’s shop,” McEnery said, with an ugly grin.
“Get the lads together,” Darnley said.
McEnery gathered all the Steady Boys and they trooped outside into the street. No sooner were they gone than Bobby Speed raised his head up off the table and glanced around. “They gone?” he asked.
At the next table over, John Fleming, Dick Burbage, Will Kemp, Gus Phillips, and John Hemings heaved deep sighs of relief and loosened their grips on the clubs and daggers concealed beneath their cloaks. “All gone,” said Fleming. “Lord, I do believe it worked!”
“And the sooner we are gone, as well, the better I shall like it,” Kemp said, swallowing nervously. “Zounds! My heart is beating like a drum!”
Tom Pope and George Bryan came over from a nearby table where they had been watching and sat down with Speed. “Bobby, you were bloody marvelous! What a wonderful performance!” Bryan said, clapping his friend on the back.
“ ‘Twas nothing, mate,” said Speed, pouring out the remnants of the beer from the pitcher into his tankard. “ ‘Twould take a lot more than this weak, watery brew to get me drunk. Cheers, then!” He raised the tankard and drained it in a couple of swallows.
It was growing late by the time the Steady Boys reached Liam Bailey’s blacksmith shop. The streets were deserted and only a few lights burned here and there. Darnley quickly gave commands and McEnery posted lookouts to keep an eye out for the watch. Once they satisfied themselves that there was nobody in sight, they quickly broke open the lock upon the heavy wooden door and went inside.
They made sure that the shutters were all tightly closed, and then McEnery raised the small lantern they had brought and uncovered it. It did not throw forth very much light, but it was enough for them to find their way around inside the shop.
“Right,” said Darnley. “It has to be in here someplace. Look around, lads.”
“Jack!” one of the others said. “There’s a big chest right here!”
Darnley glanced around, saw it, and shook his head. “Wrong one,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, I’m bloody sure, you cankerous mongrel, I’ve seen the bloody thing, haven’t I?”
“What about this one, Jack?” another one asked.
He turned. “Nay, nor that one, neither. ‘Tis too new.”
“Jack! I found a chest right here!” another of the boys called out.
“Be quiet, you scurvy crow! You want to bring the watch? Where is it?” Darnley went to take a look. “Nay, nay, ‘tis not the one! Bloody hell! Is this a smithy or a chest-maker’s shop? We are looking for a sea chest! An old sea chest!”
“Jack…” said McEnery.
Darnley turned. McEnery had raised an old saddle blanket under which was an old sea chest. “That is the very one!” “Should we break it open?”
“Nay, ‘twould make too much noise,” said Darnley. “We shall take it with us and find that compartment at our leisure. Lift it up, boys.”
They picked up the chest and started to carry it toward the door.
“Cover up that lantern, Bruce, ‘afore we go outside,” said Darnley. He waited a moment, then snapped back over his shoulder, “I said, cover up that bloody lantern!”
“I did cover it up!”
“Well, then, where the hell’s that light coming from, you pustule?”
They turned around.
“ ‘Allo, Jack,” Ben Dickens said, standing behind them with a lantern. “ ‘Allo, Bruce. Nice night for a break-in, eh boys?”
Smythe stepped out beside him, holding another lantern. “Good to see you again, Jack,” he said. “You know, I have been meaning to speak with you about these lumps you and your boys gave me. I was hoping to pay you back, with interest.”
Darnley gave a small, derisive snort. “Well, well,” he said. “Are we not the clever ones? ‘Tis you who shall be paying, Smythe, my friend. And as for you, Ben, you could have joined us again when you had the chance. You could have shared in all this money. But ‘tis a bit too late now.”
“You truly are a clownish half-wit, Darnley,” Shakespeare said, from over by the door. Liam Bailey stepped out from hiding along with him and threw open the door. “There is no money. There is nothing in that sea chest but old clothes.”
Darnley’s eyes were like anthracite as he gazed at them with loathing. “So what?” he said. “So you have played a clever trick. What do you think that has accomplished? Nothing! The trick is going to be on you.” He raised his voice. “Gather round, lads!”
The Steady Boys who had been waiting outside came running. They formed a semicircle in the street around the door, surrounding the entrance to the shop.
“Now so cocky now, Smythe, are we?” said McEnery, with an ugly sneer.
“I am sorry, Ben,” said Darnley. “But you made your choice.” “Aye,” said Dickens, “so did you, Jack.” “Now?” said Smythe, raising one eyebrow. “Aye, Tuck,” said Dickens. “Now.”
Smythe raised two fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Darnley’s eyes narrowed and he quickly turned around. Beyond the semicircle of Steady Boys out in the street, figures seemed to melt out of the shadows, dozens of them, men carrying clubs and knives and staves and swords. The Steady Boys glanced all around in alarm as they found themselves suddenly surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered. Moll Cutpurse stepped out from the crowd, her hand upon the pommel of her sword.
“If there is any thieving to be done in London,” she said, “you come and ask permission from the Guild. We do not look very kindly on those who come poaching on our ground.”
Darnley spun around to face Smythe. “Damn you!” he said, with a snarl. “ ‘Tis all your doing! We should have killed you that night! Well, you may get in your licks in return for the drubbing that you got, but ‘tis all you’ll bloody get! You can still prove nothing! And Corwin still bloody well hangs!”
“Are you quite certain of that, Jack?” asked Smythe. And he raised his fingers to his lips and whistled once again.
Darnley’s eyes grew wide as the clatter of hoofbeats on the cobblestones rang out through the night and Sir William Worley, leading a squad of the sheriff’s men, came riding into the street. Moll Cutpurse’s men parted ranks to let them through.
“What is this?” Darnley demanded, suddenly looking afraid.
“You said we could prove nothing, Jack,” said Smythe, “but you were wrong. You are carrying the proof right there. We had placed several chests inside the shop. But only one was in Leonardo’s house. You went straight to it.”
“That drunken bugger in the tavern told us all about it!” Darnley protested. “He said ‘twas an old sea chest that had the money hidden in it!”
“He merely said the money was hidden within a secret compartment in a chest,” said Smythe. “He never said anything about an old chest, or a sea chest. He merely said ‘a chest.’ You were the one who said ‘twas an old sea chest, Jack. And there was only one way that you could have known that.”
“You are all under arrest in the queen’s name,” Sir William said. “For robbery, and for the murder of Master Leonardo.”
“Nay! I never murdered no one!” Bruce McEnery cried out, in a panic. “ ‘Twas Jack! Jack did it! Jack Darnley killed ‘im!”
“You bastard whoreson!” Darnley said, and plunged a knife deep into McEnery’s chest. McEnery screamed and fell to the street, clutching at the blade protruding from his chest.
With a swift sweep of his arm, Sir William hurled his dagger. It struck Darnley in the back and buried itself deep between his shoulder blades. Darnley grunted and his eyes popped, then glazed over as he fell. He was dead before he struck the street.
The members of the Thieves Guild melted away into the shadows as the sheriff’s men rounded up the remaining Steady Boys, some o
f whom had started whimpering and crying.
“Thank you, Sir William,” Smythe said, with a slight bow.
Worley touched the brim of his plumed hat in a salute of acknowledgement. “Your friend shall be freed within the hour,” he said, then wheeled his mount, and rode off into the night.
EPILOGUE
THE DOUBLE WEDDING WAS ATTENDED by all the Queen’s Men. It took place in St. Dunstan’s Church, not far from where Hera and her late father, Captain Leonardo, had briefly made their home in London. The congregation was an interesting agglomeration of thespians and thieves, together with craftsmen and apprentices, for not all apprentices were hellions like the Steady Boys, many of whom would serve some time in prison, either in the Marshalsea, the Newgate, or the Clink. The chief malefactors, Darnley and McEnery, were both dead and without them, one of the most notorious of the ‘prentice gangs was now no more, an object lesson to other working-class young men with too little sense and too many high spirits.
Of course, Hera could never reside with her new husband in the house where her father had been murdered. The constant memory would be much too disturbing for her. So with the proceeds from the sale of the house, Corwin had purchased a modest new home for them not far from the shop of Master Peters, where he continued to work as a journeyman, doubtless soon to be a master craftsman in his own right.
Ben and Molly were, of course, the second couple that were married at the ceremony, though much to the company’s regret, Ben had decided to leave the Queen’s Men once again. A player’s life, he felt, was really too uncertain, and so with some of his remaining money that had been recovered from the Steady Boys, together with some money from Molly and her sister, Ben went into partnership with several journeymen and opened up a small shop selling arms and armor. It quickly became a thriving business, perhaps the one place in London where members of the upper classes could rub shoulders with members of the Thieves Guild and not be concerned about the safety of their purses.
