Trouble in the Forest Book Two

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Then you know why I have the women I have now,” said Alcott as if he had established his point sufficiently.

  “And you must be glad of them for the Fair,” said deSteny, deliberately echoing Alcott’s convictions. “With more business.”

  “We have paid our taxes,” said Alcott sourly.

  “This isn’t about taxes,” said deSteny. “It’s about whom your women might be entertaining.”

  “How do you mean?” Alcott asked, and noted that all the women were listening.

  DeSteny chose his words carefully. “There are some violent men who have come to the Fair to prey upon any they can force to succumb. Your women are apt to know more about strangers than any other women in the town, to hear boasts they would make to no others. I would count it a great favor—one I would not forget—if your women would listen to anything their ... companions crow about. And I want to know if any of them are forced to do anything that is beyond the requirements of whores.”

  “Why should you ask that?” one of the women wanted to know.

  “The men we seek are dangerous, and everyone in the town shares the risk of their presence, your women included. It is necessary that we find them before they can do greater harm than they have done already. Your women are likely to know more about them, and to be able to warn us about them without exposing themselves to more hazard than is already apparent in their work.” DeSteny addressed Alcott so as not seeming to favor any of the women.

  “Ah. Violent men are a problem to all of us,” said Alcott. “And what should we do if such a person should come here?”

  “If that person should still be here when you learn of his nature, send one of your slaves to the castle, asking directly for me, and tell me what has happened. I will make sure that I or one of my men will attend to this. If he has left, send the woman to make a report.” DeSteny looked at the women. “You can perform a great service, if you will.”

  Alcott coughed. “Men brag to whores. Not all they say they have done is real. Often it is more wish than truth.”

  “Let me have the chance to decide whether a boast is idle,” said deSteny.

  “I’ll consider this,” said Alcott.

  “It will give you more protection to have my good opinion,” said deSteny. “I will pledge to extend myself on your behalf, and the behalf of your women.”

  “And what of other brothels?” Alcott asked.

  “I will speak to their masters. Yours is the largest and best in the town, so I know the rest will follow your example.” DeSteny looked directly at Alcott. “Gwynnett and Perkin are my next calls.”

  “Gwynnett and Perkin are frauds, and all the town knows it,” said Alcott with a wave of his hand.

  “Still, their brothels have trade, as yours does,” deSteny pointed out.

  “As does Mother Onore,” Alcott reminded him. “But she has girls for wrights and tradesmen.”

  “They, too, hear things,” said deSteny. “And what any of you hear, I want to know.”

  “Bishop Tilton will not like it,” said Alcott.

  “Bishop Tilton has nothing to say about it,” said deSteny.

  After a thoughtful pause, Alcott said, “I will let you have my decision about what I will do by mid-afternoon. Until then, I will mull over the possibilities, both those that favor us and those that do not. I am certain that we may have disadvantages as much as advantages.” He sliced a wedge of toasted cheese and bit into the soft, pale substance. “Might there be a reward?”

  Inwardly deSteny sighed. “If the information reveals the culprits we seek, then I should be able to provide a small reward.”

  “Along with your pledge,” Alcott prompted.

  “Yes,” said deSteny.

  Alcott mused as he ate. “I will send you word later.”

  “Very good,” said deSteny. “This is all I ask.” With that, he nodded to the women and left the room.

  The servant followed him down to the door. Just before he opened it, he said, “If Alcott will not send you word, I will.”

  DeSteny paused, not sure he had heard the man correctly. “Why do you offer this?”

  “One of the whores is my sister. I would not like her to come to harm. Alcott might not let word be sent if he had been paid not to complain.” The servant tugged at his forelock. “He is my master, and he is good to me and my father.” He put his hand on the latch.

  “Do you think the whores are in danger?” deSteny asked. “Has anything happened that persuades you?”

  The servant didn’t answer at once. “One of the women said that a pale young man offered her three gold angels to come with him to his master. He could have had a Duchess for so much. She refused because Alcott would beat her for doing such a thing, but she told the other women about the offer.” He opened the door. “I do not know if that is the danger you mean, but—”

  “If the pale young man returns, send word to me,” deSteny said.

  “I will.” He looked reassured. “And you may be sure that all the whores in Nottingham will know of this offer of your before Vespers.”

  DeSteny achieved a smile. “I thank you for that.”

  Sir Humphrey heard this and he looked about sharply. “Did you have success in your purpose?”

  “So I hope,” as the door closed behind him.

  What the Players did

  in the Rain

  HOOD squinted up at the slow, steady drizzle, and then gave his attention to the thick canvas cover that extended over the stage and performing platform of their wagon. “This is going to be a problem,” he said to Ramsay. “We must find a place where our audience can stand out of the rain, or they will not remain with us through the play.”

  Alan-a-Dale shivered and stared at the nearly empty square before them. “Where shall we go? The Bishop won’t allow us to go into the churches—”

  “Not that we would,” said Scarlet, who was setting up the scenes for their performance, with Donat managing the balance of the wagon.

  “But it is just as well that we have no permission to use the porches,” said Hood. “We would attract suspicion if it had been granted to us and we did nothing to avail ourselves of such an opportunity.”

  “The Bishop has allowed jongleurs the right to perform in the cloisters, so long as they do not speak,” said Marian.

  “Well, as we must speak,” said Hood, “we need not fret.”

  Morrain looked in from the front of the wagon. “Where shall we go, then?”

  “We should go to the porch of the wool-market. The Guild will let us perform there if we provide the torches,” said the Red Friar.

  “Then let us go there,” said Hood, and raised his voice. “Morrain, go to the Woolworkers Guildhall. We’ll buy wood for torches.”

  “I will,” said Morrain, and slapped the mules pulling the wagon with his short whip. “Where is the Guildhall?”

  “On the square at the wall of ... of Luke’s,” said Scarlet, hanging onto one of the ceiling struts in the wagon.

  “That is to the right, isn’t it?” Morrain asked.

  “Right, and then left down the hill,” said Alan. “It has a stone lamb in front of it.”

  Morrain called to the mules, and called back over his shoulder, “There is a wood-seller in the next street.”

  “Go there, and buy lengths of wood for torches, and pitch to keep them alight,” said Hood, settling back into the wagon amid the stacks of props that they used in their plays; Ramsay was right behind him. The wagon swayed and creaked as it moved, and water splashed from the canvas top.

  “How shall we pay for this?” Marian asked.

  “The woodseller can provide more than wood,” said Hood. “Scarlet, you may take the woodseller and we’ll all have a bit of what he has.” He laughed.

 
They rode along in silence while Morrain searched for the woodseller, and only when he pulled in near the soggy-walled stall did anyone speak again.

  “Fellow!” the Red Friar called out.

  “Me, sir?” the woodseller asked, pausing in stacking his product to take in the fantastic sight of the players’ wagon.

  “You,” said the Red Friar. “We have need of your wares! The torch-lengths are what we want.”

  “They’re five farthings a measure.” The woodseller paused. “How many do you want?”

  “Three measures, so you must load the measures into the wagon for us,” said the Red Friar.

  “Three measures!” The woodseller was astonished at his unexpected good fortune. “I will do,” he declared. “You must be planning to light the night for all of the Fair.”

  “As it is raining, we may have to,” said Scarlet, peering around the end of the wagon. He motioned to the woodseller. “Come on, fellow. We have to be on our way shortly.”

  “In a moment, in a moment,” said the woodseller. “You’ve asked for a lot of wood. And I must see your coins before I put anything into your wagon.”

  “Of course you must,” said Scarlet, and held out fifteen farthings.

  The woodcutter grinned, feeling delighted at this unexpected good fortune. He took the money greedily and immediately reached for one of his tied measures of torchwood. “Where am I to put it?”

  “Hand that to me and I’ll stack it. Then help me load the other two,” said Scarlet, reaching out for the bundle the woodcutter had lifted into his arms.

  “As you wish,” said the woodcutter, handing over the torch-wood. He turned back and took one bundle under each arm and then came to the wagon. “You’ll have to help me up.”

  “Of course,” said Scarlet, and reached down for the woodcutter, half-lifting, half-dragging him into the wagon where the Red Friar was waiting, smiling and extending a helping hand.

  “Most kind,” the woodcutter said just before Hood rose and battened on him in cold ferocity. The woodcutter collapsed in Hood’s arms as Scarlet and the Red Friar moved closer as a few spatters of blood fell on the cloaks and other costumes that hung on pegs on the back of wagon.

  The wagon rattled on through the rain toward the Woolworkers Guildhall, the assault in the vehicle undetected by any of the Fair-goers rushing through the wet streets.

  Feeling much restored, the players arrived at the Guildhall, the body of the woodcutter shoved in among the props for the time being. The Guild apprentices met the wagon and escorted them into the vast lobby, their torches held aloft as they described the space the players could command.

  “Very good,” said Hood, jumping down from the wagon. “Where are the brackets for our torches? We have enough to make this lobby blaze with light.”

  Ranulf, the chief of the apprentices, came up to the wagon. “Bring your torches and my companions will light them.” He clapped imperiously to summon the younger apprentices; nine youths answered his summons.

  Scarlet handed down the nearest bundle of torches, saying as he did, “We have more, if they should be needed.”

  “Put a few of them near the back of your wagon, so we may take them,” said Ranulf.

  “We’ll put them near the rear steps, once we let them down,” said Scarlet.

  Hood finished making his circuit of the lobby of the Guildhall, and came back rubbing his hands. “This will suit us very well. We can have more than a hundred Fair-goers stand here without discomfort.” His mien was satisfied in a way that made the apprentices worry for no reason they could account for.

  Busying himself and his comrades with selecting the torch-wood and fixing it in the many brackets around the lobby, Ranulf made sure he kept a good distance between the players and his companions. “Light the torches as soon as they’re in place.”

  “Some of the Fair-goers will want to sleep in our Guildhall,” said one of the apprentices. “What are we to do with such requests?”

  “They must pay to sleep in our lobby,” said Ranulf, glancing uneasily over his shoulder at the players’ wagon.

  “How do we make them pay?” the youngest of the apprentices wanted to know.

  “Leave that to me,” said Ranulf, and motioned toward the main door. “We should open that as soon as the players are ready.”

  Morrain came toward the apprentices. “I am going out to cry the town soon, so they’ll know where we’re performing.”

  “The door will be open shortly,” said Ranulf. “As soon as your master-player tells us that they are ready.”

  “The master-player is the man in the hooded cloak,” said Morrain. “He or the one in scarlet will give the orders. If it is the wagon that needs tending, that man”—he pointed to Donat—“will be the man to speak.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” said Ranulf, and hurried to put more torches into brackets.

  As soon as Morrain went to get his oiled cloak, Scarlet pulled Hood aside in the crowded rear of the wagon. “Those lads could be a rich harvest.”

  “They could, but not until after we have done our play. To be greedy now would be too much a risk for all of us.” Hood cocked his head toward the body of the woodcutter. “This will have to be disposed of, when the play is done.”

  “Yes. I’m going to look for a place he can be left.” He moved toward the rear steps, preparing to flip them down. “How long before we open the door?”

  “Shortly. Wait until all the torches are lit and the room has warmed a bit.”

  “The torches won’t give much heat,” Scarlet warned as he prepared to get down from the wagon.

  “They will give some,” said Hood, uncaring. “And being out of the wet will make many of the Fair-goers glad to see us.”

  “And when we’re done, we’ll have more opportunity,” said Scarlet with a chuckle as he stepped down to the uneven stones of the lobby floor.

  Hood shot a condemning glance in his direction. “It would be better to keep such things to yourself.”

  “Oh? Do you mean you would refuse to pick a pocket if the chance were there?” His feigned innocence made the others wince.

  “Not in this place, with so many apprentices about,” said Hood deliberately, knowing that they were listening.

  Scarlet guffawed. “Let them feel that they are protecting the people, if only for an evening. Now they will simply enjoy the play. They think the worst of players, you know.”

  Ranulf stiffened. “You take us to be simpletons?”

  “No, I take you to be young town lads,” said Scarlet, coming up to the apprentices. “Make sure you place all the torches well. You wouldn’t want to leave any shadows.”

  His sarcasm perplexed the apprentices. “No. We wouldn’t. We want to see all,” said Ranulf. He rounded on the other apprentices. “Take the player’s words to heart, comrades. We have a duty here.”

  “And we are paying for the torches,” said Scarlet, and sauntered back toward the wagon where he called out, “Friar, what do you need me to assist you to do?”

  The Red Friar thrust his head out from the front curtain of the stage. “You may help me to set up the curtains.”

  “Oh, very well,” said Scarlet. “Are you sure you don’t want me to put up the apron first?” He waited a moment, knowing what the answer would be.

  “Yes. Go ahead,” said the Red Friar with a sigh.

  “Very good,” said Scarlet, and began to unfasten the panels and brackets that made up the apron. As he worked, he whistled a wandering little tune that soon attracted Alan’s attention.

  “What lay is that?” the harper asked, sounding a bit wistful.

  “I have no idea,” Scarlet answered, and went back to whistling.

  Alan-a-Dale leaned down, listening to the song. “May I sing it?”

  “I
f you can catch it,” said Scarlet, and went back to assembling the apron. “This will be a fine night,” he said, interrupting his whistling to say this.

  “Tell me when you’re done and I’ll gather up the props.” Alan glanced at Morrain, who had come down from the wagon in a heavy cloak of oiled linen canvas. “Don’t fear. The performance won’t last forever.”

  “I won’t be too long. I’ll go through the Fairgrounds and the taverns and cry the play in the market-squares, if anyone is there to hear.” He took a wide-brimmed hat and put it on his head.

  “Good hunting,” said Scarlet, and placed another bracket.

  How deSteny and Prince John

  Learned more of the Vampires

  THE WHORE was young—not more than fifteen years old—and she had the tired look of her trade. Her hair was negligently combed and there were smudges of faded bruises on her cheek. She was wrapped in a pluvial of faded blue and her shoes were a bit too large for her. She stood in deSteny’s study, her gaze directed toward the inlaid floor as the Sheriff tried to make her feel more comfortable.

  “You were very right to come here,” said deSteny by way of encouragement. He had completed his morning bath just a short while ago and his hair was still damp. “Thank you for coming so early.” The study was dark, for the fire had not been built up and only the oil lamps at deSteny’s writing table were lit against the darkness of the rainy day. Two high-backed chairs faced the chilly hearth, and only one set of shutters was open to light the reading desk. Most of the room was in deep shadow, making this meeting seem unreal, like an encounter in a dream.

  “Alcott said I must,” she said barely above a whisper. “He told all of us that we had to report anything unusual to you, as you ordered yesterday.”

  “Did the pale young man return?” deSteny guessed.

  She raised her eyes in amazement. “Yes. How did you know about him?”

  “I have more than one informant,” he said, deliberately vaguely. He had no wish to implicate the doorman at the brothel.

  Nodding repeatedly, she made herself go on. “Yes. He came back, quite late last night, after most of our business was done. He offered five gold angels for me or Melusine to go with him, but we both refused.”