Black Powder

by Ally Sherrick

  ‘I know you and your cousin are close, Master Garnett. Come; stay with me and I promise, once the deed is done, I will go back to the Clink and free your father myself.’

  Tom’s chest tightened. The Falcon had been good to him. Saved his life on the road and taken him to see Father at great risk to himself. But what kind of a person could think that blowing up the King and all those innocent people was right? He clenched his knuckles and stood firm.

  The Falcon waited a moment longer then let out a sigh. ‘’Tis a pity, Soldier. We could do with more men like you. Still, in spite of our differences, I will do my best for your father once the day is ours. Now, I must return to my post, bolt myself in and make my preparations.’ He raised a hand in salute, then turned on his heels and marched back the way he had come.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Tuesday 5 November – the early hours

  Tom waited until the Falcon’s footsteps had died away then squeezed out from their hiding place and looked back up the alleyway. There was no sign of him. Heaving a sigh, he held up Jago’s lantern and peered at the small shadow behind the door.

  ‘All right, boy. He’s gone.’

  A finger jabbed him in the back. ‘What were you thinking of, Tom Garnett?’

  ‘What?’ He spun round.

  Cressida stood there, hands on her hips, eyes flashing. ‘Giving that man your knife. What if he’d used it?’

  He flushed. ‘I knew he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Oh, really? Why?’

  He puffed out his chest. ‘You heard what he said to Cat. He likes me.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, he has a strange way of showing it.’

  He pulled a face. But she was right. Things hadn’t quite worked out the way he’d planned. He shot her a grim smile. ‘Thanks. If it wasn’t for you, we’d be his prisoners now.’

  ‘Yes, and if he finds out what we did to his precious powder and comes after us . . .’

  Tom frowned. Had they done enough to ruin the gunpowder? He hoped so. But what about Father? He glanced down the alleyway towards the river.

  A hand yanked his sleeve. ‘Tom?’

  He shook free. ‘We’ve got to get to your father’s house before he sets off for Parliament. Tell him what’s happened and get him to beg the King for Father’s life.’

  ‘But the problem still remains.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need money to get across the river.’

  A sudden thought flashed into his head. ‘Wait.’ He fumbled inside his waist-pouch and pulled out the tinderbox. ‘Would a wherryman accept this?’

  Cressida’s eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘Mother gave it to me.’

  She took it and weighed it in her palm. ‘Silver. It’s worth trying.’ She handed it back to him.

  ‘Come on!’ He grabbed her by the hand and set off down the alleyway. At the top of the river stairs he stopped and scanned the glittering black current. Where had all the wherries gone? His heart sank. If they had to go overland and cross the bridge, it would take too long. He was about to give up hope when a light bobbed towards them. He raised both arms and swung them above his head.

  ‘Over here!’

  A voice rasped back at him above the lap of the waves. ‘I’ve finished for the night.’ There was a creak of oars and the light moved off downriver.

  Cressida cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘We will make it worth your while.’

  Silence, then a creak and a sudden swoosh. The light swung round. Tom held his breath as a small boat cut through the water towards them, the figure of a man hunched at its oars. As the boat reached the stairs, the man’s whiskery face leered up at them.

  ‘And why should I believe a pair of good-fer-nothin’s like you?’

  ‘Because we’ll pay you well.’ Tom flashed the tinderbox at him.

  ‘Let me see.’ The wherryman lifted up from his seat.

  Reluctantly Tom dropped the tinderbox into the man’s grimy palm. ‘It’s solid silver.’

  The wherryman held it up to his lantern, peered at it with milky eyes then bit the lid with the stump of a rotten tooth. He shot them another look, then shoved the tinderbox inside his patched jerkin. ‘All right. Where you goin’ then?’

  Tom stifled a groan. If Mother found out he’d given her precious gift away . . . But he couldn’t help that now. They had to get across the river and quickly.

  An elbow jabbed him in the ribs. ‘Come on, cousin!’ Cressida hoisted up her skirts and jumped into the boat. ‘The nearest stairs to Montague House, Southwark. And hurry! We are on the King’s business.’

  The wherryman raised a bristly eyebrow. ‘The King’s business, eh? Well, p’raps I should charge you double then?’

  Tom glared at Cressida. Why did she have to go and say that? ‘She’s only joking, sir.’ He scrambled in after her and sat down before the wherryman could change his mind.

  ‘Funny sort of joke.’ The man scowled, then dipped the oars into the current and began to row.

  The crossing was rougher than the night before. Twice Tom was forced to stick his head over the side of the boat and retch.

  Cressida pulled a face. ‘I thought you’d be used to boats, living down by the sea?’

  He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and frowned. ‘I am. I just haven’t found my sea legs yet.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, I hope they come running soon.’ She giggled.

  He was about to tell her to shut up when another large wave slapped against the side. He groaned and hung his head back over the water.

  As they neared the opposite bank, a church tower loomed above them. It was the same place he and the Falcon had landed at last night. He had shown him a great kindness then. Tom shivered. How could one man be such a tangle of things? The boat banged against the step. He pulled the blanket tight around him and jumped out on to dry land.

  ‘Give me Jago.’ He held out his hand.

  Cressida passed him the lantern. ‘This way.’ She clambered out of the boat and led him up the steps in the direction of the church.

  He stopped in front of the entrance and stared along the murky alleyway next to it. Father was down there somewhere, just a street or two away . . . His shoulders slumped. He might as well be in the New World.

  A clock chimed out above him. He waited for it to carry on striking. But it didn’t. One o’clock already. Only five hours, six at most, before Father met the hangman. A jet of sour liquid shot up his throat. His knees buckled and he staggered sideways banging the lantern against his thigh.

  Jago let out a squeak of fear.

  Cressida spun round. ‘Tom? Are you all right?’ She ran back to him and propped him up with her shoulder.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed. ‘Still a bit seasick . . .’

  ‘Come on. It’s not far now. I’ll fetch you something to drink when we get there.’ Taking the lantern from him, she led him down the side of the church, beneath an archway and into a small square.

  A grand-looking brick house stood in front of them. Tom glanced up at the windows tightly shuttered against the night. He hugged his arms to him. What if no one was there?

  A set of stone steps led up to the door. Leaving him with the lantern, Cressida dashed up them, raised the iron door knocker and struck it hard against the wood.

  Silence.

  He bit his lip. Please let there be someone. Please.

  She was about to knock again when the sound of hurrying footsteps echoed from somewhere inside.

  He murmured a quick prayer of thanks then held his breath and waited. The footsteps came to a sudden stop. There was a rattle of keys and the door swung slowly open. The silhouette of a man stood before them, the edges of his long gown lit by a faint glow of candlelight.

  ‘It is me, Mistress Cressida. Let us in.’

  The man stepped back into the shadows and let them pass.

  A waft of must pricked Tom’s nostrils. He frowned. That smell. He knew it from somewhere . . .

&nbs
p; Cressida patted her curls and smoothed the front of her gown. ‘Where is the lord my father? We must see him at once! It is a matter of life and death.’

  The door banged shut behind them. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’ The man swooped past them and snatched up a lighted candle from a table next to the wall. He turned and thrust the flame under Cressida’s chin. ‘You see, sadly for him, he is about to be unavoidably detained.’

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  A knot formed in Tom’s throat. Mandrake! What was he doing here? He gripped a tight hold of the lantern and took a step backwards.

  The tutor lifted the candle above his head. ‘Ah! Master Garnett. Welcome! When I last saw you, you were grubbing around for water at the bottom of a chalk pit.’

  His eyes widened. So he’d been right. There had been someone following them on the road to London.

  Mandrake gave a yellow-toothed grin. ‘Oh, yes. I was on your tail all the way. I had my orders not to let that traitor out of my sight. What d’you call him? The Falcon, isn’t it?’ He narrowed his eyes and traced a pale, worm-like finger down the candle’s waxy side.

  ‘Orders from who?’

  The tutor tapped his bony nose. ‘It matters not, boy. Suffice it to say I work for a higher authority than Lord Montague, as you shall shortly discover.’ He shook his head and let out a sigh. ‘It is a sad fact that your association with that scoundrel is likely to cost you dear.’ He shifted his snake-eyed gaze to Cressida. ‘As it will your father, Mistress Cressida. But no! Let us cease this charade and call you by your proper name, Mistress Maria.’

  Cressida flushed. ‘How dare you! When the lord my father finds out about your insolence, he will have you thrown into the deepest dungeon in the land.’

  Mandrake’s tongue darted across his lips. ‘Oh, but I fear you have it all wrong. It is not me who is going to gaol.’ He placed the candle-holder back on the table.

  She stamped her foot. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Lord Montague has made some – how shall I put it? – unwise alliances.’ The tutor hooked a strand of oily black hair behind his ear and reached inside his gown. ‘Take this letter for example, which came into my hands just a few hours ago.’ He pulled out a folded piece of parchment and waved it in the air. ‘It warns him to stay away from the opening of the Parliament if he values his life. The author is unknown, but ’twill be proof enough of your father’s association with those assassins and their plot to murder our beloved King.’

  ‘No!’ Cressida’s hand flew up to her mouth. She stumbled against Tom.

  He steadied her then glanced at the letter and gritted his teeth. They had to get it off Mandrake and destroy it before he showed it to the King.

  The tutor gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘Oh, but there is more. Including the time Master Garnett’s friend, the Falcon – or Guy Fawkes as he is really called – spent in your father’s employment.’

  Tom’s heart missed a beat. Guy Fawkes. So that was his real name . . .

  Mandrake shot him a knowing look. ‘Your friend is a man of many identities. But wait!’ He switched his gaze from Tom back to Cressida. ‘We mustn’t forget the barrels of gunpowder he kept stored underground in Lord Montague’s secret tunnel and which he has brought to London by stealth with your own cousin’s help. My master and I could not be sure exactly what mischief he and the others intended with them. Now, thanks to this letter, I think I can make a fair guess. But wait! Perhaps Master Garnett would like to confess all?’

  Tom clamped his mouth tight shut. If Mandrake thought he could trap him that easily . . .

  ‘No? Well, let me tell you then. The barrels your friend had stashed beneath Cowdray are piled high in Westminster, waiting to blow the King and his lords to kingdom come. And now the plot is uncovered, Mister Fawkes, your uncle, and you too, Master Garnett, unless the King shows you mercy, will all die.’

  Cressida leapt forwards. ‘You’re wrong! My father loves the King. He would never hurt him. And as for Tom—’

  Mandrake put up a hand. ‘Enough! If a man knows of a threatened harm and does not lift a finger to stop it, it is still treason. And this letter is proof of your father’s guilt.’ He waved the parchment above his head.

  An icy voice rang out behind them. ‘What is this talk of treason under my roof ?’

  Tom twisted round and watched in amazement as a tall, thin figure dressed in a black and gold nightgown started down the stairs.

  ‘Granny!’ Cressida ran towards her.

  The old lady jerked to a stop and clutched her fingers to her throat. ‘Where have you been, child? Your father has been sick with worry. And as for you, Master Garnett . . .’ She fixed him with a granite stare.

  He glared back at her. What did she care about him?

  ‘Oh, Granny!’ Cressida buried her face in the Viscountess’s gold-threaded skirts. ‘Mister Mandrake says the lord my father is to be arrested on suspicion of being part of a plot to murder King James.’

  ‘I heard him.’ The old woman turned her gaze on the tutor and thrust out a bony hand. ‘Give me the letter.’

  Mandrake slid it inside the sleeve of his gown. ‘Forgive me, Lady Magdalen’ – he gave a sly smile – ‘but I must keep it safe for my master. He will be here directly. Once he has read it himself, I am sure he will be only too happy to reveal its contents to you.’

  The old lady banged her ebony cane on the flagstones. ‘Ungrateful wretch! After everything my grandson has done for you.’

  Mandrake’s eyes flashed gold in the candlelight. ‘It was the least he could do when your own husband did my father such a terrible wrong!’

  ‘What are you talking about, man?’

  ‘Having trouble remembering, eh?’ Mandrake shook his head and sighed. ‘That is just like you privileged folk. Well, let me remind you, My Lady. ’Twas the winter of eighty-two. The crops had failed again and my father could not pay the rent he owed. Your husband threw him from the land he farmed, even though he had a wife and five children to feed.’

  The Viscountess pursed her lips and frowned. ‘I don’t remember the case. But my husband was not a cruel man. I am sure he would have given your father more than one chance to make good his debt. And when all is said and done, a man must pay his dues.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The tutor stabbed a finger at her. ‘And now it is your turn.’

  Rat-tat-a-tat.

  Tom spun round knocking Jago’s lantern against his leg.

  Mandrake gave a whining chuckle. ‘That will be my master, come to collect the evidence.’ Reaching inside the sleeve of his gown, he darted to the door.

  ‘Stop him!’ cried Cressida.

  Tom leapt towards Mandrake and snatched at the back of his gown. The tutor swung round and shoved him aside, then turned and flung the door open. The candle flame flickered in the draught. A figure dressed all in black stepped quickly inside.

  ‘Welcome, master. You have come at just the right time. I have uncovered a whole den-full of traitors for you.’

  The newcomer’s pale eyes shone out from the gap between the brim of his hat and the muffler which covered his nose and mouth.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ There was a swish of velvet and the click of a stick on stone.

  ‘My Lady.’ The man pushed past Mandrake. He lifted his hat, slid the muffler from his face and gave a stiff bow.

  Hunt. Tom gasped. So it was him Mandrake had met in secret outside Cowdray’s walls.

  The Viscountess jerked up her head and fixed Tom with a sharp stare. ‘Do you know this man?’

  ‘Yes . . . I . . . er . . .’

  ‘The name is Solomon Wiseman, My Lady. Although’ – the man glanced back at him – ‘the boy knows me by a different name. I—’

  ‘Silence!’ The Viscountess turned to Tom. ‘Let Master Garnett tell me in his own words.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Go on, boy.’ Her voice had a softer edge to it now.

  He gripped the lantern handle and sucked i
n a breath. ‘He . . . he said his name was George Hunt. At first I thought he was part of the plot the Falcon’ – he bit his lips – ‘I mean Fawkes and the others had planned. The one to kidnap Cecil.’

  ‘You mean Robert Cecil?’ The Viscountess’s forehead creased into a hundred tiny furrows.

  ‘Yes. But then this man – Mister Hunt – he told me Fawkes had captured Cressida and they were planning something much worse.’

  ‘Worse?’ The old lady widened her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  Wiseman cleared his throat. ‘A plot to kill the King, My Lady.’

  Mandrake scurried forwards. ‘Yes, and thanks to some new evidence, I know what they are planning, sir. I—’

  ‘Enough, knave!’ The Viscountess fixed him with a steely grey stare.

  Wiseman gave Mandrake a brisk nod. The tutor hissed and took a step back.

  ‘I am glad Master Garnett here took my advice, rescued his cousin and got away while he could. If he hadn’t, it would have been the worse for him.’

  The Viscountess’s frown deepened. She turned back to Tom. ‘Explain yourself, boy. How did you come to be mixed up in all of this?’

  He chewed on his lip. Wiseman and Mandrake might know about the stash of gunpowder in the tunnel at Cowdray, but they had to prove for certain it belonged to Fawkes. As long as he didn’t tell them that’s where he’d first met him and he could work out a way of getting hold of the letter, his uncle – and Father – still had a chance. He glanced at Mandrake. His long, pale fingers hovered close to his sleeve. Any moment now, he’d pull the letter out and—

  The sharp rap of the Viscountess’s cane on the flagstones made him jump. ‘I am waiting . . .’

  He had to think of something and quickly. He licked his lips. ‘Well . . . er . . . after you locked me in my room—’

  The Viscountess’s mouth pinched into a hard line. ‘A punishment well deserved!’

  ‘Yes . . . well, after that I decided to run away. So I climbed down the drainpipe and sneaked out through the front gate. I was on my way back to Portsmouth when I bumped into Fawkes outside a tavern.’

  He flashed a glance at the Viscountess and Wiseman. From the look on their faces, they believed him so far. He took another breath and carried on. ‘Fawkes offered to take me to London and introduce me to his friends. He and Mister Cat said if I helped them dig a tunnel under Cecil’s palace so they could capture him, they would make sure the King granted Father a pardon.’ His chest tightened. ‘I thought he was my friend. But . . . but he lied.’ He bit his lip and stared down at the lantern. Jago’s shadow flickered behind it like a tiny grey ghost.