Simon Hawke [Shakespeare and Smythe 03] Much Ado About Murder(v2)

by Much Ado About Murder (v2. 0) (mobi)

  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 of 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 conce
rned about the safety of their purses.

  The Queen's Men, sadly, did not fare so well. By the time the playhouses finally reopened, after numerous postponements and delays, the companies had all suffered from the length of the enforced closure. The Burbage Theatre was as much in need of refurbishing as ever, and there was simply no money to effect the necessary repairs. The chief rivals of the Queen's Men, the Lord Admiral's Men, also found themselves in difficulties. After a number of their productions had done poorly, their biggest draw, the celebrated and mercurial Ned Alleyn, had bolted their ranks and joined another company, Lord Strange's Men. Will Kemp soon followed suit, leaving the Queen's Men to join Alleyn's new company. The difficult times brought about a reorganization in which companies of players that had formerly competed with one another now combined in order to survive. The Lord Admiral's Men joined with Lord Strange's company to act together at the Rose. And this alliance made the future of the Queen's Men very grim.

  "How do you feel about leaving the Queen's Men?" Shakespeare asked Smythe one night.

  For a moment, Smythe did not respond. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked his roommate, "Are they going to let me go?"

  Shakespeare chuckled. "Nay, Tuck, we are going to let them go. I have been invited to join Lord Strange's company. I told them that I would consider it if they took you as well."

  "You did? And they agreed?" said Smythe.

  "Oh, readily. Your reputation precedes you, you know. They thought that since they already had the country's finest actor, they would not be complete unless they also had the worst."

  "Thank you," Smythe said, wryly. " 'Tis good to know that I have at least some sort of standing in my craft. But what about the others?"

  "Well, Kemp, as you know, has already departed. Pope and Bryan are the next to go. They have already accepted offers to join Lord Strange's company, who have lost some of their members after the long closure and must now fill out their ranks."

  "And the Burbages? What of them?" asked Smythe.

  "For a time, we shall have to part company, it seems," Shakespeare replied. "The Queen's Men, I am sorry to say, shall not survive. And the Burbage Theatre may not, either. James Burbage does not own the land whereon the playhouse stands, you know. I have spoken with Dick and he has told me that the landlord has been complaining and may not renew the lease."

  "And if the lease is not renewed?"

  "Well, then the landlord shall acquire a playhouse," Shakespeare said. And then he smiled. "Or so he thinks."

  Smythe frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, my friend, that Dick and his father may yet have a few surprises up their sleeves. For the present, Dick has told me that we must take what offers we are given so that we may have work. The winds of change are blowing through the companies of players here in London and, like fleets of ships at sea, we shall all be blown asunder for a time. Then, when the storm has passed, we shall reunite. The formation of the fleet may not be quite the same, and some ships, sadly, may be lost, but those that will remain shall continue with their voyage. And, for some, there may be new ports of call that did not even exist before."

  "New ports of call? What does that mean?"

  "Well, do not go bruiting it about," said Shakespeare, leaning forward conspirationally, "but Dick has told me that his father has a plan. If the landlord refuses to renew the lease, then rather than lose the Theatre, James shall tear it down and carry off the timbers, using them to build another Theatre, even better than the first, one that shall eclipse even the Rose."

  "Where?" asked Smythe.

  "He has not yet decided. Southwark, perhaps. The better to throw down the gauntlet to Philip Henslowe and the Rose. ‘Twould all take time, however, and meanwhile, you and I must eat. Therefore, I propose that we follow Ned Alleyn and Will Kemp and join Lord Strange's Men. Afterward, we shall see what the future may bring."

  "Another Theatre, better than the first," said Smythe, trying to imagine such a thing. "And even better than the Rose? Twould be something marvelous, indeed. Would it still be called the Theatre?"

  Shakespeare shook his head. "Nay, Dick said the name would need to encompass greater grandeur. Something better… something bigger. He rather likes the Globe."

  "The Globe," repeated Smythe. He nodded. " ‘Tis a grand name, indeed."

  "Aye, but for the present, we shall be playing at the Rose," said Shakespeare. "When times are lean, a man must find what work he can. And, to that end, I am once more embarking upon my sonneteering. I have been working upon this one, tell me what you think…"

  "Oh, Will, you are not going to read me another poem?"

  " ‘Tis just a short one."

  Smythe rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed. "Oh, very well," he said. "You found us work, after all. I suppose the very least that I can do is listen to your doggerel."

  " ‘Tis a sonnet, not doggerel, you carbuncle!"

  "If you say so," Smythe replied, wryly. He sighed. "Very well. Lay on, MacDuff…"

  AFTERWARD

  IN MY AFTERWORD TO A Mystery of Errors, the first novel in the Shakespeare & Smythe series, I stated that my purpose was primarily to write a work of historical fiction meant to entertain. I also wanted to disclaim having any serious credentials as a Shakespearian scholar. Teaching a college course in Shakespeare, seeing a few plays, and doing a little reading does not a serious scholar make, by any means. However, at the same time, I wanted the story to have at least a nodding acquaintance with history, insofar as it is known, before taking a certain amount (well, all right, a considerable amount) of dramatic license with it.

  The so-called seven "Dark Years" (sometimes also called the "Lost" or "Hidden Years") from 1585 to 1592 constitute a period when absolutely nothing is known of Shakespeare's life. I chose that period as a starting point, largely because I thought it would be fun to speculate fictionally and because it offered a great deal of flexibility. (When nothing is known for certain, one has more freedom to make stuff up.) When I wrote the second novel in the series, The Slaying of the Shrew, it was set during that same period and I did not see any particular need for an afterword. I had, at that point, nothing more to add that I had not already written in the first afterword. But since the conclusion of this novel marks a period when Shakespeare is entering a new stage of his life, with a new theatrical company (even though we are still in the so-called "Dark Years"), I thought that a few background notes might be interesting and perhaps helpful.

  To begin with, there is really no solid evidence that Shakespeare was ever a member of the Queen's Men. He might have been, and inferring from circumstantial evidence, a number of scholars seem to believe there is a strong probability that he was, but the fact is we really do not know for certain. We do know that he was a member of Lord Strange's Men, the acting company that later became known as the Lord Chamberlain's Men, and that there was something of an overlap in the membership of those respective companies. Will Kemp and Edward Alleyn, for example, were both members of the Queen's Men first and later joined Lord Strange's Men.

  In an effort to control the sort of situation described in the first chapter of this novel, where numerous "bands of cozeners" (or con artists) travelled the countryside posing as companies of players, the law stated that a legitimate acting company had to have a titled aristocrat or nobleman as a patron. This was not to say that said noblemen lent any sort of financial support to the company they sponsored, so to speak (they didn't). The idea was to have such nominal patronage legitimize the companies. This program met with general success, apparently, although it did not entirely eliminate the problem of thieves and con artists travelling the countryside, pretending to be players.

  Lord Strange was Ferdinando Stanley, who became the Earl of Derby in September of 1593. He did not have a very long tenure. He died in April of 1594, and rather colorfully—it was rumored that he had been slain by witchcraft. Whether this was possible or not is a matter for the reader's own beliefs; suffice it to say that this l
eft his acting company in need of a new patron. They found one in Lord Hunsdon, the Lord Chamberlain, and it was under the patronage and name of the Lord Chamberlain that this company became, as Anthony Burgess called them, "the greatest body of actors of all time," with a resident poet (or playwright, as we would say today) who was destined to become the most famous writer in history.

  Simon Hawke

  Greensboro, N.C.

  Simon Hawke has been the author of two successful SF/F series (Time Wars and The Wizard of 4th Street), a New York Times bestselling Star Trek novel, and several books for TSR in the "Dark Sun" and "Birthright" settings. Much Ado About Murder is his third Shakespeare-and-Smythe mystery. He lives in Greensboro, North Carolina.

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