Shakespeare Vs Cthulhu

by Jonathan Green

  “Bring me wine, and meat,” said Marlowe to Mistress Bull.

  “I shall fetch it,” she said. The low chatter and loud laughter of the common room was cut as she closed the door, and the little room grew smaller still.

  Marlowe took a seat besides Poley on the side of the table by the couch, in opposition to Frizer and Skeres. Forever thick as thieves, the pair were wont to sit close by.

  “Why call us here?” said Marlowe. “Too public! Safety is not your paramount desire, Ingram.”

  “I merely wish to entertain you, to gladden an old friend.”

  “Your pamphlets have you in poor regard across the city,” said Poley, his mirth — false or not — slithering away. “You curse us by association. Railing against the French and Dutch protestants will have you hanged.”

  “So that is why I have been called,” said Skeres. “I thought this meeting no product of charity.”

  “Stop now, Nick! This is a grave affair. Marley scolds allies of this nation,” said Frizer.

  “Why stop there? Spit at the queen while you are at your sport, the result would be the same. Better bait a bear!” said Poley, grinning into his mug of ale.

  “The act was that of others,” said Marlowe softly.

  “Kyd,” said Skeres knowingly.

  Marlowe shook his head.

  “Not Kyd?” said Frizer. “He languishes now in the tower, no less, and has suffered the torturer’s attention. I hear he sang quite the tune. Your name spilled sweetly from his lips, along with a measure of his blood.”

  “It was not Thomas Kyd, I insist,” said Marlowe. “In his torment my dear friend implicated me. How could he not? Every bird sings when its feathers singe.”

  “Implication! Ha! Implication? Implication enough to be caught like a coney and dragged before the Privy Council,” said Poley.

  “And there accused of blasphemy, of possessing a book of saying that Christ himself is not supreme, but the made vessel of God,” said Marlowe.

  “Not a sodomite as you have averred?” said Poley, mocking surprise.

  “Did I say such a thing?”

  “You have said such things,” said Frizer. Poley laughed his lunatic laugh.

  “So some say,” said Marlowe. “So now why bring me to their presence if these sayings be commonplace knowledge? No record of the meeting was kept, no demand for my arraignment made. Only that I attend upon the Privy Council weekly, until licensed otherwise. I have stepped too far. They seek to snare me.”

  “They wish to keep your leash short, Kit,” said Poley.

  “That is no reassurance.”

  “If such import can be attached to this meeting with the high men, how do you still walk the streets?” countered Frizer.

  “Because like you, Frizer, I am useful to our Lord Burghley.

  He angles me, I am hooked, he plays me on the line, but I am not gaffed yet. He waits to see my intention. Pray if you find yourself impugned as I, he judges your service so valuable that he does not strike you dead forthwith.”

  Frizer scowled. A serving boy knocked upon the door and entered without waiting. The company fell silent again as he handed Marlowe a bottle, bread, a plate of meat and a fine glass at odds with the low character of Bull’s house. Marlowe poured a large measure and drank it down in one, then he poured a second. Poley followed the movements of his hands, and noted well they shook a touch.

  “Something has you frighted.”

  “Perchance my time is done,” said Marlowe. “The noose tightens.”

  “Us? You mean us? Dear Marley! Then why come here?” said Skeres.

  “We have ever been colleagues in diverse ventures, if rarely friends,” said Marlowe. “I must make my testimony, and sympathetic ears must hear it. Hear what I have to say, and you will understand better why I am here, and you are with me, and why the Privy Council set me free only to set a rope around my neck so they may lead me whither they will.”

  “I like this not one jot, one piece!” said Skeres. “If this be your fate, why not ours? We should leave. Frizer, this was a poor idea.”

  “Hear him out,” said Poley. “Are we all not men who ken behind the curtains? We know what men of substance hide. I wish to hear his tale. He has knowledge; all knowing is useful, sharp to the knower or not.”

  “Sharp blades cut. We put ourselves in danger...” said Skeres, though doubtfully.

  “Stop your mouth with beer, Nick,” said Frizer. Poley laughed again, too loudly.

  “I shall not,” and Skeres placed his pot upon the table. “Marlowe must speak. Did we not snare Babington on lesser notice and by our action topple a queen for Walsingham?” said he.

  “We did,” said Poley proudly.

  “Then who’s to say Kit has intelligences worth the less in this instance? Not I, not afore I have heard them,” said Poley.

  “Then speak, though I urge you most reluctantly,” said Frizer. “And expect no favour for the telling from I. I will not accuse myself for you, nor bring myself to any harm on your account.”

  “So be it,” said Marlowe. “This tale must be told, I like it not in any way, and wish it were not true, but it is.”

  Pallid-skinned in the inn’s gloom, Marlowe began his tale.

  “It was Baines, that low pointer of fingers who has turned his coat and turned it again until even he knows not which colour it displayed. When caught in Flushing by the governor’s men, he said I was guilty of petty treason, an utterer of false coin to the Catholic cause, when he himself is a papist first, selfish second, and loyal subject never. Burghley makes use of him, be that on his own conscience. I shared a room and proper duty with Baines, passing false coin to the papists to condemn them at Burghley’s leisure. Never did I meet a man so twisted in his words. Why, not even Hob here speaks a lie so easily. Lord Burghley dismissed the claims against me this last year.”

  “We know,” said Frizer and let his malice show.

  “You did not know that I was set again to find this man early in the spring.”

  “You were in Lord Strange’s employ, working at your plays,” said Poley.

  “I see you have me watched.”

  Poley saluted with his drink. “Not watched, but it pays to keep an eye about.”

  “Your eye did not see me leave. Two weeks I was gone to Holland. Burghley suspects Baines plays all sides for fools. He hid the dies when we were caught. Bad coinage remained his to give. Burghley wished to know to whom. If not disbursed in England’s interest, then in whose? I said I wished no more to play spy, my lord retorted I had no choice.”

  “Burghley’s words,” said Skeres. “He has us all by the codlings.”

  Muttered affirmations followed. More ale was drunk, more wine poured. “Listen and I will tell you more...” said Marlowe.

  Baines I could not find anywhere in all of Flushing where we last met. I was of a mind to present myself to the governor to ask for aid, though it would tax me sorely for he thought little of me, and was half in mind that I was guilty of the accusation that Burghley freed me from. Then serendipity showed her fair face, and I saw one whose acquaintance was known to me in the market square. He knew nought of my and Baines’ ill feelings, and this man greeted me as a friend. His name I shall not reveal, for he was a goodly man and goodly men should remain free of strife.

  “Baines, Mister Baines?” he said. “Why, he is gone to Friesland, for what reason I cannot say. I put him upon an oyster boat myself not a week since.”

  “Ah,” said I, affecting sorrow. “Such a pity that is, I wished to reacquaint myself with he, to show consideration for our time together here. It was most profitable, and I thought he may desire an interest in my latest venture.”

  “Which is?” he asked.

  I dropped my voice. “A new trade is open. I speak of the East India Company, lately formed. A second fleet looks for capital.”

  The man’s eyes lit with greed. “Perhaps, dear sir, you might advise me. I was ever your humble servant here in Flushing.�
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  That was so, and I told him what he wished to hear, all truth. A petty revelation, but one that may serve him so that he might serve me again. He thanked me roundly. His memory excited by the prospect of profit, he remembered more. “The boat that carried Mr Baines, it was the De Diepe Fischer. If luck be with you sir, you shall find it at the docks. I do not rightly know where Mr Baines was headed, but they shall.”

  Fortune was upon me again; there at the dock was De Diepe Fischer, a small black oyster boat of no great consequence. The captain was a surly man, squint-eyed and harsh-tongued as the Low Dutch are. The flash of silver amended his manner. He could tell me nothing of Baines’ purpose, but agreed to take me north to the same destination once he had sold his cargo. I whiled the day away in a rough tavern overlooking the port, whence I could maintain a steady eye upon the boat. He returned before nightfall, as the tide rose up its highest. I went to join him. He accepted me aboard without comment, and we set sail.

  I will not labour to describe the journey, for it is the least of what occurred. I determined that this boat not only trawled, but bought the trawlings of smaller craft, for it was in some ways bigger than the other smacks we saw. The sea is crowded with them around that coast, so rich in abundance of fish and shell-fish. North we went, over the shallow waters of the German Ocean that wash the Low Countries. In places dark and muddy where strong currents perturb the waters, others clear and bright, the reefs of oysters shining blackly beneath our keel. The captain, Meerdammer, said little; his crew of two less. One was so averse to speech he was nearly mute, the other spoke the rough speech of the Fries. He conversed well enough in Dutch with his companions, but my ear could find no purchase on his accent. His voice was a rasping, bereft of meaning to me.

  One night brought upon us a tempest such as I never witnessed. I feared we would founder in the seas, but it passed, and we sped on, and I thanked providence, though I bethink myself now that other Powers had a hand in the journey, and not those inclined to charity. Cursed luck! It is no friend to man. Destiny moves us uncaringly. We are as autonomous as chessmen.

  Past the mouth of the Isel Sea, into the Wadden Sea, where brooding islands lurk low to the water, in shape like the leviathan that might, at any moment, strike out with its tail and crush so small a ship as ours.

  Meerdammer brought me into Zoutkamp, a small village by a Spanish fort which, though now in the hands of the Hollanders, still subdues the spirit by its presence. He brought no cargo, the silver I gave him more than recompense, but before he left I saw his boat so laden with herring barrels it sat low in the water. A profitable journey for Meerdammer, but not for me.

  I took care to hide my face, lest I come across Baines by chance. Furthermore, Zoutkamp entertains a large garrison, though it is of no large size itself. The fates do conspire to place two Englishmen in small villages side by side, and that in so remote a place would draw the attention of those I would rather avoid, to whit, the State’s soldiery.

  But of the man Baines, there was no trace. I asked in the sole inn, with difficulty extracting the intelligences I required. Frustration caused me to raise my voice, and at last a man who spoke a tongue I might understand was found.

  “The other stranger,” he said, and described Baines to my satisfaction, although he thought him German and had another name for him, “he is outside.”

  So poor was his command of the common Low Dutch, I thought he meant that Baines was in the street. Further questioning made sure that I was incorrect, and that Baines had taken ownership of a hovel outside of the village. I resolved then to pay him a visit before night fell.

  No Englishman has known such desolation as the seaward marches of the Seventeen Provinces. Hard winds rattle without cease through the stalks of miserable reeds. Every fifty paces is a black ditch. The heath sinks into the sea meekly, and the waves arrogantly proclaim their mastery with frequent invasion onto land. The dykes and banks the Dutch build are everywhere to be seen, but put men of higher nations such as ours in mind of ruined palaces, where greensward has taken the place of wall and floor, marking out lost glories. It is chill there, but rarely fresh. The churning of the waves disturbs the mud from its bed, and the waters thereabouts are brown. No less hospitable country have I ever set foot in. And yet there Baines was, and there perforce I must be also.

  His domicile was of driftwood and sod, in the dunes within sound of the sea. I could not truly conceive that a man of any station would bear to dwell within, but someone assuredly was. The smoke of a turve fire crawled thickly from the chimney. The door was ajar.

  I approached side on, and bent low. Baines saw me, and let fire with his pistol. The ball passed far away from me, and I ran then, vaulting the low bank between track and house. Baines face was white, eyes goggled. Yet he charged the weapon quickly, as one of long practice. He fit the spanner, but could not wind it before I was upon him.

  I drew my dagger, but not my sword, for I wished to menace and not kill him. He proved unwilling, tossing up the gun and catching the barrel, aiming such a blow at my skull with the butt that would have shattered it, had I not thrown my cloak around his arm and fouled his hand, and so did drag him toward me, whereupon I put him to the floor, and pricked at his throat.

  “Mercy, mercy!” cried he. “I beg mercy.”

  “Speak freely to me, without hindrance of loyalty to your true masters, and perhaps I may yet give it you,” I said. I pulled aside his pistol and tossed it from his grasp. “A pretty wheellock for one such as you, Baines. How came you by the money for it?”

  “Mercy!” he said. He writhed under me in such a way as might excite a man in more lustful moments, but I would not let him free from that worse prick at his neck. He set up a wailing such as would shame a babe. I stood from him in disgust, drew my sword, and kept it close to his breast.

  “Lord Burghley requires his property,” I said.

  “Lord Burghley!” he snotted. “I am here at his command!”

  I prodded him, a sixteenth inch. Enough to bring forth a bloom upon his jerkin. He squealed and went deathly still.

  “The dies,” I said.

  He blinked. “But I require them. I am here to do the work of England, for Burghley!” he said.

  “Lies!” I said. I turned the tip of my dagger in his wound, and his teeth snapped together.

  “The truth! The truth, this I swear!”

  “What work of England?”

  “Atheists,” he said. He sat himself upright, and placed a hand to his hurt, his eyes ever on mine accusingly. “Men of your kind, after a fashion.”

  “I make no secret I care not if man chooses to worship God,” I said. “Be it on their conscience.”

  “They are enemies of the state.”

  “They are not in the state of England.”

  “Therein lies your mistake,” said Baines. “This anti-church has some connexion with men whose gaze we should not draw – high lords!”

  “Raleigh’s Night School?”

  “Worse!”

  This I did not believe. We were at the ragged edge of Europe, where mud and fish are the only currencies. The wretch looked to the floor, seeking his dignity there. “Upon the island of Schiermonnikoog, that is where the anti-church meets. A group of loathsome sorcerers to which I have made incursion.” With an inclination of his head he indicated the island lurking on the near horizon. “This night I am to attend their ceremony, where I am to deliver the dies. The play is the same as in Flushing, good Kit!”

  “Ah, so you will betray me anew?”

  “I had my own skin to preserve,” he said sullenly.

  “Who asked this of you?”

  “You know who would ask me to perform this task,” he said. “Do not make me utter his name again, it is bad enough to utter the coin.”

  “Burghley.’Twas Burghley sent me to find you.”

  “’It was he set me on this task, I swear.” With great and trembling care, Baines rose to his feet. “The dies are spoilt, made
to his design. Small letters on the face are turned about so. The coin struck by them can be followed from hand to hand.”

  “You ever were a deceitful man,” I said. “I cannot believe you.”

  “I dissemble only ever in England’s service,” he retorted. “I am true in my heart. There is a great deal of gold come lately to England.

  Our mutual benefactor wishes to know the well from which such a flood is drawn. It is not Spanish gold, it is strange, with a most peculiar lustre. It is here, I say. Here!”

  I looked about the grey desolation of the Frisian wastes. “There is no gold here.”

  “So I thought. I was mistaken. It comes thence. Many months have I spent to uncover the source.” He pointed to the grim island.

  “Then to the island we must attend,” said I. “Collect your dies, Master Baines. I shall accompany you as your guard. If challenged, you shall present me as such.”

  “And not my keeper?”

  “That also.”

  Baines retrieved a pack from the rude hut; he condescended to show me the dies, and their spoiling, before shoving them quickly away as if spies hung on the wind. We went back to the village, he in front and I behind where I might do him injury should he flee. I kept his gun, powder and balls, and my own hand I kept wrapped upon the hilt of my sword.

  You may wonder why Burghley set the two of us at odds. He weaves a tricky web, he is not the weaver Sir Francis was, but he has his talents. Baines’ story may have been true, but I could place no reliance on his words. After all we experienced that night, he would yet turn on me if he saw advantage. He is a greater rival to me even than you, Frizer.

  I purchased a jug of ale and links of sausage and good Dutch cheese to sustain us. Fresh bread was not to be had, owing to the lateness of the hour. Finding a boat to the isle, though near it was, was harder than the vittles. The channel is so narrow I warrant it might be swum by a hearty man, were the water warmer. I fancy though such an attempt would end in cold disaster, certainly in the month of February, and a boat we sorely needed. The fishers in the harbour looked upon us with blank idiocy, most not understanding Dutch or English, nor the French or High German I essayed, and both tongues I speak fairly. Two that did comprehend made the mark of the eye in the air and turned away at mention of the isle. One man took pity on us.