“Corvino is off to the Walk for Peter Tallis,” I said, “and I shall go to the Tabard and send word to my friend Hasling. If Tallis does not know the state of affairs, Hasling will.”
As we descended into our boat some of the river men cursed us for not using theirs, and then vanished toward their berths. One boat lingered, seeming to follow us.
“Aye,” Jublain said gloomily, “we be nearing trouble again.”
On English soil again, Tempany and Abigail were off to their home, and I and my friend to the Tabard. If Genester wanted me, let him come. The arrogance of success was on me.
We walked into the dark and narrow streets, picking our way over the broken cobbles, and around refuse thrown into the streets from the buildings along the way. A rat scurried from underfoot, and the shadows seemed to move.
Jublain moved nearer. “I like it not, Barnabas. I have the stink of death in my nostrils.”
“Not our death,” I replied quietly. “If there is death tonight it will be another who dies.”
“Let us hope,” he commented dryly.
My hand was on my sword hilt, and Jublain carried a naked dagger in his left hand, close down to his side, his right hand on his sword hilt. But nothing happened. We emerged from a dark street into a lighter one, somewhat wider, and Jublain sheathed his dagger with a sigh.
Glancing back suddenly my eye was quick enough to see a shadow fade into an alleyway, yet there were many abroad at such a time who had no wish to be seen, some of them honest men. Yet I knew what Jublain meant by having the smell of death in his nostrils. I had it, as well.
The Tabard was lighted and the inn yard itself had light from its windows.
We squeezed in, and found for ourselves a corner. It was not wine I wanted this night but a tankard of ale, for my throat was dry from walking the shadowed streets.
The ale was brought us, and at further urging and a coin to grease the wheels, several thick slices of ham, a loaf, and several large apples. We were hungry, ravenously so.
There was a square-shouldered, apple-cheeked maid I recalled from before—easily recalled, because she had eyes for Jublain, for all his sallow manner.
She came near to our table. Well enough she remembered me, and Jublain as well. “There is a message,” she whispered. “It was left for you but two days past. Sit you, and I will have it down to you.”
She had scarcely stopped by the table, almost as if held up by the press about us, and then she was gone. “A likely lass,” I said, grinning at Jublain.
He shrugged his shoulders and stared into his ale. “Aye,” he said, “I have a fear of such. Those who would rob you or trick you are easy enough to handle, but such as her … A man has small chance with such as her.”
“I’d best look for a new partner then,” I said, “for certain it is she has set her cap for you.”
There was a man with a tankard at a table nearby, a red-faced fellow with a shock of uncombed hair and blond eyebrows. A wide face he had, and thick hands that needed washing. He was looking everywhere but as us but I had an idea he was listening, despite the tumult.
“There’s a pitcher near,” I commented, as I lifted my tankard, “with big handles.”
Jublain’s eyes were cynically amused. His back was to the man. “Would a sweep of my sword take him?”
“Aye, but it’s a surly rogue we have there, and I think his handles are picking up nothing. I think we should let the pitcher be until we see whether it stands alone.”
“I suppose,” Jublain said, “but I would like to slice off enough to bait a fish and feed it to him.”
Soon the red-cheeked girl came by again, bringing each of us a fresh tankard of ale. She leaned far over.
“Pay for this,” she said. “I am watched.”
We paid out the money, and she put her hand on the table to pick it up, dropping a folded bit of paper on the table. I casually covered it with my hand. When she had gone, we ate for a bit, and drank. The last thing I wished to do was bring ill to this girl who wished to help.
Then without lifting the paper from the table, I spread open its folds. I knew the hand in which it was written, and read aloud:
There is an order for your arrest: The one of whom we spoke is dying. You will be thrown into prison or killed. We are doing what we can. The one who would help has been taken to the country, and is held there, supposedly to give him the best of care. No one is permitted to see him.
C.H.
“There’s a pretty kettle of fish!” I said.
“It be that,” said Jublain.
“Come, let’s be away from here,” I got hurriedly to my feet, and at that instant a hand touched my sleeve.
The red-cheeked maid was there. “This way,” she said. “They are in front who would harm you.”
We followed quickly, weaving through the tables and the crowd until we reached a dark, narrow passage that led not to the inn-yard but to an empty field beyond. She pointed out a dim path. “Go,” she whispered. “There is a path to the river!”
We went, and at a goodly pace. I wanted no lying in prison, for there were those who had stayed shut away for years for no just cause.
The path was sloping away down a small hill, into a hollow and then to the river not far hence. We came down to a place among the reeds, and followed along to a landing place.
It was an old wharf, long disused, its timbers broken in places to where one could see the gleam of dark water below. No boats were there. Reeds had grown up about the place, and the river flowed by, dark and mysterious.
From far behind us there was the slam of the inn door, then the door opened again and we could see a shaft of light. “It is the only way!” Somebody shouted loudly. “They have gone to the river!”
“Nonsense!” The second voice was more forceful. “There’s no escape that way, unless they can swim the Thames.”
But he was wrong.
There was a path, and we took it.
Walking up the muddy slope to the embankment, we strolled, arm in arm, talking of the New World and what we had seen there, of London and the meals at the Tabard. We were both dry as sin, and would have relished a bit of ale. We walked along, strolling as along a boulevard, not two men escaping from the Queen’s officers.
“Wait, Jublain. I think we are followed.”
He glanced around. “Aye, and there are but two of them. Shall we split them, my friend, and give them to Mother Thames? She has taken much refuse at one time or another, and floats fine ships in spite of it.”
“Walk on. There are lights ahead, and who is going to question two strolling gentlemen?”
“With muddy boots?”
“That, in some places, might be questioned. Not in London today. There are a deal of places where a gentleman might get his boots muddy. Look, there’s a tavern!”
It had a seedy, down-at-the-heels look about it, a rank sort of place, yet the door was welcome. We rounded the building and entered.
A low-beamed ceiling that made me duck my head at the beams, a scattering of benches, a long table, a sort of ledge from which drinks were served and carried to the tables. There were seafaring men there, by the look of them, and some workmen, and a raunchy group in front who looked liked thieves or worse.
They eyed us as we entered, missing nothing. Eyed our boots as well. But we crossed the room and sat down at a table where someone had only just left. Empty tankards stood there. I eased my sword about to an easier place for my hand to fall, and the rascals noticed it.
One of them crossed to our table. He was a slender man with one eye and a patch for the other, a disreputable hat upon his head with a bedraggled plume. His clothing was shabby but he walked with an air and some style.
“Do not rest your hand upon your sword, my friend,” he said. “There are thieves present, but we never foul our own nest, and this is our nest, our place. Dainty, is it not? Too much ale is drunk here, and too many bold stories are told by bold chaps who then slink off to some sha
bby hole to sleep. Only our lives are petty; never our boasts or our dreams.”
“There is always hope for a man who can dream, and even for one who can boast, for when the two are together they try to bring both to reality. I speak from experience.”
“Say you so? Well, perhaps there is hope then, even hope for me.” He glanced at Jublain, and had no doubts about him. He and Jublain were two of a kind, in some ways. Of me he was uncertain. I looked and acted the gentleman, yet I had dirty boots and had come in suddenly out of the night in a disreputable part of town. “You puzzle me … so much the gentleman.” He said thoughtfully. “Yet your face is weathered from the elements, as no gentleman’s is likely to be. I know that look, too, and even in this dim light know a sea-won weathering from that of the heather.”
He was smiling at me, his eyes mildly amused. “Two who walk on muddy paths in the dark, two only fresh from the sea. And a ship has come up the river, theTiger, only just back from America. And the Queen’s men are out to find two from that ship—”
“They will be coming in the door at any moment,” I told him frankly.
“Let us exchange hats,” he said, “mine is considerably less than yours, but I am of slighter build. Come, let us change.”
We did so. His was battered and much worn, and the plume so sad, indeed, but it had a different weight, a different feeling. He donned my own hat, then turned and called out, “Major Sealey! Bring us four, will you? And join us here.”
He looked around, smiling. “I am Jeremy Ring, once an officer on Her Majesty’s ship, then a prisoner in Barbary and now a homeless, masterless, landless man.”
The door opened suddenly and two men stood there. One was a sharp, erect soldierly man, the other a stolid-seeming fellow who looked to need a hayfork in his hands more than a musket.
They looked sharply about—their eyes taking in the group of lusty characters near the door, then at us.
Even as their eyes came to rest on us, Sealey crossed to our table with four brimming tankards in his big hands. The sharper of the two looked from the fresh tankards to the empty ones on the table.
I was sitting low on my bench to appear the shorter, and the hat of Jeremy Ring evidently gave me a different look. It was my own hat upon which his eyes fastened when he looked at Ring. “You there!” he demanded. “How long have you been here?”
“Twenty-seven years, Captain. Born within sound of the Bow-Bells. Twenty-seven years, and seventeen of them aboard Her Majesty’s ships or in her army ashore.”
“I mean here … in this place.”
“Oh? A few minutes. We are just over from the Tabard. We found the place crowded, and needed room to bend an elbow. Will you join us, Captain? We will talk of wars and women, the worries of one, the wiles of the other.”
“I have no time for that. I am on the Queen’s business.”
Jeremy looked shocked. “The Queen has businesshere ? In such a place? My dear fellow, I am surprised, I—”
“No, no, you fool! I am looking for two Her Majesty would arrest.”
“Only two? I could name a dozen, Captain, even a dozen dozen who richly deserve arrest. Why, I could name a Queen’s officer, Captain, who deserves to be quartered, drawn and quartered, at the very least.
“Come, Captain. Sit down, buy us a round of drinks and I will tell you such a tale—”
“You are a fool! I’ve no time for that.” He stared angrily at Ring. “You just came from the Tabard? Then we waste time, Robert. Obviously we have followed the wrong men.”
“It was dark, and the hat—”
“To the devil with the hat! There are many such!” They turned angrily, shoved their way through the door and were gone.
Jeremy Ring turned to me, smiling. “Now? You will pay for the ale, will you not?”
“I will,” I said, “and gladly.”
“We will finish the ale,” he said, “and then I shall take you to a house nearby—”
“We wish only shelter, a place to sleep.”
“What else? The lady is a sailor’s wife, and you know how it is with them when her Jack is long gone and there’s the need to live. The best places, the cleanest places in London are kept by sailor’s wives, often enough.”
“So I have heard.”
“Mag is a good girl, one of the best, and she had a big old house willed to her by an uncle, or father, or grandfather … anyway, she lets rooms.
“She talks a bit, but not about her guests. Come, finish your ale, those two might come back, or others.”
There was a light in a window of the tall house on the corner. “That’ll be Mag. She reads, poor girl. Sits up with reading or sewing, and there’s too many do the last and too few the first.”
Mag was a comely lass with blue eyes and a steady way about her, as she held high the lantern and regarded us coolly. “If you be friends of Jeremy you are welcome.” She looked severely from Jublain to me. “But being friends of Jeremy you’ll pay in advance. And now, before you’ve come a step further. He owes me enough himself without bringing others to sleep under my roof and eat my fare without a penny toward the cost.”
“How much?”
“A six-pence, if you sleep in one bed, six-pence for each if you will have two. There’s some as sleep four and five to the bed, so for them its a tuppence each.”
“Two beds,” I said, “and we’ll be wanting a taste of something in the morning.”
I placed a shilling in her hand. “Take that,” I said, “and another for good measure, and worry none at all about us.”
“I’ll not worry,” she said pertly, “and if you are thinking it’s a woman alone, I am, do not think twice about it, for I am never alone.” From under her robe, tied by a string, she lifted a heavy pistol. “And if you think he will not speak for me, come to my door when the lights are out. You will have a bellyful of him.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said, smiling at her, “and if you had not a husband away on a ship, I’d be tempted to talk you into throwing your pistol out the window.”
She looked at me boldly. “That would take more talking than you’ve the tongue for, but come. I’ll show you to your beds.”
The rooms were small, but surprisingly clean and pleasant. As she turned away I stopped her. “Jeremy Ring? You have known him long?”
“He is a good man,” she said flatly, “a bold man, and a witty one, but a good man. A good master on a ship, too, it is said, but times be bad and he was too long a prisoner in Barbary. There’s few who know him now.”
“I shall be having need of him, I think.” From my pocket I took a guinea. “I do not know how much he owes, but put that against it—”
“It is too much.”
“Then he will have food to eat and a bed to sleep in for a bit longer.”
“You are a good man,” she said quietly, “a good man. I bless you for him.”
My boots were off and I was soon undressed, and weary to the death. I stretched out upon the bed and drew high the covers. A sleep I would have this night, if never again.
My eyes closed, and then they opened again and looked into the dark. I must venture to look in upon my father’s old friend. How could I leave him sick and helpless in the hands of Rupert Genester?
Chapter 19
We Sacketts were always good men at table, and I no less than the others. So when time came, I put foot under the table of the sailor’s wife and set to with a loaf of dark, rich bread and some rashers of bacon and slices of cheese.
Jeremy Ring and Jublain were with me, both doing justice to what was placed before us.
“I must know where he is,” I said. “I must do something for him.”
“You do not even know the man,” Jublain grumbled. “You’ll stick your nose into a trap for a man to whom you’ve never spoken.”
“My father and he fought side by side. My father would have died for him. Can I do less?”
“They were in a fight together. It is a different thing. If you go into a
fight with a man, you stay by him until he is dead or a prisoner.”
“Aye, but who will stand by a sick old man whose death is desired? I shall go to him, Jublain, but I shall ask no man to walk beside me. The place to which I shall go is one I can enter alone.”
“It is a trap, and you are a fool.”
“We have a failing the fen-men do. Others may not like us, some say we smell of our fens, some say we are a dark mysterious, murderous lot, but we have a failing that is our own. We are loyal. We stand by each other … or have until now.”
“You talk in words that are vain,” Jublain said irritably. “You do not know where he is.”
“But we shall find out, shall we not? Jeremy, you could do this for me. I sent my man Corvino to Peter Tallis. By this time he may know where the old man is, but Coveney Hasling would know, if anyone does.”
Ring got up immediately. “Good enough! I shall pass the word to a carter I know who is returning upcountry, and he shall carry the word to Hasling.”
Jublain looked sour. “We should catch a boat and be down the river by dusk. There are ships off the Downs that will need men. And you’ve money.”
“I’ve little. Our goods are not sold and until then it’s little enough I have.”
For two days we waited in Mag’s house. Then suddenly one day a boat drifted up to a landing near the house and two men came up from it to the door. One was Corvino, the other was Hasling.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Hasling shrugged, and dropped upon a bench. “You are in trouble enough, and the old man is far gone. Too far, I fear, for him to do aught about a will now.”
“Bother the will! I want the man safe and comfortable his last days. I shall make enough myself not to need what he would offer me, and it is so I would have it.”
Hasling leaned across the table. “Genester came to him the instant he was ill, and made much of his illness and the proper care that was due him. ‘I will take him to the seashore,’ was what he said, ‘and the good sea air will bring him his strength again!’ And so he took him away, and in London all are saying what a fine nephew Genester is, to think so of his old uncle …”
Sackett's Land (1974) Page 14
