his apartment. He said you had panicked when the Spaniards arrived, and that you then escaped with knowledge of the plot to take to Walsingham in London.”
“And they believed that?”
“Marlowe got away with it — he is no fool — and the Spanish will have him safe and secure by now. He betrayed you, but you’ve been very lucky. Once we became aware of your situation, we were able to distract the Spaniards sufficiently to pick you up.”
Fanshawe muttered bitterly, “If I ever see that Marlowe again, I’ll…”
Jack interrupted. “So, how do you know these Spaniards? What do you mean they trust you? And how did you find us… rescue us?”
Whitsun glanced nervously at Fanshawe and Trinculo. “A little too much information, for just now, Jack. However, we are going to take you somewhere safe — to someone who can answer all your questions.”
“Who?” Angus said.
“Dr Pendelshape, of course.”
Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the name.
“But first, we need to know, did Marlowe give you anything before he left?”
Fanshawe looked nervously at Jack. Jack nodded. “Tell them, Harry.”
“A letter. I swore on my life not to open it. He also gave us money for our services to take it to Walsingham,” Fanshawe replied.
“Perfect. If you can hand us the letter, please.”
Fanshawe hesitated.
Whitsun insisted, an undercurrent of menace in his voice. “Please.”
Fanshawe reached into an inside pocket and handed the letter to Whitsun who whisked it from him. “Very good. We certainly don’t want this getting into the wrong hands. We’ll take a proper look in a minute.”
Gift got to his feet. “And now I’m afraid we have some rather unpleasant business to see to.” He removed his pistol from inside his cloak and eyed Fanshawe and Trinculo.
“Jack, Angus, you may want to look away. What we have to do is unfortunate, but necessary.”
Jack was incredulous. “Hold on, you’re not going to…”
“Don’t intervene, Jack, these people already know far too much — their knowledge could wreck our plans.”
As Gift spoke, he was unaware of the odd figure approaching a little way down the track. He was perched up on a donkey and wore a grey hooded cloak — a bit like a friar from a monastery. As he reached the group, he dismounted and led the donkey towards them.
Whitsun and Gift were distracted, and Gift surreptitiously reholstered his weapon.
“What now?” he muttered impatiently.
The figure walked slowly towards them, the hood of his cloak covering his head. He did not reveal his face.
“What do you want old man?” Gift said.
“Alms for the poor.”
“We have nothing, go away,” Whitsun replied in frustration. “We’re busy.”
“In that case, peace be with you.”
Without raising his head, the friar made a sign of the cross in the air. Then, as Whitsun and Gift started to turn away disinterestedly, he placed his hand inside his cloak and withdrew a heavy wooden club. The first blow caught Gift square on the head and he crumpled to the ground. Whitsun reached for his weapon, but he was not quick enough. With his second blow, the friar buried the club into Whitsun’s face. He fell to his knees clutching his nose. The friar landed a second blow to Whitsun’s head and he too fell unconscious to the ground.
“As I said — peace be with you — brothers.”
The friar threw back his hood and his face was revealed.
“Monk!” Fanshawe cried. Immediately Fanshawe and Trinculo embraced their old friend.
“Steady, steady.”
“But how…?”
“You didn’t think I would let the great Fanshawe Players leave town without me, did you?”
“You followed us?”
“We were thrown out of the buttery late last night. I checked Marlowe’s rooms — but he had gone… and so had you. I searched college, but found not a trace. I had to sleep in one of the staircases. This morning, I went out into the street. I saw you come out of King’s College and I was about to shout, and then I saw those two men take you. I decided to follow…”
They laughed. “Thank you for that Monk. I didn’t know you cared.”
Monk shrugged, sheepishly. “You’re the only family I have.”
Jack knelt down to inspect Whitsun and Gift.
“Are they dead?” Angus asked.
Jack felt for their pulses. “No, but they’re out for the count.”
“What do we do?”
Jack thought to himself. “They can take us to Pendelshape, but on the other hand, they are completely ruthless. Look what they just tried to do.”
Monk wielded his club. “I say we finish them off right now.”
Jack put up his hand. “No. You don’t want blood on your hands. We’ll tie them up nice and tight — that’ll give us time to get away. Angus, you help me search them for anything useful.”
A moment later, Jack and Angus were rummaging through the clothes and belongings of the two men while Fanshawe, Trinculo and Monk prepared to leave.
Angus removed the two pistols. “We’ll take those for a start.”
“And I think we’ll have Marlowe’s letter back,” Jack said.
Jack felt a smooth object in one of the inside pockets. He looked round to be sure that the others were busy. “Hey, Angus,” he whispered. “How much do you think VIGIL would like to get hold of a Revisionist time phone?”
Angus smiled, slyly, revealing the object he had just recovered from Whitsun.
“Or even two Revisionist time phones.”
The Gross Keys
Jack smelled it first: the stench of two hundred thousand people bundled together into a few hundred acres of narrow, fetid streets, slippery with the slime of rubbish. As they walked on, timber and plaster houses rose above them — their upper floors built out over the lower floors so that they almost met at the top. Periodically, refuse was thrown from the windows straight into the gloomy, sunless streets below. You had to take care to avoid a direct hit. Some parts of the streets were little better than open sewers. Despite the overcrowding, there was still room for over a hundred and twenty churches as well as an entire cathedral. Fanshawe mentioned that God had little pity on the residents who were targeted by swindlers, pickpockets, cutpurses, cozeners and countless other forms of low- life. If the undesirables didn’t get you, disease probably would. The place was racked with it — bubonic plague, tuberculosis, measles, rickets, scurvy, smallpox and dysentery. Yet despite all this, there wasn’t a city to match it in England or even Europe. This was a city destined to become the centre of the largest empire the world had ever seen. A city that was vibrant, bustling and dangerous: London.
For Jack and Angus, it was the smell they found hardest to get used to. Then there was the lack of drinking water. Water was dangerous as it might carry disease. Ale was the next best thing. It was mostly weak but there were stronger brews. That morning at breakfast, Fanshawe had thought nothing of downing two pints of a cloudy liquid with no froth, called ‘Mad Dog’. If you didn’t like Mad Dog you could try Huffcap, Merry-go-down or Dragon’s Milk. Or if you were feeling brave you might prefer Go-by-the-wall or Stride Wide. Not wanting to die of thirst, Jack and Angus had little choice but to try some. Mad Dog was certainly an acquired taste and it was all Jack could do
