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.
