The Scar-Crow Men

‘I will hold off our Enemy as long as I can.’ The spy looked to the Earl and at first thought he was not going to help. But then Launceston gave a curt nod and beckoned for the woman to join him as he threw open the window and looked out into the bright morning.

Carpenter drew his rapier, prepared to die. At the Rose Theatre, he had dismissed the Earl’s warning that he would be the death of Alice, but now he was terrified he had brought about that very tragedy.

Footsteps approached the door.

‘What is out there?’ the woman whispered, growing pale.

‘Go,’ Carpenter yelled, throwing more broken furniture towards the door with his free hand.

Levering himself into the small window, Launceston wriggled out and pulled himself up on to the eaves. A moment later, he leaned back in, upside down, and grasped Alice’s arm. She shrieked as he manhandled her to the window.

‘This is not a time for niceties,’ the pale man said. ‘Do not struggle or I will drop you to your death.’

The footsteps had come to a halt and there was a faint rustling sound on the other side of the door. In the room, the quality of light dimmed, and even the slightest sound became strangely distorted.

Half wondering if he had doomed his love to a different kind of fate, Carpenter held her gaze for a moment until she was dragged up to the roof. He felt a flood of relief.

A crash shocked him alert. The door was being driven into the bed frame, and then again, pushing the obstacle away. His blade levelled, he backed to the window.

‘Get out here, you gleeking canker-blossom,’ Launceston bellowed at his back. ‘Or do you wish to die to prove your love?’

Sheathing his rapier, the spy clambered into the window space. As the door crashed open, he felt like he was peering into an open grave, but then the Earl grabbed his cloak and almost dragged him out of the window. Carpenter had a vision of his death from two quarters: from the thing in the room, or the plummet to a muddy yard where hens ran clucking. But then he was clutching for the eaves and trying to kick away from the window ledge.

The spy felt something cold and dry grab his ankle. He kicked back furiously and gave a tight grin when he met resistance. Nails dug into his flesh and inexorably he began to be pulled back inside.

The ghastly face of Launceston appeared upside-down in front of him.

‘Go,’ Carpenter gasped. ‘You have a chance to get away.’

‘And leave you here?’ the Earl replied, holding on tight.

Carpenter felt as if he would be torn in two. His leg was afire with agony as the talons continued to tear at him, but he knew the thing in the room was only taunting him; it could tear his entire limb off in an instant if it chose. Realizing he had only a moment to save himself, the spy gave himself to his companion’s grip and freed one hand so he could draw his rapier. Leaning down, he rammed the blade through the open window. He was met with a satisfying roar of pain and his leg came free.

Launceston dragged Carpenter roughly over the eaves and on to the creaking tiles. Alice cowered further along the roof. ‘Hurry,’ the scarred spy gasped. ‘It will be after us in a moment. How can it move so freely? What has happened to our defences?’

‘It is worse than that,’ the Earl said, helping his friend to his feet. He pointed down to the street where men in black cloaks and hats were running towards the house.

‘The world has gone mad,’ Carpenter muttered.

Precariously, he edged along the tiles behind the Earl. It was hot in the morning sun and the breeze caught the scent of the fields and woods to the south. Taking Alice’s hand, he whispered, ‘Do not look back, whatever happens.’

‘John, I do not want you to live in this world any longer,’ the woman replied tearfully.

The scarred spy cast an eye towards Launceston before replying. ‘We shall talk of these matters later. But for now we must escape. I fear there is no longer a safe place for us anywhere in London.’

How far does this plot spread? Carpenter wondered as he listened to the cries of the men spreading across Bankside. He couldn’t estimate the numbers, but he now knew there were more than the five they had encountered in the deadhouse.

‘We have no choice now,’ the Earl whispered as if he could read his companion’s thoughts. ‘We must run … hide.’

Glancing back, Carpenter saw a hooked, white hand reaching over the eaves.

‘Where do we go from here?’ Alice asked, terrified.

He nodded towards a thatched cottage next to the lodging house. ‘We jump.’

Before the woman could protest, Carpenter gripped her hand tightly and propelled her towards the edge of the roof.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘Keep watch? For whom?’ baffled, Nathaniel examined the wash of faces streaming along the nave of St Paul’s. Gentlemen displayed the fine silk linings of their cloaks and cutpurses slyly eyed the gullible and the rich. Merchants and lawyers ambled with clients, servants swapped gossip and usurers barked for trade. The din echoed up to the cathedral’s vaulted roof, tongues from across Europe colliding with accents from all England, Scotland and Ireland. Deals were negotiated, bargains made, crimes and conspiracies planned and meetings held. Despite the threat of the plague, Paul’s Walk was busier than any nearby street.

‘Watch for anyone watching me,’ Will replied under his breath. He kept his head down, trying to lose himself in the throng. Every sense buzzed. He edged through the press of bodies, the sweet smell of incense mingling with the sour sweat of the herd. Here and there, bright afternoon sun slanting through the stained-glass windows threw rainbows across the honey-coloured stone, small points of beauty in the middle of confusion.

Will located Sir Francis Walsingham’s final resting place with ease. Many had forgotten the location, but that sad, understated funeral had been burned into his memory as the point when everything changed.

As the old spymaster’s second cousin, Thomas, had hinted at Kit’s funeral, the lettering stood out on the unmarked stone flag that lay above the grave, despite the numerous feet that had trudged across it in the days since it had been penned. Squatting beside the steady flow of passers-by, the spy read what had been clearly scrawled in desperation: In the beginning was the Word.

Under beginning and Word had been drawn a tiny circle with a line through it: Marlowe’s private signature for his closest friend, a message for Will’s eyes only. A code? The line came from the Gospel of John and continued: And the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

What had Marlowe been trying to tell him, and what was the relevance of the double signature of bisected circles? Had Kit meant to highlight the two words — beginning and Word?

‘Will?’ Nathaniel hissed in warning. Half standing, Will peered through the stream of people to see three stern-faced men moving purposefully through the crowd towards the grave, their gaze fixed on Nathaniel.

‘Come,’ the spy whispered. Keeping low, he weaved through the crowd with Nat close behind him. When they reached the great east door, he glanced back and saw the glowering men had caught sight of him. Now in no doubt as to their intention, Will watched them thrusting their way through the bodies in his direction.

‘Who are they?’ the young assistant said with a note of concern. ‘More cuckolded husbands seeking recompense?’

‘Would that they were. Run, Nat. I fear it would not do to encounter those three now.’

The churchyard was just as crowded as the nave. Men haggled for business, raising their voices to drown out the preachers bellowing their prophecies of the End-Times to small clutches of the devout. As he ran past, Will snatched a handful of the cheap, sensational pamphlets from one of the sellers and flung them up into the air. The fluttering sheets only adding to the confusion, as the cursing seller scrambled to gather them up.

The two men raised angry cries from all quarters as they shouldered their way through the throng. Glancing back, Will saw the three pursuers had now drawn their rapiers.