The Devil and His Boy (6 page)

“Dirty postcard?” A man with a broken nose, several broken teeth and a badly twisted neck had suddenly stepped in front of Tom. “Want to buy a dirty postcard?” he asked.

“No…”

“Each one’s engraved! And you won’t find a filthier sonnet!”

“No thank you!”

The innkeeper had advised Tom to go to St Paul’s Cathedral and that at least was easy to find. The driver of the cart pointed the way and Tom followed a narrow, curving lane until it suddenly opened into a great square where a priest, dressed in black and white, was addressing a crowd of a hundred people. The cathedral stood behind them; a mountain of bricks and stone, of soaring windows and towers. Tom wouldn’t have believed it was possible to build anything as big as this. The main tower seemed almost to touch the sky – and surely would have if only it hadn’t managed to lose its steeple.

He went inside.

It was almost noon and St Paul’s was beginning to empty. Tom walked slowly up the central aisle, its great stone pillars standing like some enchanted forest all around him. A door slammed shut and the sound echoed through the chamber. There were a few men lounging against the pillars. Some were talking in low voices. In the shadows, one man was counting coins into the outstretched palm of another. Everyone in the church seemed to be watching someone else and it occurred to Tom that nobody was actually praying.

He reached a tall, wooden door, covered from top to bottom with slips of paper. A handful of men had been examining these as Tom approached but now they dispersed and he found himself alone. The pieces of paper were covered with words. Tom recognized a few of the letters but, of course, he couldn’t read.

“What are you looking for, my dear boy?”

The speaker was a small, fat man, almost as round as he was tall. He reminded Tom of a snowman. His eyes were as black as coal. His nose was long and pointed. And his head seemed to balance on his shoulders without the benefit of a neck. He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt, frayed at the elbows. The fur on his collar looked suspiciously like rat.

“What?” Tom wasn’t even sure that the man was talking to him.

“You’re new in town.” The man smiled. His lips were wet and rubbery. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I only got here today.” Tom was afraid to give any information away. He had taken an immediate dislike to the man without quite knowing why.

But the man seemed unaware of it. “You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “My name is Grimly. James Grimly at your service!” He tried to bow but his stomach was too round and didn’t have anywhere to bend. “So you are looking for work?”

“I might be…”

“How nice.” The man ran his eyes over Tom rather as if he were inspecting a horse or a piece of meat. “If you were – that is – looking for work,” he went on, “I might be able to help.”

“How?”

“I have a large number of people in my employment. Young lads like yourself. James Grimly’s boys are well-known on the streets of London.”

“What sort of work do they do?” Tom asked, feeling more uneasy by the minute.

“It’s charity work,” Grimly explained. He giggled. “Yes. There are people, you see, who need to give to charity. And so it follows that there must be people who
are
charity. That’s what I supply. That’s my boys.”

Tom didn’t quite understand this, nor did he like it. “Thank you, Mr Grimly,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Your choice, my dear fellow. Of course it is! Maybe soon you’ll change your mind. But for now I leave you to dine with Duke Humphrey!”

Tom frowned, not knowing what he meant.

Grimly pointed at a large, stone tomb. “Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester!” he explained. “No money? No food? Then you’re on your own with him!” The little man laughed and walked away, his boots clattering on the stone floor.

Relieved to see him go, Tom turned and was about to go back the way he had come when he stopped and froze.

The main door must have opened and closed while he was talking to Grimly. A man had come in and was talking to another cluster of men, asking them questions. Even from a distance, Tom recognized his long black hair, his slim, languid body, his penetrating blue eyes. Gamaliel Ratsey had followed him to London. Somehow he had overtaken him on the road. If he so much as raised his head, he would see him. Tom knew he had to hide.

He looked the other way. James Grimly had almost reached the far door and before he knew quite what he was doing, Tom had caught up with him. Grimly’s snowball head swivelled on his shoulders. He didn’t look surprised to see Tom.

“My dear boy!” he said. “My most likeable fellow! Do I take it that you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes,” Tom blurted out. “I have.” He was almost whispering, afraid that Ratsey would hear him even though he was right on the other side of the cathedral.

“Then let’s hurry to my offices before you change your mind again,” Grimly said. “We’ll have to prepare you for your work. It will mean certain … changes. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can start.”

Tom nodded, although he had heard little of what the man had said.

Leaving Paul’s Walk behind them, the two set off together.

Grimly had a yard at the end of a dark, narrow alleyway near the Thames. The city was much quieter here, with fewer people on the streets and a damp, evil-smelling fog in the air. Slimy water and mud rose over Tom’s ankles as the two of them hurried towards a pair of mouldering wooden gates.

“My home,” Grimly muttered. He opened the gates and ushered Tom inside. The gates led into a rough, partly cobbled courtyard, squeezed between three buildings that seemed to be leaning on each other to stay upright. Tom looked around him. Set in the middle of the courtyard was a single, wooden chair with a high back and solid arms and legs. Tom had no idea what the chair was for. But there was something about it that made him go cold inside.

“Belter!” Grimly called. “Snivel! Get the book! Get out here! We have a new recruit!”

Almost at once a door at the side of the courtyard flew open and two men hurried out. The first of these, the man called Belter, was huge and muscular, completely bald with a face that hadn’t quite formed, like an over-sized baby. He was naked to the waist. He had no hair on his chest and his nipples were black. Snivel was older, a crumpled bag of a man, carrying a leather-bound book underneath his withered arm.

“A new recruit?” Snivel rasped. He licked his lip. “From Paul’s Walk?” he asked.

“Where else?” Grimly turned to Tom. “We’ll prepare you straight away.”

“Prepare me?” Tom was getting more nervous by the second. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I told you. It’s for charity!”

“Charity!” Snivel agreed.

“What sort of charity?” Tom demanded.

Grimly sighed. “The homeless and the disabled,” he explained. “I’ve got boys all over London. On street corners. Outside churches. They’re Grimly’s boys.”

“You mean they’re beggars!”

“Exactly. But they’re special beggars. They work for me and I take half of what they earn. But in return I help them, you see. I
adjust
them.” Grimly flicked a finger in Tom’s direction. “Take a boy like you. You’re a little thin. A little ragged. But how much do you think that’s worth? Good people, charitable people, people with money … they want something more. Oh yes, they might give a penny to a child shivering with cold. But how much do you think they’d give to that same child,
missing a leg
?”

Grimly had barely spoken the last three words before Tom was running for the gate. But Belter had been expecting it. Before Tom had taken two paces he was grabbed from behind and dragged, screaming to the wooden chair. There was nothing he could do as he was forced down, his hands and feet securely fastened with rope. It was over in a matter of seconds. By the time the giant had finished with him Tom was sitting helplessly, unable to move.

“Let me go!” he shouted. “I’ve changed my mind! I don’t want to work for you!”

Grimly touched a finger to his lips. “Don’t shout,” he said in a soft, soothing voice. “It won’t hurt that much.”

Belter had produced a dirty canvas bag from somewhere. He dropped it on the cobbled ground and Tom heard it clink.

“Now what shall we do with him?” Grimly asked. “How about one arm and one leg?”

Snivel had opened his book. “We did one of those last week,” he said.

“All right then. Just the legs.” Grimly smiled at Tom. “He’s a handsome fellow. Interesting hair colour. Nice eyes. Let’s leave the top half alone.”

Belter grabbed hold of him and Tom screamed.

Then the doors of the yard crashed open.

Tom was too far gone to understand fully what was happening but he became dimly aware that Belter had straightened up again and that Grimly was walking forward with a look of annoyance on his face. “You!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Tom forced his head to turn so that he could see the new arrival. A boy a couple of years older than himself was standing by the open door, leaning against the wall and smoking a pipe. He was looking at the scene with what could only be described as an amused smile. Tom thought he had seen the boy somewhere before but he knew that was impossible.

“Let the boy go,” the new arrival demanded.

“What?” Grimly looked more sad than angry. “But he came here of his own choice,” he protested. “I found him at Paul’s Walk…”

“Oh yes! And you explained to him all about your little ‘adjustments’ I’m sure. Just like all the others!”

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! We can talk about this…!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Snivel reaching into a fold in his shirt. While Grimly prattled on, the old man’s hand inched out and now it was holding a wicked-looking knife. Tom opened his mouth to call out a warning to the boy but there was no need. In a single movement he swept back his cloak to reveal a short sword which was suddenly out of its scabbard and in his hand, slicing through the air. The blade caught the edge of the knife, tore it out of Snivel’s hand and sent it spinning through the air to clatter harmlessly on the ground. Then the point of the boy’s sword was at Grimly’s throat, pressing against the skin.

“Please!” Grimly’s black eyes bulged. A bead of sweat trickled over his neck. “This is just business. It’s nothing to do with you. He’s my boy. I found him.”

The boy shook his head and pressed a little harder with the sword. “Not this one, Grimly. He’s a friend of mine. Let him go.”

A
friend of mine?
So Tom was right. He had seen the boy somewhere before. But where?

Grimly had one last try. “But look at him!” he moaned. “Nice face. Intelligent eyes. But sad with it. We were just going to take off his legs. He’ll earn a fortune.”

“Maybe,” the boy replied. “But you won’t be alive to see it.” His hand tightened on the sword. “I’ve often thought London would be better off without you, Grimly,” he said. “All I need is the excuse…”

“No! Take him!” Grimly was on the edge of tears and his voice was a whisper. Belter and Snivel ran forward and a few seconds later the ropes had fallen away and Tom was able to stand up.

“This way…” the boy said. He had lowered his sword but his eyes never left the three men.

Tom staggered over to him and he and the boy left the yard together. It was only when they had reached the end of the alley and emerged into the main street that he realized two things.

The first thing was that he
did
know the boy. He had seen him the night before at the Red Lion, stealing a purse in the middle of the play.

And the second thing was that he wasn’t a boy at all. He might be wearing trousers, carrying a sword and smoking a pipe, but Tom had just been rescued by a girl!

“My
name,” she said, “is Moll Cutpurse.”

“Cutpurse?” Tom frowned. “Is that your real name?”

“One of them. I’ve got lots.” Moll thought for a moment. “I used to be called Mary but I soon put a stop to that. Much too girlish.” She rubbed her chin as if hoping to find stubble there. “You wouldn’t want to be a girl,” she said. “Not in the sixteenth century!”

“What do you do?” Tom asked.

“What do you think I do?” Moll exclaimed. “I’m a thief. A highly qualified thief. In fact, I came top in my class!”

She and Tom were sitting in a small, square room above a shoe shop. The building was perched on the south bank of the river, so close that Tom could hear the water lapping against the brickwork. The single room contained a bed, two chairs, a table, a cupboard and a small fire that struggled to keep out the damp. However, the windows had glass. The roof didn’t leak. And, as Moll was quick to point out, it didn’t have rats.

She had warmed up some stew over the fire and served it on two thick slices of bread – she had no plates. Somewhere she had found a bottle of wine. Now the two of them were gazing at each other over the table.

“Do you have parents?” Tom asked.

“My father used to run the shoe shop downstairs,” Moll replied. “But he died of the plague. My mother too. I think I had a brother but he disappeared. Anyway, I’m on my own now.”

There was a long silence. Moll leant forward and put another log on the fire. The flames reached out tiredly to consume it.

“I suppose you want to know how I found you,” Moll said.

“Yes.”

“It was just luck, really. I was at Paul’s Walk. I go there. Everyone does. I saw you meet up with Grimly and I followed you.”

“But why? Why did you save me?”

“Because I wanted to kill you myself.”

Tom stared. Moll was still wearing her sword and he waited for her to draw it – but her hands didn’t move.

“You cost me plenty at the Red Lion,” she went on. “I’d never seen so many purses. I’d have had a dozen of them if it hadn’t been for you. And you could have got me hanged!”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s a bit late for that now.”

Tom gestured at the sword. “So why haven’t you?” he asked. “Killed me, I mean.”

Moll shrugged. “Because if you were stupid enough to go off with James Grimly you were probably too stupid to know what you were doing at the Red Lion. Anyway, don’t ask too many questions or I may change my mind.”