The Marlowe Conspiracy (20 page)

“I need the other code book,” said Will without looking up.

“Here,” said Kit, grabbing a red book on the desk. He slung it over to Will.

Kit straightened his spine until he heard the bones gently crack. Something was wrong. It would take days to go through everything, but he should have been able to find at least some documents regarding Burghley and Whitgift or the libels. He stooped back over the desk and sighed before poking listlessly at yet another file...

In the early evening, when Kit and Will finally exited ‘Chaucer's Books’, the air had cooled and the stink of waste from the ditches mingled with coarse salt odors drifting from the harbor. The sunset overflowed with redness: red gushed through the sky in all directions, rained from the tattered clouds, dripped faintly from the rooftops, made veins about the cracked stone walls, and sprung up from the tops of cobblestones in the street. Their faces tired and perturbed, Kit and Will strolled away from the shop.

“You know,” said Kit in vacant tone, “I think nature is at her cruelest when she forges an artist.”

“Things could be a lot worse,” Will replied with a surprised frown.

“I doubt it. How can we have so much power when we write and so little when we live?”

Will didn't answer. Kit looked behind and twitched his eyes about the darkening shadows of the street.

“They knew we were coming,” he said abruptly.

“Oh...”

“Someone cleared out anything of use.”

“But how could anyone have known where you were going?”

Kit shrugged and glanced into a passing alleyway. Will waited a moment, then looked askance at Kit.

“Was it something to do with the man in the market?”

Kit turned to him with surprise.

“You noticed him?”

“Yes, and I noticed you noticing him.”

“Bloody hell, Will! You'd make a good spy.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Baines?” said Kit slowing his pace. He rubbed the tip of his chin pensively and gave a small nod.

Will gulped. Kit took him aside and spoke in a quieter voice.

“Once, we sent him over to spy on the seminary at Rheims. He tried to poison the water supply. Wanted to wipe-out all enemies.”

“My god...”

“They caught him, though. Lashed him a hundred times. I didn't know he was still active.”

Will listened closely, his face lined with concern. Kit gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Anyway, don't worry about him for now.”

“What should I worry about if not a dangerous criminal stalking us?”

Kit glanced at the evening sky.

“How much cash have you?”

Will shook the purse hanging from his belt. No coins jangled.

“Almost a penny,” he replied.

“I'm broke, too. Fie upon it! We need enough for rooms at least.” Kit pushed a strand of hair behind his ear, paused as if deciding something, then expelled a small huff. “Find the cheapest rooms you can and meet me back here.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'll go and see someone who can lend us a few bob.”

“But... What about Baines? I don’t think we should split up. Can’t I come with you?”

Deaf to Will’s objections, Kit strode away up the street. Will raised his palms to the sky, shook his head, and ambled off in the opposite direction.

With powerful, agitated strides, Kit barreled along Portsmouth's high street. He almost knocked shoulders with people walking in the opposite direction. His eyes inspected every face, watched every movement for danger.

He walked on in silence and glimpsed a slender flag flying over the rooftops from a ship in the harbor. The flag tapered away from the mast and became thin and fine and dark at the end, like a strand of Audrey's hair. Memories of their last meeting in the study fluttered back through his mind.

In the sky, the colors of the sunset trickled away into night. He passed an alley and flinched as a rat scampered away through the litter. As he continued down the street, he took an almost casual, instinctive glance behind...

This time, the sight deeply unnerved him. His face turned severe. Down the street behind him, about fifteen paces back, Baines followed at a distance.

SCENE TWELVE

Portsmouth High Street.

B
aines plunged his heavy hands into the pockets of his overcoat, straining the seams. He plodded close to the wall, letting others pass in front of him, believing himself hidden.

Kit immediately increased his speed, veered left, shot between the traffic, and hotfooted it across the road. Seconds later, Baines meandered out and crossed the road after him.

Kit hurried towards a cross street ahead. He'd left Baines slightly in his tracks, yet in a few seconds the advantage would be lost. Breathing fast, his eyes strained in all directions. A myriad of streets, alleys, and doors led away from the road, but none seemed useful. Suddenly, the grating wheels of a carriage trundled near: two horses, a driver, and a little green cab. Kit leapt out in the road to cross before it. For the briefest, tiniest moment, the carriage completely blocked him from view. When it rumbled onwards, he didn’t reappear on the other side of the road or in any of the side alleys or in the doorways. He seemed to have vanished.

Panic-struck, Baines pushed his way up to the cross street. With a clueless frown, he panned his gaze from one end of the street to the other, almost turning a complete circle. Kit was nowhere to be seen...

...The green carriage moved onwards and followed a bend in the road. On the other side of the carriage, Kit held on desperately, nearly pitched to the ground with every bump and jolt. His left hand clamped onto the cab’s roof; his right hand clasped the window frame; and his feet lay tucked into the loading step. Nervously, he watched the broad wheels turning beneath him.

The carriage itself was well-constructed and ornate. Gold leaf decoration lined the side panels. He lowered his head and peered through the glassless window and found a shocked middle-aged husband and wife staring back at him. He smiled politely.

“Nice weather we're having, no?”

At first, the husband was too scared to answer. His wife nervously jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Er... yes...” replied the husband. “Not too cloudy.”

The carriage turned into another street and Kit readied himself to jump. He sprang away from the carriage side. His feet hit the cobblestones lightly. Momentum swept him forwards but he didn't stumble. Seconds later, the carriage rumbled onwards out of sight, and he started away down the road to find his destination.

The streets of Portsmouth fell dark. Constables with large yellow clubs patrolled the lit areas of the city. Chimney smoke dirtied the night air. Curtains drew across windows. Music and song spilled out from the ale houses and stews.

Kit arrived at a side alley and recognized some of the slouching buildings. The alleyway was deserted and strewn with smashed crates and broken barrels. He approached a small shop and noted a small light glowing inside. The ratty sign held the symbol of ‘Goldsmith’. He stole over to the door, rapped on it hard, then stood back and waited.

A shuffling of feet sounded inside the shop. The door bolt clicked undone and a stout, ruddy-cheeked goldsmith named Gifford Gilbert appeared and stared at him.

“Working late, I see,” said Kit.

Gilbert grinned.

“Come in, Master Marlowe, come in...”

Within the shop, tables and trays occupied the front area but were now empty – their jeweled bracelets, brooches, rings, and necklaces were stashed away for the evening. Amid the low light and the grimy floors and walls, Kit waited patiently and watched as Gilbert rushed around whipping the curtains shut.

“They're our best batch yet!” said Gilbert excitedly. “No defects.”

Kit put a hand on his hip.

“That would be a first.”

“No defects. Honest. Liz's portrait is exact this time.”

“What about the color?”

“The color’s good. The color’s very good – very, very good, if I may say so, in fact.”

Kit licked his lips. He started to echo Gilbert’s enthusiasm.

“Where are they? Have you tested them yet?”

“Tested them?”

“You have, haven’t you?”

Gilbert gave a sly grin then beckoned Kit to follow. They moved to the back of the shop and passed Gilbert’s workbench scattered with delicate files resting next to soldering irons, mixing bowls, and a large cast.

Gilbert fiddled with a lock and they entered a back room crowded with three iron safes. At the nearest safe, Gilbert stuck a key in the door and a large clunk sounded. He clutched the handle with both hands, gave a small moan, and heaved open a door three inches thick. Kit bent down and peeped inside: nothing lay on the shelves – nothing, save for a polishing rag in the middle. It seemed to cover a small bump.

With gusto, Gilbert whisked away the rag and revealed a stack of gold coins. They looked harmless and dainty surrounded by the walls of the giant safe.

“I used one yesterday to settle a bond,” said Gilbert.

“And?”

“They mistook it for genuine. No doubt at all.”

Slowly, Kit reached inside, plucked one of the coins from the pile and held it up to the candlelight. He studied Queen Elizabeth's image and turned it to admire the shape and tone.

“You’re a genius, Gilbert, a bloody genius!”

Gilbert clasped his hands together.

“Beauty, ain't it?”

Kit nodded. Reverently, he made the coin glint in the candlelight.

A short time later, Kit stepped out into the back alley and left the goldsmith’s shop behind. He now held a small leather bag in his hand. As he turned out into the main street, he wedged the leather bag tight under his arm for safety.

Unseen by Kit, another figure stood and watched at the opposite end of the alleyway: lurking by the corner, his blank face just visible in the dark, Baines observed Kit leave and walk up the street.

SCENE THIRTEEN

Tavern.

O
nce Kit had collected Will from the meeting place, they went straight to a boarding house that Will had discovered, and Kit used the counterfeit money to pay for two rooms. Since neither of them had filled their bellies with much sustenance over the last two days, their thoughts soon turned to food and they went for supper at a tavern on the harbor front.

Inside the tavern, light gray walls and a high ceiling bounded the single, large room. A whitish glow hung over the many tables like a harbor mist and seemed to soften the faces and shapes of customers sitting in the haze. People everywhere leant over the backs of stools, tilting on two legs, and talked to their neighbor, while men and women linked arms and danced together in circles at the center of the room, the straps of their biggins and muffin caps bouncing and flying as they swung into the steps and danced in time to the tunes of the piper, fiddler, and drummer working the tables of men seated at nearby stools, stomping their feet, thumping the tabletops, trying hard to keep in rhythm to the music, their drunken moves soon falling out of time and reducing them to fits of giggles. Above, dangling from the ceiling, bushels of rosemary and sage perfumed the air and kept the room from stinking of the fish bones stamped into the sawdust covering the floorboards.