Читать книгу Rebellion's Message - Michael Jecks - Страница 17

In the time it took me to recognize the man from the tavern, I realized that Gil had betrayed me. Quick as a kingfisher, I sprang down the stairs before either man could see me, and was out on the wharf, hiding behind a stack of barrels, hoping to attract the attention of a wherryman so I could cross the river, but there were only three I could see: two with passengers, and the one who had bitten his thumb at me earlier. I tried waving surreptitiously, but there was no response. I waved again, and this time I was sure that he had seen me, but he chose to pretend he hadn’t. He was moored alongside a great anchored barge and was eating a pie or something. Clearly, the man had such a small brain that he could not concentrate on his meal and a desperate passenger at the same time.

Glancing around towards the house, I could hear Gil arguing with his friend, but the words were lost in the swirl and slap of the water beneath me. A dead hound floated past, and I stared at it, wondering how long it would be before I was thrown into the water and floating away alongside him. He rolled over as he was caught by a current, and his paws waved at me as though in welcome.

At last the wherryman seemed to finish his meal and began to row towards me. I waited with bated breath, hoping that the fellow was coming to me at last, but before he reached the shore, I heard the voices grow louder. The waterman had his back to me now, pulling strongly for the shore, and although I waved and hissed frantically like an enraged swan, the black-hearted bastard didn’t once turn around.

Steps were coming closer. In desperation I fled, hurrying along the wharf to the farther side of the house. From there I ran back to Trig Lane itself and stood for a moment, wondering what to do. There was the sound of shouting, and when I bent my attention back towards the river, I was sure that it was the wherryman bellowing insults at me for disappearing. No doubt by suppertime the fool would have persuaded himself that I was a ghost, and he would sink into his cups with the conviction that he had narrowly escaped the devil’s wiles. These sailormen are notoriously superstitious.

There was no place of concealment here. I crossed over Trig Lane and into the yard of the house opposite. There I heard the mewling of a child and realized it was the very house where the incontinent maid had produced a bastard for her master of the house. She was there, in the yard, and I quickly darted inside. The child was in a small cot near the door. I hurried to it and was almost there before I realized the mother was only yards away.

She gave a start, plainly thinking me a thief, but I tried to convince her, by smiling and bobbing my head, that I knew how to soothe her babe. I took it up, holding it at arm’s length, and studied it. It studied me. I essayed a small smile. It still studied me with intense seriousness. I smiled more broadly, and the child opened its mouth to its fullest extent and then let blast such a clarion call of horror that I all but dropped the brute. A hound began to bay, and the maid began to wail, and I hurriedly placed it back in its mother’s arms and ran back the way I had come before the hound could find me.

I was in Trig Lane once more, and as I glanced back at the house, I saw the man with the broad-brimmed hat talking to Gil. But then I saw them turn, and all at once they saw me.

Gil shouted, and the man stared at me as Gil began to run after me. I waited no longer, but took to my heels.

I ran for a huge distance. At least six paces. Then I stopped.

In front of me was the Bear, the man I had seen in the tavern, and whose boot I could still feel on my arse. He smiled at me in the lazy way a snake would smile at its prey. There was no kindness or sympathy in that reptile’s grin. He slowly pulled his cloak aside to display a long ballock knife, setting his hand to it and pulling it free.

Turning behind, I saw Gil laughing and the man with the black hat approaching. ‘Don’t do anything foolish,’ he called.

I could understand that. With that man the size of a bear, doing something foolish was likely to be suicidal. So instead I did something remarkably stupid.

The Bear was only three paces from me, and I had a sudden, clear memory of watching the bear pits in Southwark. So often you would see a huge bear with paws that could crush a cannonball, holding back in the face of mastiffs that sprang and leaped before it. Speed and aggression, when all was said and done, were the way to beat such brutes. Such was the idea in my head as I decided to force the issue. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I picked up some sand and rubbish from the road and sprang forward, flinging it as I went.

Now, I am not large; I am a man of average build, no more. But the sight of me jumping towards him must have made the Bear fear that I had lost my mind and was about to attack. He retreated half a pace, and that left me space to dart about him. He may have been bigger, but that meant I was faster, and I made full use of my skill in the poltroon’s department of fleeing danger.

I took the narrower, winding alleys that ran parallel to the river, rather than the roads further to the north. It took me only a short while to make my way to the great bridge, and there I suddenly realized that my life was in danger again, for there on the bridge were many men in the city’s livery or the queen’s. This was no place for a wanted felon.

It was clear that I could not return to the house in Trig Lane. That was far too dangerous. The only place I could think of where I could be safe was on the other side of the river with Piers, but that involved crossing the river, and there was only the one bridge. Staring at it, I was all the while aware of the men holding their halberds with such apparent competence.