Ink and Steel

Tom’s shoulders moved under Will’s soft-soled shoes, his hands bracing Will’s thighs, and Will was glad of the growing darkness in the garden, as his face heated at a sudden image of Tom, and Kit. Will spat the dagger into his hand and slipped its narrow blade between the shutters. On the second try, he caught the bar. On the third try, he lifted it successfully, and held his breath as it clunked rather than clattered to the window ledge between the shutters and the glass. The sash shifted easily, and the space was sufficient for a skinny man to slip through.

What lights still burned in the house were under the gables, and Will and Tom had been lurking in an upstairs room of an inn down the street long enough to see Baines set off, alone, a little before dusk. Curfew was nine o clock, if he bothered to come home before it; they should have an hour at least, and Will expected the sojourn into the house to take less than five minutes. He looked down, and spoke softly. “Tom, as soon as I’m inside, you leave.”

“Will No.”

“If … If. You’ve Ben. You keep working.” He felt Tom’s rebellion, knew he had no right or precedence with which to command the other man. And then felt Tom’s resignation at the logic of it. This is what a Queen’s Man does.

“All right, Will. Hurry I’ll meet you at the Mermaid.”

False coins shifted against his breast in their soft leather bag. Tom got a hand on each ankle and lifted as Will pulled, and a moment later Will was inside the window and standing in absolute blackness. And how did you intend to find a place to hide a sack full of counterfeit coins in pitch blackness, Master Shakespeare? Purity of spirit, sir.

He crouched, realizing he was silhouetted against the window, and then thought to swing the shutters and the glass closed so a draft wouldn’t bring some servant looking for the source. He traced the baseboard with hesitant fingers, following it into the corner of the room. This was supposed to be a bedroom ah. And so it is.

His fingers found the featherbed, straw ticking, the twine binding the edge. He bit through a knot with his teeth and tugged edges open, heartbeat pulsing in his throat as he shoved the bag arm-deep in rustling straw and tugged themattress edges together, knotting the cord as best he could in the dark. And very nearly wet himself when the door swung open, and a darkly clad figure held a single flickering candle high in his left hand. You must be Shakespeare, he said, and set the candle on a table by the door. The brass and wood fittings of a pistol gleamed in his other hand; Will recognized the black-red color of his hair, the thin, aristocratic line of his nose.

“Fray Xalbador de Parma. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir.” Amazed at how steady his voice stayed, although his eyes betrayed him with a flicker at the window. Will started to stand.

De Parma cleared his throat and gestured slightly with the pistol. Will sat back against the bed. De Parma crossed the room, staying enough away that Will wouldn’t risk a grab for the snaphaunce flintlock in his hand. That’s right, Tom. Just head on home. I’ll be along shortly. Oh. Rather a bad miscalculation, this.

A miscalculation compounded as another figure stepped into the room: slender, blond, with a mischievous twist to his lips. “Fray Xalbador,” Robert Poley said, slouching on his left shoulder against the door frame. I thought I’d heard a mouse scratching up here.

“Poley.”

The blond man clucked and shook his head. “After all that fuss killing Spencer,” he said, “you should have known we’d be expecting your visit.”

“Yes,” Will answered. “I should have known.”

Barabas: Your extreme right does me exceeding wrong.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, The Jew of Malta

Kit pressed fingertips to the cold, black glass and hesitated, his right hand going to the hilt of his sword. The other Prometheans were warded from the gaze of the glass. But Will was not, and so Kit saw Poley turn, saw clearly the half-inch bore of the weapon pointed unwaveringly at Will’s midsection. Saw, as if he floated overhead like a one-eyed angel, Tom’s occasional guilty glances over his shoulder as against his better judgment he followed Will’s instructions and paused by the warmth of the well-lit tavern. Until he cursed, stopped, and turned to retrace his steps.

Just what I need. Bad enough to have to rescue one of them.