Fire (11 page)

‘Of course, I will aid you.'

The relief on the man's face was clear and immediate, then clouded with a frown. ‘Your bride?'

‘I will explain. She will understand.' He held up the paper. ‘May I keep this?'

‘Of course. You will need this also.' Isaac reached into the deep pockets within his cloak and pulled out a bag that clinked. ‘There's thirty guineas there. The extra for you, if you –'

Coke shook his head. ‘I will take it in case there's any more bargaining to be done. But I will return you the remaining coins when I bring you back your daughter.' He held up his hand to forestall protest. ‘It is agreed, sir.'

Isaac sat back into the chair seat, a brief smile displacing the pain on his face. Coke unwound from the cramped space. When he was standing outside again, he leaned down and said, ‘I will bring her to you in a few hours, my friend.' He straightened up, tapped the roof. ‘Take this gentleman home.'

Coke watched the chair-men bobbing their way through the other chairs, coaches and pedestrians until they disappeared from sight around the corner of the church. Still, he did not move. It was not how he wanted this day to proceed. He wished to celebrate with his bride, to bring her later to their lodgings. To lie beside her all night, making love – or not, as her condition allowed, he was content either way. Well, perhaps he could yet do that last part. A bit of business in the city, swiftly concluded, and then he would return.

He drew his sword an inch, felt it slide easily in its sheath. He did not reach for the dagger in his boot, though he felt it there. With fortune all would go well and he would have no need of a weapon. However, this he knew: with the Saints involved it was best to be most cautious.

He strode fast towards Covent Garden and caught up with the wedding party on Southampton Street. As the others waited, he took Sarah aside.

‘You are going
now
?'

‘I cannot delay. I am obliged to Isaac and –'

‘Obliged?' She was aware of the shrillness in her voice. Nearby, Mary Betterton looked at her. Sarah continued, in a lower key. ‘And your obligation to me? To this day? What is so important that you can neglect that?' She saw the hesitation, the same look on his face as when he was off to catch thieves with Pitman and wished to spare her the fear of it. ‘Nay, sir, you will tell me. Else how will I explain to our guests the bridegroom's sudden absence?'

More actors were looking now, so he took her further aside. ‘You need say little more than I go to aid a desperate friend. With fortune I will be back even before the feast's end.'

‘But there is danger in this aid, is there not?'

‘Not so much –'

‘Come, sir, I will not be treated like a child. Where do you go and upon what cause?'

‘I do not treat you like a child, Sarah. I try to spare you –' Her hiss made him stop, take a breath. ‘I go to aid my friend. His daughter is missing but he knows where she is and I will go to fetch her back. That is all.'

‘Is she pretty?'

‘What?'

‘I cannot believe you would be so gallant on your wedding day for a homely girl.'

The words were out. She would have them back – and yet not so. They'd just got married. How dare he be the courteous knight for someone else?

‘She's, er, fifteen. I –' He flushed. ‘Lady, what are you saying?'

Behind them, one of the actors had pulled out a fiddle and struck up a reel. Dickon was there in a moment, capering to cheers. They both looked, and when she'd turned back she saw that his eyes had hooded over, in the way they did whenever she tried to probe something painful from his past. She had not seen that look, that absence, for a while.

He spoke first. ‘You are being absurd.'

‘Am I?'

‘This is something I must do. So I will go, and I will return, either to the inn or to our lodgings.' He bobbed his head. ‘Keep Dickon with you.'

He walked away. She took a step after him. But her legs wobbled and she had to lean against a wall. She took a deep breath, and another, until her head cleared a little. Why was she behaving like this? Why? She knew who he was. ‘Captain?' she called him by his rank, the only name she'd used for the longest time while she was trying not to fall in love with him. But her voice was faint. He rounded the corner and was gone. Gone like…

It was then she remembered what her anger and confusion had masked. William Coke, in rags, pallid as any ghost, slipping away from her. She felt a sudden clutch inside. Not the pain of her pregnancy – worse.

‘Sa-sarah?'

She turned. Dickon was there, concern on his face. She smiled for him, hard though it was. ‘All's well. The captain will be back soon.'

‘The cap'n?' Maybe he saw the ghost behind her smile. He took a step.

There was nothing she could do now. She did not know where
he'd gone or exactly what he was about. She could only bide, hope – and keep Dickon safe. ‘Nay, boy,' she said, taking his arm, pulling him towards the fiddler. ‘You owe me the first dance.'

He held the last note of the song, plangent, sorrowful, beautifully sustained. He let it slowly fade, as if disappearing into the air above her head.

‘Again,' Rebekah said, raising her hand above her as if reaching up to trap the fleeting strain. ‘Play it again.'

Daniel lowered the flute. ‘Nay, lass. That was the last time – for now. Till after we are done. But then,' he smiled, ‘then there will be more songs. Of praise. Of love.'

‘And will there be more of other things?' She stretched a hand to him, running her fingers down his naked shoulder, the blanket that had covered her own nakedness falling away. She didn't prevent it falling, enjoying the way his eyes widened at what was revealed. ‘Come,' she said, pinching his flesh now between thumb and forefinger. ‘There is time enough, surely, for that?'

He laid the flute down, turned to her. But just as he did, the bell struck twice in the tower of St Leonard's. So he took her hand from him, kissed it and set it down. ‘You are a wanton,' he said, as he rose from the bed.

‘If I am, 'twas you made me so.' She came up onto her knees.
‘A week ago and I was ignorant of everything. You taught me all.' Her lower lip thrust out. ‘Teach me more now.'

But he was pulling on his breeches. ‘It is time for God's lessons now, child,' he said. ‘God's judgments.' He thought of Simeon. ‘You know what you are to do?'

She flinched at the change in his tone, covering herself with the rough wool blanket. ‘You have told me, aye. I still do not understand –'

‘You do not need to understand,' he replied, his voice still firm. ‘Which of us truly understands God's ways? We only need to have faith.'

‘I – I have,' she said, lowering her eyes, shivering. ‘You have brought me to that, too. It is just that this captain was always my father's friend –'

‘And our Lord's most accursed enemy.' He pulled on his lawn shirt, tucked it in, then bent to her, putting his hand under her chin, raising her face up. ‘Do not question what greater wisdoms than ours have ordained. He has been judged. He will be punished, and the way of it will be both a sign of God's favour and a warning to other sinners.'

‘I know. I believe. Yet –'

Daniel lifted his hand from her face and slapped her, hard enough to sting. ‘No more questions,' he said, his voice harsh now. ‘You have your task. Do it.'

Tears ran down her nose now. But as he stepped away, she grabbed his hand. ‘I will! You know I will.'

He pushed his hand into her tumble of thick hair and she bent her face against his palm. ‘I do know,' he said, his voice soft again. ‘Both love and faith convince me.'

She kissed his hand then, and he leaned down, pulling her lips to his. After a moment he stood straight. ‘Be ready,' he said, and left the room.

Daniel shut the door, propped himself against it and closed his eyes. He regretted much: the sin of fornication, if not its pleasure; the sin of the hurt he'd done her. But his master, who had brought him to faith, had assured him that these deeds were nothing in the infinity of God's plan. That when the last trumpet sounded – so soon! – and Christ came to judge them all, his service would be weighed against his sin. And the laying low of so great an enemy would tip the scales heavily in his favour.

He reached into his pocket, feeling the apothecary's vial there. One more task, he thought, starting down the stairs, and it is done.

The Black Cat Tavern was at the end of an alley that ran alongside St Leonard's church, into Pudding Lane.

Most taverns stank of sour beer. Coke assumed the Vintners must own this one, for the scents of Rhenish wine assailed his nostrils from the moment he pushed through the door. It made him thirsty, even as it filled him with regret – he should have been toasting his bride in the stuff right now.

He scanned the crowd. He did not know who he was to meet. He could only presume that they would know him.

Someone did. A young man had risen in a corner settle and was signalling. Coke did not go over straightway. These were the Saints he was dealing with, after all. But everyone around the youth appeared to be boisterously engaged in their own company. Keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword, he crossed the rush-strewn floor.

‘Sit, sir. Take some wine.'

The young man seemed familiar to him but he could not remember where he'd seen him. Still, familiar or not, he was not there to drink with him. ‘There is no need for me to sit,' Coke replied curtly. ‘Only for you to rise and take me to the maid.'

‘Her whereabouts I do not know. Truly, Captain, if I may call you so. My friends told me you were a dangerous man and might try and trick us. You might even, er, attack me.' He gestured again to the stool opposite him. ‘So once our business is concluded amicably here, another will lead you to your prize.'

Coke
had
considered violence as an early resort. He had no scruples about dealing harshly with these rogues and kidnappers. But his first duty here was to Isaac, and the safe return of his daughter. So he sat, glancing around as he did, again trying to spot the man's confederates. No one immediately offered themselves.

‘Drink, sir, please,' said the youth, waving at the glass before Coke. ‘We have a little time. And you are paying for it, after all.'

Coke, who had picked up the glass, now put it down without sipping. ‘You say someone will come and lead us to her? So she is not here?'

‘No, indeed, sir. Your health.' The youth raised his glass.

Coke leaned across the table. ‘Now listen to me, you puppy,' he said, his voice low. ‘I do not pledge the health of a villain. What you have done to a sick old man is cruelty itself. So the sooner our business is done and the girl returned to her father, the sooner I can drink with whom I choose.' He pulled out Isaac's purse from which he'd removed the extra ten guineas. ‘Count this and be damned.'

He threw the guineas across. The youth paled. ‘No villain, I, but only God's true servant.' He opened the purse string, emptied the coins out onto the settle seat beside him, counted, then swept the coins back into the cloth bag. ‘All there,' he said.

‘Then will you signal the blackguard who accompanies you and let us be about it.'

‘We will await him, sir. I can do no more.'

The youth sat back and stared at him sullenly. Coke slapped the table in frustration; then suddenly recalling his thirst, he picked up the glass and threw the contents back. It was Rhenish all right but not as good as he expected in the Vintner's own tavern. There was a slightly bitter tang to it that had him running his tongue over his mouth. The youth had clearly paid for only the cheapest stuff.

He looked behind. The young man's glumness cleared, as he raised his eyes above Coke's head. ‘There,' he said.

Coke turned and looked back. A stranger stood in the tavern's doorway, staring at them. He gave a nod, and stepped back into the street.

Coke crossed rapidly to the door. The other fellow was a few paces down the cobbles. The young man came up to the doorway. ‘How far?'

‘Not far, Captain, not far at all.' The young man's gloom had entirely gone for he grinned now and gestured. ‘Mind your step.'

They went down Pudding Lane a little ways, then turned right down an alley that ended on Fish Street. The bridge was at the end of that and they made for it. For a while he thought they might take him across it and into the stews of Southwark, a suitable place for such villainy. Instead they turned north, cut up
Crooked Lane, through St Michael's churchyard and on up to Great Eastcheap. Yet instead of continuing west or north, they cut immediately east again, heading back in the direction they'd just come.

‘What is this?' demanded Coke, halting. ‘You are leading me on a dance.'

‘Not at all, sir, not at all,' replied the young man. ‘Perhaps you don't know this part of the city. So many alleys, they are often dead ends.' He stepped closer, peering into Coke's face. ‘Are you alright, sir? You seem hot.'

‘I am fine,' answered Coke, reaching up to his forehead to find it slick. But it was a warm night, and his cloak his fancier, lined one. He'd intended it for a wedding not a chase. ‘Proceed, damn ye,' he growled.

‘Right you are, Captain. This way.'

They turned south towards the river then, but just when he thought the water would appear to his sight, they cut north again. It was true, he did not know this part of town very well. He was damnably lost and he wished he could take off his cloak. ‘Heh,' he said – tried to say. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. He spat onto the cobbles, looking up to the men who had stopped before him. They shifted to his sight, then doubled. ‘Heh,' he said more clearly, drawing himself up. ‘I remember you now. You make music outside the goldsmith's. You play the –'

He couldn't remember what instrument the young man played. It went from his mind, along with his knees from under him as he sank onto the street. He did not halt there, but continued a slow fall until his face was pressed into the cobbles. Figures moved about him then, several more than two now, he thought. His hand
closed over his sword's pommel but he had not the strength to draw it. Someone else did.

He was lifted and sagged between two men. He heard the young man's voice again, but it sounded far away.

‘Hurry.'

A flute. That's what the youth had played outside Isaac's house. He remembered it on waking because he heard one in the dream that roused him – a pleasant one, as pleasant as the reality he woke to. He must have fulfilled his mission for the Jew for he had returned to his own bed. A body lay next to him, as naked as he was. A woman's, by the scent, the soft skin.

‘Sarah,' he breathed, though he wasn't sure the word came out, as his tongue seemed as thick as before. And there was something wrong with his eyes, a stickiness to them. He tried to reach a hand up to wipe them, but someone was holding it.

‘I'll fetch them,' he heard a familiar voice say. The sound of boots on a wooden floor came, then faded down some stairs.

‘Hurry, he stirs,' said Sarah.

Not Sarah. It was wrong: the voice, the scent, the skin – he freed his fingers, lifted his hand and dropped it higher up. Onto a breast.

Her scream was loud. Not Sarah's. It made him jump, launching him into wakefulness. He forced his eyelids open, even as he threw himself backwards, toppling over the edge of the bed. He landed on his back and lay there like a crab unable to do more than wriggle his limbs, unable to focus on more than the person above him on the bed. It took him a long moment to recognise her, even though she was the one he'd sought. For he'd never seen Rebekah
bat Judah without her head covered, her hair hidden. And he had never seen her naked.

‘Help!' she screamed, pulling a blanket over herself. ‘Help me!'

Coke lurched onto his knees, though when he did it was like someone had driven a spike through his forehead. He reached out to her. ‘Maid! Shh! I am here to –'

Her heels dug into the bed, kicking her back to the headboard. ‘No,' she screamed once, and again when he somehow got onto his feet, though swaying as if at sea. She thrust out her hand before her eyes and turned her face away, crying.

He looked down. He was as naked as she. How was this possible? How?

He looked around. His clothes lay a-tangle on the floor as if hastily ripped off and cast aside. He bent to the breeches, tried to pull the stockings from them and place his foot. The movement made him nauseous and he paused to still his heaving stomach. ‘Maid.' He tried again. ‘Rebekah. I am come to aid you…'

‘Help!' she screamed once more, and he realised it was not his aid she sought. Her face was now turned to the door, and the sound of running men came from the stairs.