soul’s hunger for the purified word of God and, Meg Black continued, that the way to wipe away the hold of the past, was to tackle the demons who’d shackled him for so long.
The reaction had been a snivelling Roger, overcome by his passions, kneeling to beg forgiveness from his mistress. Even Ned’s daemon lost its usual cynicism at the sight. However it did whisper out of the side of its mouth that this was excellent coin to save up for use at a more convenient occasion. In the meantime Ned listened very carefully as the workings of the Liberties were explained by one who’d stood at the right hand of the Lord of the masterless men of the Liberties, Earless Nick.
That information was one reason Ned was sliding so quietly along Bride Lane. This so called lord spread a range of guards around his lair. Though Ned accepted it as a sensible precaution, the other news that chilled was that Earless Nick maintained a scattering of beggars and punks throughout the city to spy out advantages. Ned tried to concentrate on the here and now, but that delightful titbit shook him. He’d already made an enemy of Canting Michael, the owner of the baiting pits and gang lord of half of Southwark. Now…damn…now to find that due to the cursed nuisance, lamb Walter, Red Ned Bedwell risked the wrath of another. As consolation, his better angel reminded him of the honour and virtue he’d gain in the eyes of Meg Black for undertaking this venture. Somehow that just didn’t balance the scales. Not at all!
According to Gruesome Roger, or ‘Hawks’ in this region, a guard should be stationed one building down, on the corner. Ned knelt down on the snow, in the shelter of a doorway, and carefully peered past a convenient pillar. Yes, he could just make out a figure standing in a recess twenty paces away, stamping his feet.
A hand touched his shoulder and Ned almost bolted. Then Meg Black whispered a question in his ear. “Only the one guard?”
Easing back the panic, Ned gave the shadows a thorough inspection. A light crunch of trodden snow told him that Gruesome Roger had joined the crouched huddle. Finally satisfied, Ned pointed to the lurking darkness. A low cough and a plume of white mist from chilled breath could be seen in the light of the cresset lantern beyond. “Yes. He’s alone, so we’ve got this far. Any ideas on how to get past him?”
From a hidden satchel produced from the depths of her heavy gown, Meg pulled out two small items and passed them to him. In the dim light from the few lanterns in the lane Ned could make out a small leather flask and a paper parcel, both commonly used by apothecaries for medicines.
He shook his head. This didn’t seem like the time to dispense physicks! “What’s this? You want me to balance his humours, or maybe check his urine?”
“No, you measle brained puttock. Splash the contents of the flash around your face and neck. It’s aqua vitae from brandy wine.”
Ned frowned and gave the flask a puzzled frown. “Why?”
He could have sworn Meg Black muttered several ‘common words’ that any goodly Christian young lady shouldn’t even know. “Because when you stagger up towards the tavern, he’ll just take you for a drunken clerk.”
He had to admit this was actually sound thinking. However that only accounted for one of the two items. Ned held the spare parcel up and waved it enquiringly, well at least as best as one could in the London evening. Even in the murk he could tell that Meg Black exasperatingly shook her head. She grabbed his collar and pulled him closer and in a most emphatic whisper, told him what he could do with it. At the conclusion, Ned stiffly got up and set about his task. His daemon, however, whistled in sheer amazement. Meg Black was a true mistress of dangerous deviousness.
John Plyborne tucked his freezing hands under his armpits and hugged them tight. This was a perishingly bitter evening to be on guard duty. He’d given up swearing
The reaction had been a snivelling Roger, overcome by his passions, kneeling to beg forgiveness from his mistress. Even Ned’s daemon lost its usual cynicism at the sight. However it did whisper out of the side of its mouth that this was excellent coin to save up for use at a more convenient occasion. In the meantime Ned listened very carefully as the workings of the Liberties were explained by one who’d stood at the right hand of the Lord of the masterless men of the Liberties, Earless Nick.
That information was one reason Ned was sliding so quietly along Bride Lane. This so called lord spread a range of guards around his lair. Though Ned accepted it as a sensible precaution, the other news that chilled was that Earless Nick maintained a scattering of beggars and punks throughout the city to spy out advantages. Ned tried to concentrate on the here and now, but that delightful titbit shook him. He’d already made an enemy of Canting Michael, the owner of the baiting pits and gang lord of half of Southwark. Now…damn…now to find that due to the cursed nuisance, lamb Walter, Red Ned Bedwell risked the wrath of another. As consolation, his better angel reminded him of the honour and virtue he’d gain in the eyes of Meg Black for undertaking this venture. Somehow that just didn’t balance the scales. Not at all!
According to Gruesome Roger, or ‘Hawks’ in this region, a guard should be stationed one building down, on the corner. Ned knelt down on the snow, in the shelter of a doorway, and carefully peered past a convenient pillar. Yes, he could just make out a figure standing in a recess twenty paces away, stamping his feet.
A hand touched his shoulder and Ned almost bolted. Then Meg Black whispered a question in his ear. “Only the one guard?”
Easing back the panic, Ned gave the shadows a thorough inspection. A light crunch of trodden snow told him that Gruesome Roger had joined the crouched huddle. Finally satisfied, Ned pointed to the lurking darkness. A low cough and a plume of white mist from chilled breath could be seen in the light of the cresset lantern beyond. “Yes. He’s alone, so we’ve got this far. Any ideas on how to get past him?”
From a hidden satchel produced from the depths of her heavy gown, Meg pulled out two small items and passed them to him. In the dim light from the few lanterns in the lane Ned could make out a small leather flask and a paper parcel, both commonly used by apothecaries for medicines.
He shook his head. This didn’t seem like the time to dispense physicks! “What’s this? You want me to balance his humours, or maybe check his urine?”
“No, you measle brained puttock. Splash the contents of the flash around your face and neck. It’s aqua vitae from brandy wine.”
Ned frowned and gave the flask a puzzled frown. “Why?”
He could have sworn Meg Black muttered several ‘common words’ that any goodly Christian young lady shouldn’t even know. “Because when you stagger up towards the tavern, he’ll just take you for a drunken clerk.”
He had to admit this was actually sound thinking. However that only accounted for one of the two items. Ned held the spare parcel up and waved it enquiringly, well at least as best as one could in the London evening. Even in the murk he could tell that Meg Black exasperatingly shook her head. She grabbed his collar and pulled him closer and in a most emphatic whisper, told him what he could do with it. At the conclusion, Ned stiffly got up and set about his task. His daemon, however, whistled in sheer amazement. Meg Black was a true mistress of dangerous deviousness.
John Plyborne tucked his freezing hands under his armpits and hugged them tight. This was a perishingly bitter evening to be on guard duty. He’d given up swearing
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