Much Ado About Murder (24 page)

"That is, indeed, the question," Shakespeare replied. "And here comes young Kate, bringing us our jug and, with any luck, our answer."

"Ah, there we are!" Dickens exclaimed, as she set down the fresh jug of ale. "I am growing ever fonder of this Devil Dog, sweet Kate. Come, sit you down and have a drink with us!" He tapped his knee and she perched on it quite readily. He poured for all of them, then gave her the first sip from his mug.

"So tell us, Kate," said Shakespeare, "these boys that were so mean to you that night, do you happen to recall how long they stayed?"

"You mean the first time or the second?" she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Shakespeare frowned. "The first time or the second? I do not understand. Whatever do you mean?"

"Well now, the first time, they all come in together," she said, and Smythe noticed that except when she became excited, she had a way of avoiding the "th" and "s" sounds whenever possible, replacing them with "v's" and "z's" in order to minimize her lisp, so that the word 'first' came out 'furz' and 'together' came out 'togevver.' It was somehow endearing.

"The first time?" Shakespeare repeated. "You mean to say they left and then came back again, the very same night?"

"Aye. Well, all 'cept two o' them."

"You told us there were five of them in all," said Shakespeare. "Do you mean that three of them left the tavern and two stayed behind?"

"Aye, you got it," she said, nodding. "An' then a bit later, the other three come back and they all left together."

"Were Budge and the two women in here all during that time?" asked Smythe.

"Aye, they was," she replied, nodding as Dickens offered her another sip of ale. "I remember 'cause I kept bringing them more beer."

"So they drank small beer, then, and not ale?" Shakespeare said. Then he nodded to himself. " 'Twould make sense, of course. 'Tis a cheaper brew, and so they could drink more. And it sounds as if they drank rather a lot. So then while they were drinking and having themselves a fine old time, three of the Steady Boys left, while two remained behind."

"To act as lookouts, perhaps, and keep an eye on the servants?" asked Smythe.

Shakespeare nodded. "It could be. That way, if Budge and the women started back before the other three returned, then one of the two remaining would run to give his comrades warning, while the other lingered to delay them."

"The devil gnaw their bones!" Dickens exclaimed. "So
they
killed Leonardo!"

Kate gasped and her hand went to her mouth.

"We cannot yet say for certain," Shakespeare said, "but methinks something is rotten here."

The others frowned and sniffed at their clothing.

"I meant something smells fishy," Shakespeare said.

Smythe, Kate, and Dickens smelled their armpits.

"Oh, for God's sake! I meant it seems suspicious, too much of a coincidence!" exclaimed Shakespeare, in exasperation. "Odd's blood! I know that I am speaking English! Why is it so difficult to understand my meaning?"

"Not a word of this, Kate, you understand?" said Smythe. "Especially if you should see any of those boys again, although I rather doubt you will. Methinks they shall go out of their way to avoid this place for a good long while."

Her eyes were wide with fear as she nodded mutely and clung to Ben's arm for support, glancing around at all of them with alarm.

"Hola! You! Wench! Get yer skinny body over here!" called out one of the patrons at a table across the room.

Kate started to get up, but Dickens held her back. "Wait," he said.

"But, m'lud…"

"Wait, I said. You need not respond to such rudeness."

"Hola! Wench! You deaf? We need more ale, girl!"

She glanced at Dickens with consternation. "Stay," he said, calmly.

Shakespeare glanced over at the table where the shouting was coming from. "There
are
three of them," he said.

"And there are three of us," said Smythe.

"One of us with a bandage on his nearly broken head and another with but a dagger for his weapon," Shakespeare replied, dryly, "while all
three
of those gentlemen are wearing swords, in the event you have not noticed."

"You
there!"
one of the men called angrily to Dickens. "Stop mucking about with that skinny, harelipped wench and send her over here! She's here to work, not be your bloody doxy!"

"My friends," said Dickens, easing Kate gently off his knee, "allow me. I shall be but a moment."

"Right," said Smythe, with a sigh, as he started to get up, but Dickens stayed him with a hand upon his shoulder.

"Nay, Tuck, I beg you, keep your seat. This dance is mine."

With a scraping of stools, the three men got to their feet, reaching for their blades.

"Ben, do not be foolish," Smythe said. "There are three of them, for God's sake. And they have the look of men who know their business."

"Then that should make the odds just about even," Dickens replied, as he stepped forward and drew his sword.

"Why is it that this happens every time I go to some strange tavern?" Shakespeare asked, throwing up his hands. "And where are
you
going?" he asked Smythe as he started to get up.

"To help Ben, of course," Smythe said, putting his hand on his sword hilt.

"You were very nearly killed the other day," Shakespeare replied. "Have you not had enough? He said he did not
need
your help!"

Smythe opened his mouth to reply, then abruptly shut it and raised his eyebrows in surprise as Dickens engaged the first man with a quick circular parry to his lunge that sent his opponent's sword flying across the room. As patrons ducked their heads beneath their tables to avoid the flying blade, Dickens smashed the basket hilt of his rapier into his suddenly disarmed opponent's face, then pivoted to strike down the second's man blade, following that up with a brutal kick to the man's groin that made Smythe wince.

"Apparently," said Smythe, "he does not require any help."

The third man glanced at his two fallen comrades, swallowed hard, then turned and ran straight out the door.

"Well," said Dickens, turning around and shrugging. "That was rather disappointing."

Kate's eyes were shining with hero worship as she gazed at him, awestruck.

"If you gentlemen are finished with your drinks, then I would very much appreciate it if you left," the tavernkeeper told them.

Dickens turned toward him, still holding his sword at his side.

"However, I shall not insist," the tavernkeeper added, holding up his hands, palms out.

"Never mind," said Dickens. "We are leaving. Kate, my dear, when the Queen's Men stage their next production at the Burbage Theatre, you shall be my guest. Just tell them that Ben Dickens said so." He bowed to her with a flourish and then sheathed his blade. "My friends, shall we take our leave?"

"By all means," said Shakespeare, paying the awestruck girl for their ale. "Where to now?"

"Back to the Toad and Badger, I believe," said Smythe. "We must put our heads together and devise a plan to trap some rats."

Chapter 11

WHEN THEY RETURNED TO THE Toad and Badger, everyone was waiting for them. They had missed rehearsal, an offense which usually resulted in a fine among any company of players, for if one actor missed rehearsal, it placed a burden on the others that was directly proportional to the importance of that actor's role—or roles, since it was not uncommon for a player to have more than one. But for three of the company to have missed rehearsal was unheard of. As a result, the other members of the company were quite concerned, especially in light of the attack on Smythe. And they were not alone. Liam Bailey was also at the tavern, awaiting news. When they came in, they were at once surrounded and peppered with anxious questions.

"What happened? Where
were
you?" Hemings asked.

"Are you all right?" asked Fleming, with concern. "Where have you been?"

"You three had best have a good excuse for missing the rehearsal," Burbage said crossly, though it was clear that he, too, had been worried.

"I am so sorry, lad," said Liam Bailey, pushing his way through. "I only just heard about what happened. When ye did not come to the smithy yesterday, I had assumed the company had need of ye… I never knew that you were injured." He shook his head in self-recrimination.

"Stay your questions for a moment, everyone!" said Smythe, holding up his hands. "All shall be explained."

"Aye, just as soon as we have had ourselves a touch o' grog," said Shakespeare, as they made their way to a table.

Dickens stared at him. "Where the devil do you put it all?"

"Writing is thirsty work," the poet replied.

"But you have not been writing," Dickens said.

"That is because I have been thirsty," Shakespeare said. "Molly, my dear, a pitcher of your best Dragon's Blood stout, if you please."

The others all gathered around their table as Molly went off to bring the ale.

"What happened, Will?" asked Burbage, pulling up a stool. "We have all been terribly worried, thinking perhaps you had been set upon and left bleeding in some alleyway somewhere!"

"We have been making inquiries," Shakespeare replied, "first at Henry Darcie's home, then at Master Leonardo's house, and finally, we paid a visit to the Devil Tavern."

"The Devil Tavern!" Stackpole said, coming out from behind the bar. "Well, then, if this place does not seem good enough for the likes of you, then you can all three go to the Devil, for all I care!"

"Peace, my good Stackpole," Smythe said. "We went there out of necessity, to make inquiries, not out of any disloyalty to you, my friend. And thanks to Ben's charming a serving wench, we learned some things that may, with any luck, help to free young Corwin."

"Aye, well, Ben is an old, accomplished hand at charming serving wenches," Molly said laconically, as she set down their ale.

"Molly, let me explain…" Dickens began, but she did not allow him to continue.

"Nay, do not explain, Ben," she said, airily, "for there is no need. I know just how it went. You smiled at her with that special way you have, cocking your head over to one side and looking up at her…" she mimicked the gesture as she spoke, precisely capturing the way he did it, "… called her your 'lovely' and told her what a charming voice she had and how pretty her hands were and how you would simply have to have another drink, just to watch her bring it, and then you sat her down upon your knee and gave her a drink or two or three from your tankard—"

"Molly, 'twas not like that at all," Dickens protested.

"In truth, 'twas just like that, precisely," Shakespeare said. "I say, Molly, were you there?"

"Will
!" Dickens exclaimed.

"Nay, Will, I was not, but I have seen that performance so many times before that I could play the role myself. What disappoints me is that in all this time, he has not changed it in the least. Any good player knows to make a few changes in his performance here and there, to keep it fresh."

"He did promise her that she could attend the next performance as his guest," said Smythe.

"Tuck!"
Dickens said, turning toward him with a wounded expression.

"I am merely trying to be helpful," Smythe said.

"Well, I do not require your help, thank you very much!"

"Ah. Indeed," said Smythe, nodding. "You had said that before. I recall now that you prefer to fight against superior odds. Well, then, have at it. I shall not interfere."

"I thought you two were my friends!" said Dickens.

"Why, we are, Ben," Shakespeare replied, "but you know, it strikes me that 'tis a dangerous thing to be your friend. John Fleming here was your friend, and you left him and his good wife after they had grown as fond of you as if you were their own son. Molly was your friend, and you went off and broke her heart. Corwin was your friend, and now he languishes in prison, awaiting execution. Master Leonardo was your friend, and now he is in his grave. Tuck here became your friend, and was very nearly beaten to death for his trouble. I shudder to think what fate may lie in wait for me."

Dickens stared at him with openmouthed astonishment. The others all fell silent, completely taken aback by his remarks. Only Smythe remained unsurprised. He had caught a certain look from Will that he had seen before, and his thoughts had already been running in a somewhat similar vein.

"Why, you scoundrel," Dickens said, quietly. "How dare you?"

"Truly, Will," said Fleming, "that was unconscionable! Wit is one thing, but this time you have stepped over the line!"

"Have I, John?" Shakespeare replied. He poured himself a tankard of ale. "A touch o' grog," he said, raising the tankard and looking at it contemplatively, then taking a drink from it. He smacked his lips. "Indeed. The very thing for a thirsty man. Was that not what our young Kate said back at the Devil Tavern, Tuck? Did she not tell us that Master Leonardo often came by for a 'touch o' grog'?"

"Aye," said Smythe, "she did say that."

"One drink and off to home he went, like a good abstemious soul. A touch o' grog,' he called it." Shakespeare furrowed his brow. "A most peculiar expression for a Genoan to use, would you not say?"

"Now that you mention it," said Smythe, "it does seem a bit peculiar."

"Of course, I suppose he might have heard it somewhere," Shakespeare continued. "Still… 'tis not the sort of thing that simply trips off an Italian tongue, eh? And now that I think on it, that serving wench never did refer to him as
Master
Leonardo.
Cap'n
Leonardo was what she said."

"What of it?" Dickens asked. "So she called him Cap'n Leonardo. What is the significance of that?"

"By itself, it has no great significance, perhaps," Shakespeare replied. "But when taken together with a few other things, a sort of significance does seem to emerge."

"What the devil are you talking about?" asked Dickens. "What other things?"

"Well, a gentleman who owns his own merchant ship would doubtless call himself 'Master' of that ship," said Shakespeare, "and so use it as his title, so to speak, as in 'Master Leonardo.' But a man who was
not
a proper gentleman of rank would call himself 'Captain' as opposed to 'Master,' I should think. He might shorten that somewhat as 'Cap'n' if he were English, but if he were a Genoan, I should think he would say
'Capitan.'
Of course, Kate might have head 'Capitan' and rendered it as 'Cap'n.' That could be. But then I also wonder at how we found no money anywhere in Leonardo's house.