The Playmakers (30 page)

At first, the on-duty sentry at the port of
Deptford thought it was a mirage.

After all, with the Plague knocking people
down like flies, staff resources were stretched, and he had been
standing there with his spear for seven hours straight, without so
much as a drink of water. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks.

He blinked twice, shook his head, and looked
again. No, it had not gone away. It was still there, advancing
inexorably down the muddy road from London toward him.

In his years of manning the big wooden gate
and checking the credentials of travellers arriving at the docks to
board ship, he had seen many types - court emissaries off to
arrange a royal marriage; freelance soldiers-of-fortune setting
sail for a killing spree; wide-eyed immigrants anxious to start a
new life in some Promised Land or other. Then there were the people
he was assigned to intercept specifically - spies, couriers,
smugglers, highwaymen, atheists and assorted ne’er-do-wells.

But he had never seen anything like this.

At the front strode a pygmy - coal black, he
was. But not with the smooth, pixie-like face you would expect of a
pygmy, but the face of, well, not to put too fine a point on it, a
gargoyle. Like the type one could see poking out from the corner of
a Gothic church. It had a huge mouth containing a handful of
misshapen teeth, large almond-shape eyes with half-closed lids, a
squashed nose with two giant nostrils turned outwards, and an
unruly thatch of hair that appeared to be congealed with brown mud.
A giant pair of ears, one of which was bent forward, poked out each
side of his visage like the open doors of a coach. The figure was
approximately a yard tall, with short, stubby legs, and tiny arms,
at the end of which was a pair of hands that somehow matched large
open palms with roly-poly truncated fingers. He wore a flimsy brown
lap-lap and carried a thin reed-like spear, with a rather
nasty-looking point made of sharpened bone.

Marching right behind him was a second
coal-black figure, dressed also in a lap-lap. Only he was no pygmy.
He was a giant of a man, not tall, but with arms and chest
bristling with massive, bulging muscles. And rather than holding a
spear, he was carrying a huge club, consisting of a polished
hardwood handle with a big bronze ball at the end.

Then followed a drummer, beating a steady
marching beat, and an assortment of jugglers, tumblers and
fire-eaters, displaying their skills. The air was thick with hoops
and balls and blasts of flame.

Behind them there walked another relatively
tall man, although much older and more portly than the black
muscleman, with a ruddy, well-worn complexion, and dressed in a
large brown coat and hat. The guard could see he was cheerily
swinging an unusual wooden walking stick with a silver top.

This would have been bizarre enough - the
guard never having seen a black man before, much less a diminutive
one followed by a monster version and supported by a complete
circus.

It was the two animals that got him in. They
were like horses, only much bigger in size, with curving necks that
stretched forward, and long angular legs with knobbly knees. They
had a creamy-coloured, almost shaggy, coat and pugnacious, ugly
faces with huge mouths, out of which came the occasional strange,
braying sound. They were made all the more odd by the fact that
their backs were not smooth like a horse’s, but rather shaped like
two undulating hillocks with a valley in between.

In the valley of the first animal, there was
positioned a sort of small house, made of a combination of dark,
polished leather and a light-coloured wood. The base was similar to
a big basket, full of plush golden pillows, with vertical stakes of
wood at each of the four corners holding up a canopy made of cream
silk trimmed with gold. Multi-hued braids of red, black, green and
yellow hung down from each corner, with gold tassels on the
ends.

Sitting, in fact almost lying, on the
cushions under the silk roof was the prettiest woman he had ever
seen in the world.

She was, in fact, only the third black person
the guard had ever sighted - coming immediately after the gargoyle
pygmy and the muscular giant. But even allowing for the shock of
the new, he realised he was in the presence of sheer, undeniable
beauty.

He smooth ebony skin glistened with health,
drawn over two exquisite high cheekbones. The large lips were
perfectly shaped and two large, round, brown eyes imperially
surveyed all before her. He could not see her hair because it was
swept up in a pile underneath a length of magnificent blood-red
satin shaped like a turban, studded in the middle with a huge,
glistening blue diamond. Her dress perfectly matched her turban in
colour and material. It had a high neckline and long hem to cover
her body full-length, but was cut very tight to shape and highlight
her magnificent figure. She wore thick gold bracelets on each
wrist, which sparkling in the gloomy afternoon sun, and around her
neck was a series of thinner gold necklaces, each successively
smaller than the one before and closing in on to her smooth
throat.

The flash of red against her dark skin, mixed
with the gold trimmings, was awe-inspiring. She was so overwhelming
in her beauty and regal bearing that the guard took only cursory
notice of the figure astride the other animal, sitting awkwardly on
a more traditional saddle.

He wore a well-cut blue doublet and trousers,
lined with grey. The outfit looked expensive, thought the guard,
but not outrageous or designed to attract too much attention.

The man had a perfectly oval, sallow face
complemented by a wonderful shock of brown hair drawn back from an
expansive forehead. Two almond-shape brown eyes lurked under two
handsome eyebrows. Sharp eyes. Quick eyes. The eyes of an
observer.

Nevertheless, he looked decidedly ill-at-ease
on the strange animal, and regularly fingered a small nick on his
chin, indicating he had perhaps had a small accident while shaving
that day.

When the entourage was within a few yards of
the entrance to the port, the guard positioned himself in front of
the pygmy, stood to attention, extended his spear at arm’s length
to his right, and shouted, “Halt. No one passes without correct
papers!”

The group, led by the pygmy, kept moving
forward, as if the guard did not exist. The guard stepped back five
paces, and again, positioned himself in front of the pygmy, stood
to attention, extended his spear at arm’s length, and shouted
again, “Halt. No one passes without correct papers!”

The group kept moving forward.

This time, the guard not only rushed back,
positioned himself in front of the pygmy, and extended his spear at
arm’s length, but jammed it down hard on the little fellow’s foot,
shouting, “For the last time, I tell you, no one passes without
correct papers!”

The guard looked down to see that the butt of
his spear had hit its target, and the pygmy was now hopping on one
foot and holding the other in agony. But he was astonished to note
that while the little black man had his mouth wide open as if
shouting in pain, no noise was being emitted.

The jab on the foot, however, had had the
desired result, and the entourage had come to a halt, strange
animals and all, with the entertainers trailing off their routines
and now standing with their equipment in silence.

Suddenly, a voice came from among the crowd.
“And quite rightly, too,” said the voice, a big booming sound that
resounded through the dockyard.

The guard looked into the crowd, to see that
the voice belonged to the big man in the brown coat with the wooden
stick, who was now walking toward him.

“Quite so, indeed, young man,” continued the
big man as he approached. “In these difficult times, when no one
can be certain of the alliance or beliefs of even their best of
friends, much less a stranger on the road, it is essential that
those in charge of the comings and goings of such a sensitive area
as a port insist on due protocols being carried out.”

“I’m just doing my job, sir, and …”

“Indeed, you are,” said the big man, cutting
him off, and approaching to within two yards of him. “And I commend
you, young man, for your diligence. I’m sure her gracious Majesty,
Queen Elizabeth herself, would be thrilled to know that her safety
and that of her subjects is in such reliable hands. Certainly, we,
in our Royal household, appreciate your endeavours to keep the
common enemy at bay.”

“Household? What Royal household?”

“Ah,” said the big fellow pleasantly, “I can
see you have had a long day and perhaps your skills at recognition
have been diminished somewhat by the hours of steady
concentration."

“Well, er, there’s a lot of fellows off
work.”

‘And you have thus been unable to establish
the link between the dazzling beauty of the young lady here atop
this noble animal and the title, the Queen of Nubia.”

“Queen of Nubia? Where on earth ..?”

“Quick,” whispered the big fellow, dropping
to one knee with the aid of his stick. “It is a household rule
recognised throughout the world that when you mention the Queen of
Nubia, you must go down on one knee, and I urge you to do so, sir,
in the interests of maintaining the cordial relationship between
our two countries - relationships that were successfully
established while the Queen has been a guest these last few days of
Her Majesty at the Royal Court.”

“Guest?”

“Please, sir,” urged the big man again. “She
is watching, and should you not follow the custom she may signal
one of her two guards here to rather forcibly instruct you in the
art of Nubian protocol.”

“Oh, yes?” said the guard, airily sizing up
the pygmy. “I’ll take my chances with the little one.”

“That is a mistake that too many others have
made in the past,” said the big man, standing up again, and
whispering anxiously in the guard’s ear. “See the spear he
holds?”

“Yes.”

“See the tip made from sharpened bone?"

“Yes.”

“Not only is it honed enough to slice through
your flesh like a hot knife through butter …”

“ … really …?”

“But it is dipped in a poison distilled from
the fibrous root of an exotic plant found only in the inner reaches
of a jungle south-west of Nubia. One prick, one little brush
against your body, and the poison races through your very vitals,
bringing you to a most painful death in which you lose the capacity
to breath, your very skin burns like the hottest sun, and your eyes
pop out. Christian men, good men, men who have launched themselves
unselfishly into the primitive lands to bring the shining light of
the Lord to the darkened breasts of these ignorant savages have
said that the fires of hell would in fact be a comfort for anyone
who dies by this means.”

The guard swallowed heavily and looked
around. “And what about the big fellow with the club, then?”

“He’s a little less scientific,” rumbled the
voice. “He simply splits your skull open like a marrow.”

The guard looked up to see that the eyes of
the beautifully dressed dark woman on the strange animal were
staring fixedly at him. He hesitated a second, only to hear the pad
of feet as the two black guards advanced a step toward him. He
swallowed again, looked around once more, and slowly dropped to one
knee.

An agreeable murmur rippled through the
entourage.

“Excellent, excellent,” said the big man,
getting back down on a knee and shaking the guard's hand. “And now,
let me introduce myself, I am Ruf, ahem …” and at this point he
coughed, before resuming again, “excuse me, Alf, that is, Sir
Alfred J. Brownlees, raconteur, bon vivant and the Queen of Nubia’s
representative in Merry England. And you, sir, are ..?”

“William Smith,” said the guard.

“Of course you are, and a noble name it is,
Mr Smith,” said he big man. “The Smiths of the world are the
backbone of commerce, industry, and dare I say it, vigilance. Now
that we have all that sorted out, perhaps the Queen can move on to
her ship, and I can wave them farewell and return to my many
pressing matters of State in my London abode.”

“Ship? And which ship is that?”

“The ship that is taking her to foreign
shores, of course. The next leg of her multi-country tour to
promote peaceful relationships between various powers.”

“Well, I don’t know nothing about no Queen
and no ship. Things are very tightly controlled here at Deptford
and my orders are to check everyone coming through.”

“No doubt, kind sir. But she is a queen.”

“And what about her papers, then!”

“Papers? Does Queen Elizabeth carry
papers?”

“No, I expect not.”

“Well, then,” said the big voice warmly, “in
similar Royal fashion, nor does the Queen of Nubia. Papers are for
the common man only.”

“Well, I don’t know …” said William Smith,
cradling his chin in his hand.

The pair, having completed the requirements
of Nubian protocol, stood up, and stretched their legs, the big
fellow relying heavily on the stick for support.

“What about the other one - the man on the
other animal?” said William Smith, nodding his head to the second
of the two strange beasts.

“You mean the camel?”

“Camel? Is that his name? Mr Camel?”

“No, no, no,” said the big fellow, and he let
out a laugh that reverberated across the docks and was picked up
and mimicked by the remainder of the strange group. As the laughter
echoed around him, William Smith noted with some alarm that the
pygmy guard with the poison spear was also giving every indication
of laughing, but once again, no sound was being emitted.

“Let me explain. The animal he is sitting on
is called a camel,” continued the big fellow. “It is known as the
ship of the desert.”