Philip Gooden - Sleep of Death

‘It was as you had said,’ said Nell. She turned to me, eager to convince. ‘I lost that ring — you know the one I mean. I came to Old Nick and he was able to tell me where my ring was. He reads his secret book and shuts himself away all in the dark and then he tells me that my ring is in the corner of Jenny’s room, hidden in the dust.’

Probably because he’d put it there himself, I thought.

‘Master Revill is thinking that if I knew where your ring was, then it was because I had placed it there.’

‘No, no,’ I said too quickly. ‘I am lost in admiration at the skill of your friend, Nell.’

‘Master Revill needs convincing,’ said Old Nick.

He spoke slowly and his words spread in soft, sticky pools.

‘And you tried the remedy?’ he said to Nell. He was obviously establishing his credentials with me, through her. ‘Plantain, knot grass, comfrey-’

‘ — and powdered unicorn’s horn, I suppose,’ I said.

‘Nothing so fabulous,’ said the old apothecary. ‘There is no magic here, merely a newt’s liver and sliced snakeskin. But it worked, Nell, it worked?’

‘Oh, I am a new woman, sir,’ said my mistress.

I felt angry and jealous. What was this? I knew nothing of Nell’s dealings with this man — and if anyone was in a position to make a new woman of her. .

‘But Master Revill still needs convincing?’

‘Why should you trouble to do that, sir?’ I said. I’d made a mistake coming here. Why had Nell brought me to this dingy shop? ‘I am only a player, a poor jobbing player, no gentleman, not worth the trouble of convincing.’

‘How is Master Wilson’s mother?’ said Old Nick.

‘Who?’

‘You are standing in Master Wilson’s shoes, I believe, while he is away attending to his mother, who lies sick. For as long as he is absent and in Norfolk you will work with the Chamberlain’s Men.’

This time the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. But then I considered: Nell and this old man were. . acquaintances (I wondered what payment she’d given him for revealing the whereabouts of her ring). What more likely than that she’d told him something about me?

‘You didn’t tell me that, Nick,’ said Nell to me, reproachfully. And this, I now remembered, was true. Nell had the notion that I had been taken on by the Chamberlain’s more or less for good. I had not made clear the true state of affairs, for I wanted to impress. So she couldn’t have told her friend Old Nick what she didn’t know. . therefore the apothecary must, surely, have other sources of information.

‘How long do you wish Master Wilson to remain in Norfolk?’

‘As long as possible,’ I said without thinking.

‘I can bring that about,’ said this withered man. ‘An accident when his horse shies on his return or an attack by some wild rogues on the highway. Or, if you prefer, a sudden illness that will despatch him to keep his mother company.’

I was tempted — for an instant. To reinforce his point the apothecary added in tones of drawling sweetness: ‘All of these things I can procure. Accidental death, bloody gashes, a mortal sickness.’

If you had asked me then for my dearest wish it would have been to remain with the Chamberlain’s Men at the Globe theatre, part of the finest company of players in London and, hence, in the world. As long as Jack Wilson was kept at a distance I was safe. But when he returned to take up his — my! — post I would again be reduced to a workless, wandering player, scrabbling for a foothold in another company. So I was tempted, tempted by the vision of Jack Wilson thrown from his horse or bloodied after a bandit attack, or stretched on a bier. But as these images flashed through my mind there came with them also shame and a thrusting-away of any such underhandedness.

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I do not know Master Wilson but he is a fellow player, and I wish him no harm.’

‘Then you are unusual in your profession,’ said Old Nick.

I saw then how clever the apothecary had been. For the first few minutes in his shop I had been a disbeliever. But the instant he dangled before me the vision of my unseen rival, dead or disabled, I took him at his word. Even if only for a moment, I believed that Old Nick could do what he claimed, bring harm over a distance, hurt with magic. I felt also unclean, somehow reduced to his level. More than ever, I wished that I had not agreed to accompany Nell to his workshop.

‘Are you convinced, Master Revill?’

In the half-light on his crinkled face I could see nothing, not even a small smile. His words were drawn out, smoothly spread. . Maasster Reveell. I inclined my head a little, and the alligator swayed in the corner of my eye.

‘We need your help, sir,’ said Nell. I noticed her tone of respect, and that irritated me too.

‘This is no business of Nell’s,’ I said, ‘but mine only. Hearing from her that you are a man of science, I have brought you this for your — examination.’

As Peter had tentatively given me Francis’s shirt so I now passed it across to Old Nick, feeling rather foolish. It was, after all, only a shirt.

The apothecary reached across the green glass alembics and phials on the counter, and grasped the bundle of clothing. He turned it over in his hands, which were misshapen and yet nimble. He stroked the material. He seemed in the gloom to shudder slightly but this could have been my imagination or, more likely, the merest theatrics on his part. Old Nick raised the shirt, all that remained of Francis’s earthly estate, to his nose. He sniffed, then snorted gently.

‘I smell river.’

Well, that took no magic powers of divination. I stayed silent, half hoping that the quack would trip over his own cleverness.

‘I smell death.’

‘Because the man who wore this is dead.’ I was giving nothing away.

Suddenly the man behind the counter stiffened.

‘ Francis, ’ he hissed.

Nell gasped, and my scalp crawled.

‘Oh, Francis.’ Old Nick’s voice had changed from the drawling honey note. Now there was something robust and commanding in it.

‘Oh, Francis. Come back. I mean you no harm and never did.’

But there was a world of harm in that voice. Couldn’t Francis have heard that, even as I was hearing it now?

‘Oh, Francis. Come back.’

Yes, of course Francis had heard the harm in that voice. But he hadn’t moved, he hadn’t escaped. Why not?

‘Oh, Francis. Come back.’

Old Nick was pawing and sniffing at the shirt like a dog, pausing to turn his head up and utter these repeated phrases in a voice not his. I grew very afraid that Francis the servant might, by the force and command of these very words and urged by his habit of obedience, be brought back to life, might return to us all smeared with river slime, might at this very moment have entered into the dim apothecary’s behind our backs.

‘Stop!’ Nell cried out.

Old Nick looked at her. He shuddered again, then looked at the shirt which he still held. When he spoke it was in his normal, drawling tone.

‘It was night on the river. With me — and with him.’

‘Who?’ I said. ‘Francis?’

‘I have no names,’ said Old Nick. ‘One of them was frightened for his life.’

‘And the other?’

‘I told you that it was night. I could not see clearly.’

I remembered Peter’s words: ‘The river is treacherous enough — but not as dark as a man’s heart.’

‘Nevertheless,’ I said, struggling to recall the original reason why we had brought the dead man’s shirt to the apothecary, ‘nevertheless. .’

‘There is no nevertheless, Master Revill. You described me as a man of science, and what I accomplish I accomplish without magic. I have a power, but it will not be commanded. I cannot tell you anything else at this moment.’