Edward Marston - The Princess of Denmark

‘I’d swear on the Bible that it’s the truth, sir.’

‘Then your tongue would turn black.’

‘I did as you told me,’ insisted Greet, waving the scorched hand in front of him. ‘Where else could I have got this?’

‘From anyone. How do I know it belonged to Elias?’

‘You have my sacred word.’

Dunmow sneered. ‘You’ve never told the truth in your life.’

‘As God’s my witness, this is his hand.’

‘Get out of here!’

Greet slapped the hand on the table. ‘I want the money.’

‘Then you’ll have to wait until Westfield’s Men come back to England. If Elias is still alive, you’ll not get a penny.’

‘Pay up, sir,’ growled the other. ‘You promised.’

‘What I promised was to pay you and Ben Ryden. That means you get only half of the fee — or none at all, if you failed to kill Elias for the second time.’

‘I want it all, Master Dunmow. I earned it.’

‘We’ll only know that when Westfield’s Men return.’

‘Give it to me!’

‘I give nothing to liars,’ said Dunmow, crossing to open the door. ‘Now clear off before you stink the place out — and take that foul hand with you.’ Greet glowered at him. ‘Go on — get out.’

Greet bowed his head obediently and put the hand into the bag. As he did so, he kept his back to the other man so that he could take a dagger from his belt. Dunmow would not be fooled. If they waited until Westfield’s Men returned, then Greet’s lies would be exposed and he would get nothing. If he wanted the money, he had to take it now. When he turned to face Dunmow, therefore, he brought his hand upwards with full force, sinking the dagger into his stomach then twisting it sharply to give maximum pain. Isaac Dunmow goggled. He opened his mouth to cry for help but all that came out was a faint gurgle. Grinning with pleasure, Greet continued to twist the blade. It was only when Dunmow fell slowly to the floor that he pulled the dagger out again.

Stepping over his victim, he opened the bag that held the hand and scooped all that money on the table into it. Then he looked down at Isaac Dunmow, still writhing in pain as his lifeblood drained out of him. Greet gave him a gratuitous kick.

‘You should have paid me when I asked,’ he said.

Leaving the inn by the back door, he walked back to his lodging through the crowded streets, knowing that he had enough money to last him for a year. He began to speculate on how he could best spend it. There was no thought of Ben Ryden now. The reward belonged entirely to Josias Greet and he would enjoy it to the hilt. The long walk took him to one of the more squalid areas of the city, a narrow, twisting lane with an open sewer running down the middle of it. When a dog came sniffing at him, he swung the bag to knock it away and it went yelping off down the lane.

Greet entered a tenement and climbed the stairs to his room. Opening the door, he crossed to the bed and emptied his booty over the soiled mattress. He let out a harsh laugh. Then he heard the door slam shut behind him. Someone had already been in the room.

‘Hello, Josias,’ said Owen Elias. ‘Remember me?’

Greet was horror-struck. ‘No, sir,’ he gabbled. ‘I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

‘That’s because you always crept up behind me before — both here in London and in Elsinore.’ He glanced at the mattress. ‘Would that be Ben Ryden’s hand, by any chance?’

‘There’s been a mistake. You have the wrong man.’

‘It was you who made the mistake, Josias Greet — not once, but twice.’ He pulled out his sword. ‘You tried to kill me.’

‘Keep away from me,’ said Greet, moving to the window with his dagger in his hand. ‘I’ll not warn you again.’ As Elias took a step towards him, Greet raised his weapon. ‘Stand back, I say.’

He flung the dagger across the room. Elias ducked out of the way and it flew past him before embedding itself in the door. Greet did not stay. Flinging open the window, he jumped through it and dropped down until he landed in a pile of offal. Before he could move, a hand closed around his neck and forced his back against the wall. Nicholas Bracewell had been waiting to cut off any attempted escape.

‘Stay a while,’ he ordered. ‘We need to talk to you.’

‘What do you want with me?’ jabbered Greet.

‘We have several scores to settle with you. That’s why we came here as soon as we landed. Master Rooker was kind enough to give us your address,’ said Nicholas. ‘You left it with him for Isaac Dunmow, we hear. We came straight to this rat hole to find you.’

Greet tried to break free but Nicholas was far too strong. Owen Elias came out of the house to join them. He looked at the prisoner with absolute disgust then flexed both hands.

‘Let me go,’ pleaded Greet. ‘I have money. I’ll pay you.’

‘Oh, you’ll pay,’ said Nicholas. ‘We can promise that.’

‘Master Dunmow hired us. He is to blame.’

‘You were the one who attacked me,’ said Elias. ‘You and that other villain whose throat you cut back in Elsinore.’

‘I did that as a favour to Ben,’ said Greet. ‘He was in agony.’

‘It’s my turn to do a favour for a friend now,’ said Nicholas. ‘Before we hand you over to a magistrate, Owen would like a private word with you.’ He released Greet. ‘He’s all yours now, Owen.’

Alexander Marwood pointed across the inn yard to the work that had been abandoned by the builders. The main timbers had been erected and the roof had been started, but that was all. There was still much to do before that side of the Queen’s Head could ever be in use again.

‘Look, Master Rooker!’ he cried. ‘This is how they have left it.’

‘That’s of no concern to me,’ said Rooker.

‘But you pay their wages.’

‘I was enjoined to release funds to the builder once a week.’

‘Then why have you stopped? said Marwood. ‘Give them their money and bring them back here.’

‘I’ve no power to do that.’

‘But you must.’ He waved a document in his face. ‘I’ll seek redress in court for this. You are bound by the terms of the contract.’

‘The contract no longer exists,’ said Rooker coldly. ‘It was signed by Isaac Dunmow. When he was murdered, the contract died with him. And I have to say that I am very glad. Now that I know the full details of the bargain that you struck, I wish that I’d never been involved in it. You are a disgrace, sir.’

Marwood was offended. ‘I deny that charge.’

‘Isaac Dunmow sent hired ruffians after Westfield’s Men. One of them returned to kill him. I have no love of actors,’ he went on, ‘but they are entitled to the freedom to practise their craft. According to the contract you had with him, you are nothing but a hired ruffian with murder in your heart. You set out to destroy the company as well.’

‘They deserved it, Master Rooker.’

Rooker was scornful. ‘If everyone got their deserts, sir,’ he said, ‘then the Queen’s Head would fall down around your miserable ears. My business with you ends here and I have never been so glad to rid myself of a client.’

Pursued by Marwood’s wild imprecations, he went out of the yard and vanished into Gracechurch Street. The landlord stamped his foot then took another despairing look at the deserted building site. Grinding his teeth, he scuttled off to the taproom to unpack his woes to his wife, knowing that he was more likely to get reproach than sympathy but needing to tell someone of his cruel rebuff. Expecting to find Sybil in her usual icy and unforgiving mood, he was astounded to hear her laughing gaily as she talked to Nicholas Bracewell.

‘Come in, come in, Alexander,’ she cooed, beckoning him over to her. ‘Nicholas has returned from Denmark with good news.’