Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

He was probably right. The cries of anger and frustration intensified. One bold fellow tried a leap from the wharf, only to be met at his arrival with a solid clout from a cudgel that sent him screaming into the narrow chasm betwixt the two platforms. Ned briefly wondered if the wharf rat could swim, then recalled how close to shore they where. Oh yes, definitely a soft landing-that’s where the effluent of the city tended to congeal.

He pulled himself up some strange lattice of ropes and looked beyond the surging mob. So far only a few more were joining the rear ranks. The inflamed passions of the mob hadn’t yet begun to flash through the alleys and lanes that emptied onto the riverfront. No doubt the customs officers had fled, though across the way at the corner tavern, a growing number of watchers could be seen cheering on the show. One other with a jaunty peacock feathered cap was running off towards Petty Wales. Ned hoped he was playing the good citizen and summoning the Common Watch. His daemon dismissed that as a fool’s wish. More likely the fellow was off to rouse the riverside gangs like Old Toveys’ Lads or Break Leg John. Just what they needed-eager fellows ready for affray and hungry for spoil. Damn! Once this started they’d have to ring the bells and call out the Ward Muster Companie, like they did at the Evil May Day! That’s when he recalled a tale from his uncle about the last great riot. It would be an act of desperation, but if now wasn’t the time for it, well…

He jumped back down to the deck and ran over to Meg Black. She’d acquired a hooked staff and was standing by the mast, the very image of a determined Amazon. “The steersman, where is he?”

She pointed to a short, grey haired man, currently engaged in belabouring one of the attempted boarders with another stave-like weapon. In fact all the crew had joined Gryne’s men along the side, each one well armed. That was surprisingly fast. He would have expected more panic and confusion without the shipmaster to lead and encourage them. Ned gave a nod of thanks, then pulled the fellow out of the defensive line and shouted into his ear. It took a few attempts but finally the man gave a reluctant nod and headed determinedly for the hold.

Next he grabbed Rob. For a lad who professed an abhorrence of violence, he was certainly enjoying himself. Unwanted boarders didn’t get dropped into the questionable safety of the water. No, instead he threw them back into the mob, knocking over two of three at a time. Ned shouted his instructions and waved his hand toward the aft hold. Rob grinned broadly then left Ned to fill his gap in the wall of men.

It was now that Ned Bedwell began to understand the terrifying exhilaration of battle. The rioters stood screaming at them until one bold soul would begin the next rush forward. The three foot gap between the wharf and the ship still frustrated their efforts, as did the height. However past the crowd Ned could see a couple of enterprising rioters pulling heavy planks off a warehouse. Soon they’d have a bridge of their own. Time was running out.

He’d fended of some eager scum with an axe. Master Sylver may not have approved of his style, though he would have applauded the results. The fellow dropped the weapon, screaming in pain. Hopefully a few fingers joined the axe in the water. Finally Ned received the expected thump on his shoulder and pulled out of the line.

Thank the good Lord for modern technology! He’d spotted the locked trunks during the search the other night, and now having Rob Black on hand was perfect. He grabbed one end of the engine and helped ease its foot into the stirrup slot by the forecastle rail. Once it was firmly in place, Rob knocked out the restraining wedge with a small hammer and retracted the iron chamber. Perfect timing! The steersman had just returned, burdened with a small barrel which he placed cautiously next to Rob. The artificer barely paused and smashed the lid, scooping the chamber into the black grains. He levelled off the overflow and tamped the open end with a rag before returning to the engine and slamming in the primed chamber. For his part, Ned replaced the wedge and with a firm thud from the hammer, held it tight. The steersman in the meantime threw a canvas cover over the open barrel and dragged it to the other side of the deck.

It was obvious Rob Black had practiced with his creations. He easily set the tiller and grabbed the lit linstock proffered by his sister then aimed the small engine towards the mob and called out. “Open your mouth and cover your ears!”

Ned had just got to ‘what’ when the rail-mounted falconet roared forth its fiery challenge, and the air over the crowd filled with a roiling mass of flame shot smoke, reeking of sulphur. The noise! Ned had heard the Great Gonnes fire during celebrations, but that was no help. He’d never been so close to one before, even if it was the smallest at only four foot long. The roar was overwhelming. There was a ringing void in his head that made his eyes and teeth ache. When this sensation finally passed, he lent over the gunwale and called out to the shocked crowd. “Leave! Leave now!”

As one the silenced mob turned toward him eyes wide in surprise. “That’s a warning!”

The mob started to mutter. A few of the more prudent slipped away from the back.

“Reload with shot!”

The riveted attention of the gathering swung across to Rob Black as he loudly hammered another chamber into place and swung the Gonne back until it pointed fair at the centre of the crowd.

Ned dropped his voice to a more conversational tone. “I’ve heard that shot at close range does fearful damage. Tears arms and legs off, and fair rips the body apart. It’s said that it can slay several men if they’re closely packed!”

Rob helpfully swung the muzzle of the Gonne in a slow track across the front of the crowd. Everyone’s eyes were firmly fixed on the tip of the iron tube. It seemed to yawn malevolently in the flickering light. Instinctively they spread out, backing away from the open mouth. Then in an instant the stampede began. Ned was surprised at the prompt reaction-until he turned to look at Rob. His friend had placed the spluttering linstock an inch off the touch hole. The implied threat had been enough. Within moments the wharf was empty. Even the beaten and battered had managed a good turn of speed.

Ned slumped, sagging over the smooth timber of the gunwale in spent relief. Thank God for family history! Uncle Richard always used to tell the story about how he’d been caught up in the mad swirl of the Evil May Day riots and watched when several of the Great Gonnes at the Tower had fired into Petty Wales in a bid to restore peace. It worked. There was another part of that day’s tale, the rancour with Thomas More. Understandably Ned didn’t want push onto that, not here and not now.

***

Ned let out a long drawn sigh and collapsed in the lee of the gunwale, shivering in reaction. That could have been messy-very messy indeed. If the mob had tried to rush the ship, it would have been carnage, though as his daemon commented, how was he going to explain that sort of mayhem to Councillor Cromwell, or even the most pliable of London inquests? Instead of stopping a riot, the trick with the Gonne could have sparked the prelude to a city wide rampage. Anyway that was now a philosophical point. Ned felt it was preferable to face a possible future hanging, rather than a very real clubbed and eviscerated present.

The rest of the crew and guards took the reprieve in varying ways, from joining Ned collapsed on the deck, to comparing scores with their fellow combatants. Rob Black, however, had slumped over the menacing falconet. He had performed superbly. However from the look on his face, Ned suspected that this was the first time he had ever turned the craft of his hands towards fellow Christians. It had affected the artificer pretty badly. For a change Margaret Black, rather than remonstrating with her sibling for the threatened violence, was soothingly stroking his head whispering beside his ear. Just for a moment Ned felt terribly jealous of that attention.