Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Apparently not, for he received such a speculative frown that he suspected his reddening face was clearly visible in the lantern light. Albrecht must have received a lungful of ash in the hold, for suddenly he covered his mouth and muffled a series of coughs.

Meg Black however drew out the long moments before giving a condescending answer. “Why Master Bedwell, I was going up river with a friend on a boating jaunt. If you’re feeling lonely, I am sure they won’t mind if you tag along.” All delivered in sweet mocking tones.

Ned knew he’d coloured as red as beetroot now. Damn! His shoulder daemon instantly suggested Meg was off on a boating trip with some swain. No, that couldn’t be. Surely he would have noticed? Wouldn’t he? The daemon’s feeling, now on firmer ground, reminded him of several young gentlemen who frequented the apothecaries shop. Actually a great deal more than several. With three attractive young girls with possibly substantial dowries, it was surprising that it was not constantly besieged by eager suitors twelve deep, all no doubt complaining of lovesick maladies in rhyming verse. If Master Williams only knew of the possibilities, he’d make a fortune selling love remedies.

Now this was a nasty bind. His natural instinct was to find the offender and challenge the swine to a duel, then stomp all over the unworthy miscreant. But his daemon prompted second thoughts. Perhaps that would engender unacceptable sympathy for the defeated and put him at a greater disadvantage. Women could be a bit odd like that. One more option presented itself. Maybe if he got walloped, not badly, just enough to prompt general sighing. Ahh, perhaps not. Reality and his better angel struck hard at that dream. The last time Meg had bandaged his wounds it had been a particularly painful experience, involving hot irons and the aroma of searing flesh-his! Ned didn’t want to go down that path again any time soon.

So it appeared that Ned Bedwell had no choice. He would have to swallow his pride if he wanted to ensure the protection of Mistress Black. With the suppressed sound of gritted teeth, he bowed and gave the only answer possible. “Why thank you for your kind offer, Mistress Margaret. I believe I will.”

Albrecht’s coughing fit continued. Damn that ash!

***

It was another beautiful summer morning with the water sparkling from the warm yellow sunlight as the boat glided past the leafy banks, rich with the enchanting sound of bird song, while the pattern ripples of the river surface betrayed the lurking presence of trout or pike. What could have been more perfect for pleasure or poetry?

For Ned, lost in a black mood and with shoulder muscles straining, the sky could have been stricken with heavy pendulous clouds, wreathed in lightening and thunder for all he cared for the scenery. Damn Meg Black! She had done it again and he’d walked into it, wide eyed and well intentioned! Here he damned well was, hands blistering on the oar, muscles unaccustomed to the work screaming with the effort of propelling the heavy craft upstream. His annoying shoulder daemon hissed in satisfaction at his disenchantment. Maybe next time he would ask a few more questions, hmm? Anyway if someone wanted to use Mistress Meg high and mighty Black for target practice, damn him if he wouldn’t hand the fellow a bow and quiver of arrows and paint the roundels on her himself!

It must have been the lack of sleep and improvised bed that left him so lack witted the next morning. After the fire he’d helped Albrecht organise more guards, a few in small wherries, so as to ensure that no one attempted to deploy another incendiary device again. After that he could have sworn he heard the bells sound for midnight and had fallen, exhausted, into the shipmaster’s cabin with a bit of sacking as a blanket. None of the crew or guard seemed keen on sleeping below decks. He’d awoken after a very inadequate sleep accompanied by disturbing dreams of grim faced friars preaching doom and damnation while tossing gouts of flame around the city and all the while heckled by the gap throated ghost of Joachim.

It didn’t help that it was a well placed prod from Mistress Black in the ribs that had roused him from his troubled slumber. What was even worse somehow was that she had managed a change of clothes into a very attractive blue kirtle and bodice with silk trim-the Lord knew how she did it! She even looked clean and washed while Ned was left in what was once his best set of clothes, now blackened and grimed. His slashed doublet with the exposed red velvet was a disaster and best not talked about. His aunt would have several kinds of fit if she saw it. As for his finest white shirt, ahh, greying black was not a becoming shade.

After the abrupt awakening he’d managed to duck his head in a proffered bucket of water and convince some of the looser flakes of grit to part company. Though his hair still needed a good comb, from the itching behind his ears he suspected lice had once more moved in. A jug of small ale and a ravel loaf went some way towards at least comforting his stomach and then the day began to look brighter. A smiling Meg had acquired a passing boat and he, Rob, and Gruesome Roger had piled in, for as they were told, a brief journey. His better angel had pointed out that riverbank seductions by rivals weren’t all that likely with her brother in tow. Meanwhile Ned made careful note of the tidal flow. No tidal surges-excellent. So he wasn’t going to experience another of the Black’s practical jokes of shooting through the tidal race at the Bridge. Last year’s single occasion had been more than enough for this lifetime and the next!

To his surprise and relief they only travelled to Bear Inn on the city end of the Bridge and left the grumbling boatman behind. He’d wanted a larger fare. However Mistress Black had targeted him with a particularly icy glare which had silenced the wherry man until well after they’d climbed up the worn stone stairs. It was common practice to disembark on the down river side and cross to the upper river side of the bridge and then engage another wherry. As every citizen of London knew, it was always faster to travel on the river than to battle through the city traffic. So if you wanted to get from, say, Petty Wales to Temple Bar, hail any one of the several thousand wherries and pay your coin. The only bottle neck was the Bridge. This morning it had been open for an hour so the road was still packed with carts of produce pulled by horses or oxen and trudging crowds eager to cross for either the wonders of the city or the dubious pleasures of Southwark.

However they didn’t have to challenge that cursing and bellowing surge. Instead Mistress Black led them a short distance along the waterfront to the haunt of the Hanse merchants in London, the stone walled compound of the Steelyard. Ned thought that bit odd since Albrecht had been left in charge of the vessel and its compliment of crew and guards. So why here? His suspicious daemon of the previous night reappeared. It was an assignation with one of the young Hanse merchants! Some tall fellow, with blonde hair, piercing sky blue eyes, all his own teeth, and wealthy too. That last factor always pulled the girls. The swine was probably a follower of Luther’s as well, just to cap it off. Ned ground his teeth in suppressed anger.

Gruesome Roger must have heard his strangled snarl for he raised one eyebrow in sardonic amusement, and slowly smirking, shook his head. That didn’t make it any better. Ned gripped the hilt of his blade until his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t here for anyone’s amusement and definitely not that cursed measle’s prick, Hawkins, by God and all the saints!