Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

One level done-two more and he would be on the thatching of the roof! Luckily his ambushers had picked a street with few overhanging levels. The walls here were almost vertical with that slightly drunken lean so typical of city buildings.

Ned had figured that the hunters were each side of the alley, probably in the upper storeys. So if he couldn’t go down the lane, then he would go over it. At the very least, that’d cut down the numbers firing at him. As Ned struggled to hold on to the rotten timbers of a third level sill, he heard the commotion below in the street. His unexpected solution seemed to have upset his ambushers. After a loud crash, two men burst onto the alley. Ned risked a perilous glimpse over his shoulder at the sound and what he saw sent chills up his spine, and despite the pain, his fingers gripped their purchase that much harder.

Below him one of the assailants had the expected weapon. However it was unlike any common harquebus he had seen. Firstly it was shorter in length, and what was really concerning and damned unfair, was that the owner didn’t need to go through the laborious process of loading that Ned had so embarrassingly tried. No, instead he just flipped out a chamber in the breech and inserted a new one, handed across by his companion, a tall fellow with a flashy peacock feathered cap.

And here was Ned, invitingly exposed less than an arm’s length from the shelter of the roof, while the fellow below could leisurely line up his shot. No use waiting around. With a very brief prayer to his guardian saint, he took a chance and pushing straining, aching muscles, swung up. In mid flight Ned heard the whoosh of the priming pan ignite and every instant expected the savage tearing of the ball. No! Somehow he made it un-slain and pulled himself up the steep pitched slope away from the view of the pair in the street. Catching a quick lungful of air, he heard the echo of cursed invective from the below and gave a grim smile. Rob Black would be very amused. The limits of modern technology had saved him-the touch hole from the priming pan was fouled.

Making the most of his opportunity, he climbed to the ridge and followed the irregular roofline. He had several minutes at least before any real pursuit. At this moment Ned was very glad that Londoners universally ignored the building statutes. It made his passage much easier, jumping from one roof to another until he emerged four lanes and several irate inhabitants away, before dropping back to the street level.

Leaning against a stone wall south of Crooked Lane, he suppressed the trembling that shook his limbs. His best gamble was to cut down to the river and grab a wherry. Considering what had just happened, he needed to get to Smarts Key wharf as fast as possible. Though the question was, were they trying to kill him for what he had done, or because of Meg Black’s not so hidden affairs?

***

In Ned’s life the natural pattern of events never quite matched his attempt to establish the order or precedence he desired. For instance on reaching Smarts Key Wharf, the first person he saw wasn’t the sought for Rob Black. Instead fate decreed that it was to be his sister in her guise of the apothecary and amateur surgeon. After the briefest flicker of a frown from the Mistress of the vessel at his disreputable appearance, Ned found himself dragged into the ship master’s cabin and held down firmly by one of Gryne’s men. His minor wounds were then poked, prodded, pinched, plucked and finally salved with the most eye wateringly painful ointment he had ever had the misfortune to come across. Though it was passingly tender when compared with her removal of the splinters! It was an experience he hoped never to repeat. Damn, why couldn’t she apply to be a barber surgeon? Then at least she’d have a few more victims to practice on.

With a muttered thanks Ned escaped before Mistress Black decided to continue her ministrations. Luckily though, by this time, she had eyed the grubby bandage on the wrist of one of Gryne’s men, and was suitably distracted. Back on the deck he came upon a member of the crew involved in an intricate operation on one of the ropes coming off the middle mast, and gained directions to Rob’s present location, down in the hold, a level or so under the shipmaster’s cabin at the rear.

His friend was occupied pulling off panels of timber with an iron bar from what Ned thought was the inner side of the vessels stern. He didn’t know much about ships but he had this worrying suspicion that if Rob Black continued, the brown waters of the Thames may flood in putting an end to all their worries.

“Won’t we sink if you do that?” He tried to make it a casual question, but the quaver of concern was nonetheless present.

His friend continued to pull off a distressingly large plank, but so far no spurt of river. “You’d think so wouldn’t you Ned? This morning I recalled a talk with Albrecht last year about smuggling, and along with some advice from the steersman Wilhelm regarding some of the tricks in common usage, so I thought to put his words to the test.”

“You mean he revealed all the smuggling caches?” Ned was incredulous. He thought that it would take a great deal more leverage to get the Hanse to give forth on trade secrets and he’d never found Albrecht that forthcoming. He knew Meg trusted him, but then she was a woman and they were known to be unpredictable and impulsive.

Rob just shrugged and continued his work with the iron bar. “He told me of the more easily found ones…Arrh…then hinted at a couple of others that….that may have been used. Albrecht didn’t mention this area at all! When I’d…crawled all over the ship…I thought that if I really wanted to hide cargo where would I put it? So here we…Arrrrh!”

Ned bent down and helped pull the last planks aside. The joint effort revealed a cavity large enough for two dozen medium sized barrels. Which of course was full! Ned picked up the nearby lantern and swung it closer for a better view. So much for trust between business partners! Rob’s hand shot out, grabbing and yanked him back before he could peer into the dark space.

“What!” It was an angry cry filled with offence and Ned was making no apologies. Rob had just slammed his bandaged side into a post.

His friend took the lantern from his hand and dragged him several paces back. “Ned, that wouldn’t be a good idea.” Rob spoke firmly and quietly but it made no difference. Ned was getting very tired of being pulled or poked by the highhanded siblings of the Black clan.

“Damn you Rob! Why not? We’ve got to find out what’s going on!”

“Because, Red Ned Bedwell, those barrels in there have the King’s mark on them.”

Ned wasn’t in a mood to take this. “So? It’s an evil time we live in! Everyone steals and smuggles, the King’s goods included!”

Rob still held him firmly against the post despite his struggles and whispered close to his ear. “These Ned are different. They bear the mark of the King’s powder.”

A sudden chill clambered its way up the ladder of his spine. Damn that powder of devil’s fire! The stuff had the most pernicious habit of turning up where it would cause the most mayhem. Ned carefully put down the lantern, hoping its flickering flame was well enough away from the dangerous powder.

“Ohh…of course. I see. Ahh, anything else unexpected?” Ned’s hands felt suddenly very sweaty. The day was not going well. He just hoped that this was the last of the surprises, and well may he wish that his daemon added sourly.

“Yes, yes there is-in the forward hold.” Rob led him past the stacked cargo to another hidey hole. Obviously this one didn’t hold any of the explosive powder since Rob hung the lantern over the opened panelling and rummaged around, pulling out a number of heavy, oiled, cloth-wrapped objects. He pulled back the cloths with a flourish. Well no doubt they were enmeshed in illicit smuggling now. Church law was very firm on heretical books, but the King’s law was also unambiguous on the trading in weapons. In Rob’s hands was a very fine selection of armour piercing axes.