P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

“I…ah…was hoping to have an answer from Mr…er…Enys,”

“And whit answer was that? How much ye wanted payin’ to keep quiet about what ye knew?”

“No,” said Shakespeare warily, “I wasn’t going to ask her for money, only for assistance, advice.”

Dodd paused, speechless. Her? He had assumed that Mrs. Morgan was Mr. Enys in disguise, not…

“ Her ?”

“You must have realised what I did: she had no adam’s apple, her feet were small, and her doublet had been taken in at the shoulders whilst her hose had been let out.”

“Ye saw that, did ye?” Dodd was starting to recover a little.

“Of course. In the theatre we go to a lot of trouble to turn boys into passable girls and women. Once I had noticed one hint, it was easy to put the others together. I think she may have been passing as a man for a while though, she does it very well.”

“Ay, though she canna fight.” A thought struck Dodd. “That’s whit she wanted me tae teach her swordplay for, she was gonnae have a try at killing ye, Mr. Shakespeare.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

“Mebbe she didnae like givin’ ye the assistance ye wanted.” Dodd’s sneer made it clear what kind he thought that probably was. To his surprise and disbelief Shakespeare shook his head vigorously.

“No, not at all. I wanted her advice.”

“Ay?”

“Really and truly! I thought it was marvellous what she had done, quite extraordinary. Here she is, a woman alone in London, whose brother has disappeared mysteriously, and she puts on his clothes and sword, appears in court before a judge, and sets about finding out what happened to him. A mere weak woman to do all that and even show enough learning at the law not to be discovered.”

Dodd hadn’t thought of that part of it though he had to admit it was clever of her. He was only thoroughly annoyed with himself for not seeing through the game quicker. There had been plenty of clues, after all. Had Carey worked it out, he wondered. Shakespeare was pacing up and down now.

“I wanted her to advise me on the law and describe her feelings as she went from woman to man and I was hoping to write her story as a play and put it upon the stage at the Blackfriars when the hall is ready for plays. Justicia or The Woman at Law . How could I possibly miss such a chance?”

Perhaps he had been unfair to the poet. “Ay well, ye’d best be quick for Mr. Heneage has arrested her…him…Enys the lawyer for helping the escape of a prisoner of state. Ah didnae ken fully until I saw that and then I did.”

“Arrested?” Shakespeare had gone pale.

“Ay. Heneage raided Pickering’s game this evening. Ah came here to be sure I was right about Enys and then I’m gaunae roust out Carey’s kin and fetch her and Mrs. Briscoe away from Heneage.”

Shakespeare’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that.”

“Can I no’?” asked Dodd, full of interest. “Watch me.” At the very least they could ransome her before Topcliffe got started on him…her-had they discovered Enys’s sex yet, he wondered. He looked at Shakespeare who seemed genuinely concerned and upset and something inside him said it could do no harm to bring Cecil’s man along. So he took Shakespeare’s elbow and hustled him out of the chambers and down the stairs, down through the Temple to the river where he found Mr. Briscoe still there with the mutinous looking boatman who was lighting his stern lamp.

“Thank ye,” he said, in a lordly fashion, giving the boatman some more of Carey’s money. “Ah’ll double that if ye’ll take us tae the Pool of London right now.”

The boatman looked at the pile of silver in his palm and then at Dodd. “All three of you?” he asked and Dodd said “Ay.” Briscoe was looking at the planks, Shakespeare licked his lips. but neither of them disagreed. “Sure? In the dark, with the tide on the ebb?”

“Ay,” said Dodd.

The boatman laughed a little, leaned over, and put his hand in the inky waters. “Well the flow’s not too vicious for the bridge, but it’ll be fast.”

“Good,” said Dodd, wondering why he didn’t get on with it.

“I’ve never done it at night,” said the boatman with a grin, tossing the coin and catching it on the back of his hand. The Queen’s head shone bright silver from the sixpence in the light from the rising moon. “Well, we’ll see if the old girl likes us or not, eh?” With a little dip of his head, he tossed the coin again and deliberately let it fall into the river. Next minute he had shoved off from the Blackfriar’s steps and rowed the boat round to point down stream at the bridge.

“You’d best hold on tight,” shouted the boatman. “Hold onto yer ‘ats, gentlemen.”

It certainly was fast. The boatman rowed out into mid-stream, well away from likely eddies and whirlpools around the sandspits near the bank. You couldn’t tell easily in the darkness, but the faint ruby lights to their left seemed to be speeding past.

The tide being on the ebb with the flow of the river doubled the speed. The boatman was rowing hard to keep the prow aimed straight. His only guide was the torches hanging on the sides of London Bridge which were not easy to see. As they bounced and slid nearer and nearer the noise of the water against the starlings and the grind and clank of the waterwheels still working at the ends were enough to take your head off.

Suddenly, at a horrible speed they were approaching the dark arches with their single lanterns hung over the two central ones. The wet bricks swooped towards them like mouths of sea monsters intent on eating them. Next second they were under the echoing arch with the dripping brickwork and the great beams going across to brace them, the roar of the waters battering their ears and brains far worse than thunder, nearly as bad as cannon. For a second, Dodd saw eyes peering at them from the narrow ledges and realised there were creatures so poor that they tried to sleep in that awful place. The second after that they had shot across the churning white water and out into the relative peace of the Pool of London with its waterborne forest of ships, each showing its sternlight and mainmast light.

The boatman backed water and caught his breath. “Done it!” he crowed. “Nobody of my lodge ever did that, ha! Old Noah’ll be proud!”

He reached over and shook Dodd’s hand, laughing with delight at himself. Dodd gave him a golden angel since it wasn’t actually his money and the man had done well by them. He didn’t plan to shoot the Bridge on the ebb ever again, night or day, but it had been…exciting.

They were coming close to the Judith of Penryn , a long slender ship with three masts crowded on the deck. There were cannon ports along the side and movement on deck. Dodd saw more lanterns being lit.

He blinked across the dark waters and had to shut his eyes and refocus carefully: a small rotund figure in the stern was aiming a pistol at him, he could clearly see the match burning.

“Mr. Briscoe, Mr. Shakespeare,” he said quietly, raising his hands. “Lie down.”

They stared at him, followed his gaze, saw the pistol in Lady Hunsdon’s steady hands, and ducked immediately. Briscoe drew his dagger and convinced the boatman to keep rowing. Carefully, slowly, Dodd stood up and balanced. There wasn’t a lot of chance she could hit him at that range, but you never knew.

“My lady Hunsdon, can Ah talk wi’ yer ladyship?”

“If you have any information on my son who went missing whilst hawking in Finsbury Fields, Sergeant, yes.”

“He’s gaun tae Court. Naebody’s taken him, he went off by hisself. I didnae ken until this afternoon.”

“How do you know for sure, Sergeant?” That gun was still pointing at him, steady as a rock except for a gentle movement to allow for the rocking of the ship.