backed off whining when the overpowering scent hit its nostrils.
The older man caught Mal by the front of his doublet and slammed him against the nearest wall.
"Don't think Grey will protect you, cur," he growled, craning his neck to look Mal in the eye. "His standing at Court is not so high as he likes to think."
"And yours is, I suppose?"
"I am a close friend of Prince Arthur. One word to him, and–"
"And what? Think you he will go against his mother's wishes?"
The man flushed. His was an empty threat and they both knew it. If he had so much influence with the prince, why bother to seek Mal out and threaten him?
He released Mal with a sneer of contempt.
"I shall enjoy watching your fall from grace," he said. "If not I, then someone will bring you down. 'Pride goeth before destruction, and a high mind before the fall'."
He gestured to his companion, who was fishing his pomander out of the puddle.
"Leave it, Jos. A gentleman," he glared at Mal, "does not grovel in the muck."
Mal watched them leave. Was the pomander bearer Josceline Percy, one of Northumberland's tribe of younger siblings? If so, who was his companion? Mal had paid too little heed to Court gossip in the past, knowing that what reached the ears of the common folk was for the most part a confection of lies and exaggeration. Perhaps it was time to start listening. And where better to begin than with those on the very fringes of Court: actors.
• • • •
Coby saw no more of Faulkner in the next few days, for which she was heartily thankful. She had enough to do helping Master Naismith ensure there were no delays in the new theatre's construction. He entrusted her with a great many more errands than usual, and she had been back and forth across London Bridge so many times, her shoes were more holes than leather.
On Friday morning she was sent to Bankside with a message for the foreman in charge of the builders. The new theatre, which was to be named the Mirror, was being built on the western edge of Southwark, in a field next to Paris Gardens. Workmen swarmed over the ladders and scaffolding that covered its sides, putting the finishing touches to the lattices of split branches that filled the gaps between the main timbers. Soon the wattle panels would be plastered over and it would start to look like its rival the Rose , barely a hundred yards to the east.
She found the foreman deep in conversation with a man she had never seen before. He was of middling years, with lank mousy hair parted in the centre above a round, clean-shaven face. Plainly dressed in a dark brown worsted doublet and hose, there was not a bit of lace or other frippery about him except for a heavy gold neck chain from which hung a unicorn badge. Another servant of their patron, and an important one at that.
At last the foreman made his courtesies and returned to his work. Coby ran after him and delivered her message, but as she turned to leave she found herself being addressed by the stranger.
"You are Naismith's tiring man?"
"Yes, sir. Jacob Hendricks, sir."
"I am John Dunfell, His Grace's private secretary." He motioned her aside, out of earshot of the workmen. "It has come to my attention that this theatre–" he broke off and looked around at the building with a grimace of distaste "–will be required in the entertainments for the Ambassador of Vinland."
"Indeed, sir."
"Indeed. Well, we must not disappoint or embarrass His Grace. I have therefore been charged with overseeing the completion of the building."
Coby nodded, unsure why she was being told this information. Unless Master Naismith did not yet know?
"If you wish me to convey any message to my master–"
Dunfell held up his hand. "Master Naismith is already informed of my intent. It was you I wished to see."
"Me, sir?" Her voice cracked, and she hid her embarrassment with a cough.
"You are a bright,
The older man caught Mal by the front of his doublet and slammed him against the nearest wall.
"Don't think Grey will protect you, cur," he growled, craning his neck to look Mal in the eye. "His standing at Court is not so high as he likes to think."
"And yours is, I suppose?"
"I am a close friend of Prince Arthur. One word to him, and–"
"And what? Think you he will go against his mother's wishes?"
The man flushed. His was an empty threat and they both knew it. If he had so much influence with the prince, why bother to seek Mal out and threaten him?
He released Mal with a sneer of contempt.
"I shall enjoy watching your fall from grace," he said. "If not I, then someone will bring you down. 'Pride goeth before destruction, and a high mind before the fall'."
He gestured to his companion, who was fishing his pomander out of the puddle.
"Leave it, Jos. A gentleman," he glared at Mal, "does not grovel in the muck."
Mal watched them leave. Was the pomander bearer Josceline Percy, one of Northumberland's tribe of younger siblings? If so, who was his companion? Mal had paid too little heed to Court gossip in the past, knowing that what reached the ears of the common folk was for the most part a confection of lies and exaggeration. Perhaps it was time to start listening. And where better to begin than with those on the very fringes of Court: actors.
• • • •
Coby saw no more of Faulkner in the next few days, for which she was heartily thankful. She had enough to do helping Master Naismith ensure there were no delays in the new theatre's construction. He entrusted her with a great many more errands than usual, and she had been back and forth across London Bridge so many times, her shoes were more holes than leather.
On Friday morning she was sent to Bankside with a message for the foreman in charge of the builders. The new theatre, which was to be named the Mirror, was being built on the western edge of Southwark, in a field next to Paris Gardens. Workmen swarmed over the ladders and scaffolding that covered its sides, putting the finishing touches to the lattices of split branches that filled the gaps between the main timbers. Soon the wattle panels would be plastered over and it would start to look like its rival the Rose , barely a hundred yards to the east.
She found the foreman deep in conversation with a man she had never seen before. He was of middling years, with lank mousy hair parted in the centre above a round, clean-shaven face. Plainly dressed in a dark brown worsted doublet and hose, there was not a bit of lace or other frippery about him except for a heavy gold neck chain from which hung a unicorn badge. Another servant of their patron, and an important one at that.
At last the foreman made his courtesies and returned to his work. Coby ran after him and delivered her message, but as she turned to leave she found herself being addressed by the stranger.
"You are Naismith's tiring man?"
"Yes, sir. Jacob Hendricks, sir."
"I am John Dunfell, His Grace's private secretary." He motioned her aside, out of earshot of the workmen. "It has come to my attention that this theatre–" he broke off and looked around at the building with a grimace of distaste "–will be required in the entertainments for the Ambassador of Vinland."
"Indeed, sir."
"Indeed. Well, we must not disappoint or embarrass His Grace. I have therefore been charged with overseeing the completion of the building."
Coby nodded, unsure why she was being told this information. Unless Master Naismith did not yet know?
"If you wish me to convey any message to my master–"
Dunfell held up his hand. "Master Naismith is already informed of my intent. It was you I wished to see."
"Me, sir?" Her voice cracked, and she hid her embarrassment with a cough.
"You are a bright,
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