The Nine Giants by Edward Marston

such as she had never known before.
    A grubby playbill had touched her heart.
     
    Hans Kippel had been told to stay at his lodgings and rest but the force of habit was too strong for the lad. It got him out of his bed and along to his workplace early in the morning. Surprised to see him, Preben van Loew had shown a fatherly care for the apprentice and given him only the simplest tasks but even these were beyond his competence. The boy was clearly suffering the after-effects of his ordeal and could not focus his mind on anything for more than a few minutes. The Dutchman tried to probe him for more details of what had occurred on the previous day but none were forthcoming. A blow to the head had locked all memory of the incident inside the young skull of Hans Kippel.
    It was early afternoon when Nicholas Bracewell cameback to the house in Bankside. He had spent the morning at The Theatre, finalising the arrangements for the performance of
Double Deceit
and supervising the transfer of costumes and properties from the Queen’s Head. With a little spare time at his disposal, he had hurried home to see if he could coax any further information out of the wounded apprentice. Hans Kippel was pleased to see him and shook his hand warmly but the boy’s face then became vacant again. Nicholas sat beside him and spoke low.
    ‘We are all very proud of you, Hans.’
    ‘Why so, sir?’
    ‘Because you are a very brave young man.’
    ‘I do not feel brave, Master Bracewell.’
    ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘Sore afraid. I am lost and know not where to turn.’
    ‘You are among friends here, Hans. Safe and sound.’
    ‘Will you protect me, sir?’
    ‘From what?’
    The blank face clouded. ‘I cannot tell. My mind has cut me adrift. But I know I have enemies.’
    ‘What enemies? Who are they?’
    But Hans Kippel had yielded up all that he could. Not even the patient questioning of Nicholas Bracewell could draw anything further out of him. The book holder consulted with Preben van Loew who gave it as his opinion that the boy would be far better off in the comfort of his bed. He was patently not fit for work and needed all the rest that he could get. Nicholas agreed only partly with this, arguing that the apprentice would never make a fullrecovery until his mind had been cleared of the horror that had possessed it. Since that might not happen of its own volition, he suggested an idea that might help. He volunteered to accompany Hans Kippel as they retraced the steps the boy had taken on the previous day, hoping that somewhere along the way his memory would be restored by the sight of something familiar.
    Preben van Loew gave his blessing to the enterprise and waved the two of them off at the door. Hans Kippel was a sad figure with his bandaged head and his limp. It had already occurred to Nicholas that it might have been his nationality which told against the youth. His sober attire, open face and general mien marked him out as a Dutch immigrant and thus the natural target for the resentment of many people. In the company of someone as tall and muscular as Nicholas Bracewell, the boy was not likely to be mocked so openly but he might just recognise the point in the journey at which his humiliation took place. They walked slowly on together.
    ‘Look all about you, Hans,’ said Nicholas.
    ‘I will do so, sir.’
    ‘Tell me if you see aught that you remember.’
    ‘My mind is still empty.’
    ‘We will try to put something in it.’
    The journey came to an abrupt end. One minute, Hans Kippel was dragging himself along in a daze, the next, he was staring ahead in terror and refusing to move another step. They had come out of the Bankside labyrinth by St Saviour’s Church and were heading towards the Bridge.It was one of the finest sights in London, a truly imposing structure that spanned the murky Thames with a series of arches and which housed a miniature city on its broad back. Visitors came from all over Europe to marvel at London