Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [19]
‘Look at that!’ he cried excitedly.
The Doctor turned and clapped his hands appreciatively as the man placed a coal on his tongue and then a raw oyster upon that. His assistant then placed bellows in the man’s mouth and pumped air into him until tiny flames and sparks whooshed from between his lips.
The crowd were astonished and delighted and then the fire-eater opened his mouth and spat the oyster neatly into his hand.
‘He’s cooked it!’ said the Doctor, clapping again. ‘Bravo!’
Jamie shook his head. ‘Aye. But I wouldn’t want to eat it.’
The Doctor smiled and then they were off again, laughing and talking at the tops of their voices.
In the warmth of the World Turn’d Upside Down, the atmosphere was very different. The chill of the weather seemed to have crept like a living thing into the interior of Kemp’s Inn, settling over the groups of long-faced customers, most of whom were staring either into their tankards or into space. Their voices were lowered to a steady mumble, like the drone of sleepy bees.
The place itself was rather cheerfully designed, a reddish-brown colour that was made almost amber by the multitude of beer stains that covered the walls. The ceiling was supported by thick oak pillars which branched out into beams. Stools and tables were scattered haphazardly about and candles, set in great, wax-covered pots, were everywhere.
William Kemp stood behind the small wooden bar, indistinguishable from any landlord in any age, his mean face settled on his hand, staring ahead.
Ben drained a tumbler of rum and looked about warily. He and Polly were sitting in a little nook by the blazing hearth and the flickering flames lent their faces a warm, orange glow.
‘Blimey, Pol,’ said Ben under his breath. ‘I’m glad this place isn’t my local. I’ve never seen such a miserable lot.’
Polly gazed around the cramped, dark room and sighed.
‘Don’t forget they’ve been fighting a war, Ben. The Doctor said loyalties were divided. It must’ve been hard on all of them.’ She frowned and looked down. ‘I never really thought about it like that before.’
Ben shrugged and lined up his next tot of rum. ‘Well, it’s still a bit of a muddle to me. Cavaliers and Roundheads.’ His face brightened and cracked into a wide grin. ‘’Ere!’ he cried.
‘If we’re lucky we might see them cut old King Charlie’s head off!’
The inn went suddenly and devastatingly quiet. Like little lamps springing into life, several pairs of eyes suddenly widened and scrutinised them closely.
Kemp straightened up and stared directly at them, his eyes narrowing. He seemed to think deeply for a moment and then, with a glance back at Ben and Polly, he disappeared into the back of the inn.
‘Ben!’ hissed Polly between clenched teeth.
The young sailor pulled a face. ‘Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in a western?’ he said mournfully.
Polly grasped his hand under the table. ‘You clot! Keep your voice down. We don’t know what year it is, remember?
We could be years off the King’s execution. And you might be speaking treason.’
Ben slid the tumbler of rum away from himself. ‘Sorry, love. It’s the booze. Always gets me a bit lively.’
Polly gave him her most reassuring smile. ‘Yes, well go easy. We have to get back to the TARDIS soon to meet the others. And I’m not carrying you back half cut.’
Ben gave a throaty chuckle and winked. ‘Not half as cut as the King, eh, Duchess?’ he whispered.
Polly laughed in spite of herself and returned her attention to the flagon of ale on the table before her. Neither noticed Kemp and the slim figure of Christopher Whyte as they entered the room.
Kemp pointed towards Ben and Polly. ‘There. That’s them.’
Whyte examined the newcomers. ‘They’re not regulars of yours?’
Kemp shook his head. ‘Never seen ’em before.’
Shrugging, Whyte turned to go back up the stairs to the room above the inn. ‘Well, it may be nothing. I shall consult with Sir John.’
He gave Kemp a small, tight smile. ‘You did well to bring this to our attention, Kemp. Thank you.’
Kemp gave an obsequious little bow and made his way back to the bar.