Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [80]
The other man nodded and began to walk back towards his shop. ‘I’ll prepare us something nice and warm to frighten off this chill.’
Scrope advanced on the toilet with his trowel in one hand and a small leather bucket in the other.
‘Now then,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Where are you?’
Anyone might have thought he was addressing the saltpetre that he came in search of but Scrope seemed more concerned with the back wall of the yard than the stinking structure before him.
He opened the privy door and set his tools down on the hard frozen ground. Inside was a crude wooden shelf with a large hole in it, and beneath that, visible through a muddy hole, was the grey water of the river.
Scrope should have been interested in the deposits that surrounded the hole but he turned and stood by the wall, waiting until a long, low whistle sounded close by.
He placed his filthy fingers in his mouth and returned the signal. Nothing happened for a moment and then, with extraordinary speed, a young boy scrambled over the wall and landed with skill on the hard, frozen ground.
Scrope nodded quickly. ‘Good day, Petie. What news?’
The boy was dressed in little more than rags and his cherubic face was smeared with grime. He looked quickly about as though in fear of discovery.
‘I’ve heard tell a woman was seen in Kemp’s inn these past couple of nights.’
‘A woman like the one I described?’ queried Scrope.
The boy nodded. His quick eyes were restless as he continued. ‘And she had a man with her – but he got coshed on the ‘ead. I know someone who saw ‘im taken down the docks and put aboard the Teazer.’
Scrope frowned. ‘The Teazer? She’s that Polish captain’s ship, ain’t she?’
The boy shrugged. Scrope stood in thought for a moment.
‘And where was the Teazer bound?’
‘Amsterdam. But not for long. Due back any time, I hear.’
Scrope nodded. ‘And the woman?’
Petie shrugged. ‘She was seen with Kemp’s daughter but no one has clapped eyes on her in a while.’
Scrope felt inside his purse and slipped the boy a dull metal coin.
‘Thank ‘ee, Nat,’ said the boy with a grin. ‘I’ll find you again if I hear more.’
Scrope tipped his hat at the boy and watched as he scrambled back over the merchant’s wall. He stood in silence for a moment, lost in thought.
The sound of Jabez the merchant whistling tunelessly woke Scrope from his reverie.
Hastily he went back to the privy and, sinking to his knees, began to dig.
The Demeter seemed to have taken on a life of her own as she ploughed her way majestically through the surging grey waters of the North Sea.
Captain Winter was already on deck as the bleary dawn bled across the horizon. Scanning her ship, she noted with dismay how much damage Stanislaus had inflicted.
Some of her best and most loyal men had lost their lives in the battle with the Demeter, but now, at least, they had put paid to whatever treachery had been at work. They could get back to London with happy hearts, knowing they had done their best for General Cromwell.
Winter plunged her hand into the pocket of her great green coat and pulled out the bundle of letters she had retrieved from the Pole’s cabin. She gazed down at the elegant, florid writing and a small smile formed on her battered face.
Then, swiftly, she put them away again and pulled out her stubby telescope.
She unfolded it and clamped her good eye over the lens, then began to move it back and forth with great deliberation.
Something was niggling at her, a vague uneasiness that she found difficult to ignore.
A big, blurred shape loomed into sight and she jumped in spite of herself, her wooden leg thudding against the deck.
She pulled away the telescope and realised that the shape was Ben emerging from below decks.
‘Ah, good day to thee, Ben,’ called Winter.
Ben waved over at her. He looked pale and rather unsteady. Winter laughed and aimed a mock punch at Ben’s stomach as he approached. ‘Too much rum last night, my fine lad, eh? Well, ’tis uot every day we beat off a pirate ship is it now?’
Ben smiled wanly. ‘No. Suppose not.’
He glanced out over the