Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [81]
‘How long till we reach London?’ he said at last.
Winter shrugged and began to look through the telescope once again. ‘We’re making good speed. But there’s no hurry now, is there?’
Ben shook his head. ‘You mean because we got rid of Stanislaus’s mob? Well, I know. But I’m still concerned about Pol and the others, even if England’s all right.’
Winter suddenly stopped dead, the telescope tight against her eye like an arrow.
Ben noticed the change at once. ‘What is it?’
‘By Christ. I knew it!’ whispered Winter. ‘I’ve felt it in me bowels since I rolled out of that pit of a bed of mine this morning. There, Ben, do you see her?’
She tossed the telescope to Ben, who immediately jumped up to Winter’s level and swung round to face the direction in which the captain was pointing.
At first he saw nothing in the glass but a circle of grey sea.
Then the image cleared and a small, dark shape was revealed bobbing on the horizon some miles behind them.
‘Is it... ?’ began Ben.
‘It is,’ hissed Winter, shaking her broad head in disbelief.
‘The Teazer. By God, the Pole has the devil on his side and no mistake.’
Ben dropped the telescope to his knee. ‘But the gunpowder... the explosion...’
Winter nodded. ‘We must only have damaged her. And, whether we destroyed their precious cargo or not, Stanislaus will be out for revenge!’
Ben put the telescope back to his eye. The Teazer was moving steadily closer.
The Thames lapped sluggishly at the little jetty, its ice-thickened water sloshing around the structure’s rotting, weed-covered posts.
Looming over the jetty like a great blackened skull was a warehouse, nominally used to store salted meat and wine but, for now at least, the hiding place of King Charles.
Several rooms on the upper floors of the building were occupied by Sir John Copper’s men and, while the King slept, they kept a constant vigil, aware that Roundhead troopers were combing the city in search of him.
Copper sat alone in the largest of these rooms, staring into space and constantly fiddling with his beard in agitation. His eyes flickered from side to side as though he were weighing up some great decision.
At last, his solitude was disturbed by the arrival of Christopher Whyte, who came quietly into the room and sat down.
Copper looked up. ‘Well?’
‘Still sleeping,’ murmured Whyte, avoiding Copper’s eyes.
Copper shook his head and sighed. ‘Does he not understand the urgency of the situation?’
Whyte did not reply and Copper changed tack. ‘Chris, I had no choice.’
Whyte turned sharply round, his face flushed with rage.
‘No choice? No choice but condemn an innocent girl to the headsman’s axe?’
Copper held up both his hands, palm outward. ‘We both deceived her, did we not?’
Whyte let his breath hiss from between his teeth. ‘Aye!
Deceived her so that we could rescue the King, but you would have killed her!’
Copper nodded firmly. ‘And because you prevented me, she will now give us away to Cromwell.’
Whyte shook his head. ‘She will not. I know it.’
Copper gave a cynical smile. ‘You know her so well, do you, Christopher? Under torture she’ll say anything.’
Whyte dragged his chair closer. ‘But what matters it if we are discovered? Surely now the King is free we can raise another army and settle this civil war once and for all?’
Copper rubbed both his thumbs over his weary eyes. ‘Aye, if His Majesty would only see sense! He cannot remain in London, and the longer he does so the more difficult it will be to get him out!’
Whyte hunched forward, his clasped hands between his knees. ‘What can we do?’
‘We must prevail upon him to go. There can be-’
Copper stopped and looked around as he heard footsteps approaching. The door was opened by Moor, who immediately stepped aside, ushering in the little figure of the King, who stepped through into the dank, unpleasant room.
Copper and Whyte bowed low and Charles acknowledged them with a slight inclination of his head. He looked about,