Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [85]
If there is one sure way to make tongues wag it is for you to stay and brood in here.’
There was a long and dangerous, pause like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Then Cromwell nodded.
‘Y’are right, Tom. As ever. I am not some widower to be stopped in his house with grief We must prepare the death of Charles Stuart so that, when he is recaptured, none shall ever know he managed to fly.’
He crossed to his chair and picked up his gloves and hat.
‘Away with you now. I have business in Parliament, do I not?’
Culpeper bowed, smiled, and marched off happily and unknowingly to investigate himself.
Captain Winter swivelled around on her false leg and cast a beady glance at the darkening sky. Then she hobbled across the deck and gripped the rail as she leaned out over the edge.
Grunting to herself, she beckoned to Ben. The young sailor trotted quickly towards her and Winter pulled him close to her massive chest.
‘I don’t like the look of that sky, Ben,’ she confided. ‘And the Teazer‘s coming damnably close.’
Ben looked up at the sky, which was indeed becoming increasingly threatening.
‘Can we outrun her?’ he asked.
Winter looked around at her men, all hard at work. It was important not to lower morale with defeatist talk but she knew they were in trouble. The Demeter was a clumsier ship than her enemy’s and, with the cannon damage sustained in the battle, she was no match for the ship speeding so rapidly towards her.
A drop of heavy, warm rain splashed against Winter’s cheek and she wiped it thoughtfully away.
‘Nay, Ben. We can’t outrun her. But we might turn this weather to our advantage. The Teazer‘s a big bugger and not so manoeuvrable as her cursed captain likes to think.’
She gazed out over the sea, which was already starting to roughen up, choppy grey waves crashing against the hull.
Ben followed her gaze. ‘We can’t be far off port now.’
Winter shook her head. ‘Nay, we’re close. But we can’t have the Pole taking us just as we have old London in sight.
Come.’
She began to totter towards her cabin.
‘What have you got in mind now, you old rascal?’ asked Ben with a grin.
Winter flashed him a black smile. ‘I know many a route back to port, my lad. What say we give Stanislaus a game of it? Eh?’
She threw open the door to her cabin and writhed till her bulk worked itself through into the cramped space.
With urgent strides she made her way to the desk and began pulling maps and charts from the drawers. With a cry of satisfaction, she found what she was looking for and cleared everything else from the desk with a broad sweep of her arm.
‘Here, Ben! Here!’ she cried, stabbing at the chart with a fat finger.
Ben looked closer. He recognised the coast of Kent and the approach to London through the Thames Valley. But the whole charted area was outlined in fine dashes, as though defining a phantom country just next to the land he knew.
‘Do you know what they are?’ cackled Winter.
Ben shook his head. ‘No. What?’
Winter rolled up the chart and tapped it against her head.
‘Marshes, my buck!’
Ben frowned and then smiled broadly.
Winter began to hobble towards the door. ‘I can get the Demeter up a crack as narrow as the top of a Scotchman’s purse. Let’s see if the Pole has the same skill!’
She threw open the door. ‘Hugh!’ she bellowed. ‘Where are you, lad? Make haste. We’re changing course!’
William Kemp was in his accustomed place behind the long bar of the tavern when the door opened and Sir John Copper slipped inside.
He seemed nervous and distracted, not at all the graceful confident figure Kemp knew.
Glancing quickly around, he caught Kemp’s eye and indicated with a jerk of his head that they should talk upstairs.
Sarah Kemp was also behind the bar, struggling with a tray of ale.
As Copper moved through the crowded room towards the stairs, Kemp pulled off his leather apron and slung it down over a barrel.
‘Look after things here a moment, Sarah,’ he muttered.
Sarah Kemp let out a sigh. ‘What? Now, Will? ’Tis our busiest