Doctor Who_ The Roundheads - Mark Gatiss [87]
Kemp did not reply, thinking, for the first time, that he would gladly strike the aristocratic gentleman who sat at his side.
‘Is that understood?’
Kemp looked up and nodded.
Copper got his feet. ‘Good. I shall await your signal. She must hurry. Time is of the essence.’
He turned and strode out of the room.
Kemp sat stock still, his breathing hot and fast, then tears sprang like pearls to his eyes. Great God, he thought miserably, what would become of him?
From his vantage point by the dockside, Nathaniel Scrope could see all of the bustling river traffic. A raw, freezing wind was howling over the spindly black rigging of the moored ships, flapping at tethered sails and making the windowpanes of the adjacent offices rattle like loose teeth.
From time to time, a few small rowing boats would plough their way through the half-frozen water, their passengers bundled up like wool-swathed dummies against the cold.
Scrope sat on an upturned barrel, puffing away at a clay pipe, looking like a disreputable elf on a rum-stained toadstool.
His rheumy eyes scanned the water and then flicked round as his friend Petie came scrambling over the jetties towards him.
‘’Swounds, if I ain’t froze half dead!’ cried the lad as he took his place by Scrope’s side and hopped from one foot to the other, struggIing to keep his skinny frame warm.
‘I thank ‘ee for coming, Petie. In such weather as this an’
all.’
Petie shook his head mournfully. ‘I’d a doxy lined up tonight, Nat, that would fair turn your toes up. I’d sooner be in her warm arms than out here by the blasted river.’
Scrope gave a little chuckle. ‘The Lord will remember your forbearance, my lad, and no mistake. Now, come, what news of the Teazer?’
Petie wrapped his arms tightly about his skinny chest.
‘Sighted by a sloop as she passed Canvey Island, Nat. She’s hugging the coast like a babe at its ma’s breast.’
‘But heading for London?’
Petie shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. My mate says she could be making for the Gravesend marshes.’
Scrope’s weathered old face contracted in surprise. ‘The marshes? Whatever for?’
Petie stamped his feet on the rotten duckboards. ‘There’s a brig close in front that she seems to be a following.’
‘Name?’
Petie shrugged. ‘My mate couldn’t be sure. He’s stuck out on a lightship and the weather’s closing in fast. But he said she looked like the Demeter.’
Scrope roared with unexpected laughter. ‘What? Old Sal Winter’s ship?’
He laughed again and slid down from the barrel. ‘I tell you, Petie,’ he said, using his glowing pipe to gesture ‘if Stanislaus is on Winter’s tail then this storm’ll prove as nothing compared to the tempest they’ll blow in.’
Petie rubbed his hands together feverishly. ‘And how do you reckon this lad, this Ben Jackson, is tied to ’em?’
Scrope shrugged and began to move back towards the street. A curtain of wet sleet was already descending on them.
‘I know not as yet. But we must get over to the marshes to see the outcome of this battle royal, Petie. Then we’ll find out how the Doctor’s friend fits into this merry picture.’
They shambled through the growing gale and back into the winding streets of old London.
‘Now think, Polly,’ said the Doctor earnestly. ‘These men who rescued the King. Who were they and where would they go?
The information might just save our lives.’
Polly shrugged. ‘The only one who told me his name was Christopher. Christopher Whyte.’
‘He could’ve been making that up,’ offered Jamie.
Yes,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘And they were based at the inn? Close to where the TARDIS landed?’
‘That’s right. But I hardly think they’d go back there. They must have assumed I’d be forced to tell everything I knew.’
The Doctor’s brows knitted together. ‘No, no. You’re right. They’d try to get the King out of the country. Then they could raise an army and invade.’
Jamie gave a small, despairing sigh. ‘That’s it then, isn’t it? If the King’s out of England then we must’ve put time out of joint’
Polly’s mouth turned down anxiously. ‘One of your nightmare scenarios is unfolding as we speak.’
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