Black Powder (25 page)

‘Rest assured, Robin, we may fling the scorched bodies of the King and his ministers heavenward tomorrow morning, but their miserable souls will be lodged in Hell for all eternity.'

As the men's laughter bounced against his ears, the last flicker of doubt fizzled inside Tom and died. There was no denying it. Hunt was right. The Falcon was a ruthless killer who had lied to him all along. How could he ever have trusted him? He slumped down, head in his hands.
Stupid! Stupid!

The Falcon made a hawking noise and spat. ‘James Stuart and his cronies have visited much pain and suffering on us and our fellow Catholics. It is time for them now to pay.' His boots chinked back out into the main room. ‘When do you set off to raise the revolt?'

Cressida let out a gasp. Tom shook his head and put a finger to his lips. He crouched forwards and put his eye to the gap again.

‘As soon as I leave here.' Cat slapped his gloves against his left palm. ‘The others are ready and waiting. When they get the news that the King and most of his family are dead, they will ride to Coombe Abbey and take the Princess Elizabeth as planned. She is still very young and will need some education in our ways, but I am sure, in time, she will make a most excellent and sympathetic Queen.'

Tom's eyes widened. So that was their plan. Kill the King and put his young daughter – Elizabeth Stuart – on the
throne as their puppet.

‘What of the Montague children? Browne says he stowed the boy up in the attic with the girl this morning, but we can't keep them there for ever.'

So Harry Browne had lied to them.

Robin Cat stroked his beard and frowned. ‘In all truth, they are something of an inconvenience.'

‘No need to harm them.' The Falcon's voice was gruff. ‘They are only children.'

Tom swallowed a sigh. The Falcon might have deceived him and kept Cressida locked up in the attic; but at least he didn't want them dead. Not like Browne, who clearly intended for them to be blown up along with Parliament and the King.

‘Well, my friend, you should have thought of that before you brought them to London.'

‘I didn't have any choice with the girl. Browne had already taken her. As for the boy . . .' The Falcon paused and cleared his throat. ‘I like him. He reminds me of how I used to be when I was a lad. It's hard to lose your father when you're young. I know that from bitter experience. And Master Garnett's father is a brave man, wrongfully imprisoned by the tyrant's lackeys.'

Robin Cat laughed. ‘I didn't think a soldier capable of such sentiment. Well, if you succeed here, you may do with them as you will. The boy seems much taken with you and I'm sure with a little gentle persuasion, you can make him do your bidding.'

‘I'd like to think so. And as you know, I harbour a hope
of reuniting him and his father.'

‘I'm sure our new Queen will oblige you on that score. Meanwhile, the Montague girl has not seen your face, I think?'

‘'Tis true. I disguised myself when I took her her food.'

‘So, why not “rescue” her when all this is done and collect your reward from Lord Montague? If he and the other Catholic lords have any sense, they will heed the mysterious letters they have been sent warning them to keep away from the Parliament tomorrow.'

‘Maybe . . .' The Falcon frowned.

‘Now.' Robin Cat grasped the Falcon's right hand and shook it hard. ‘Night comes on. I must find myself a wherry from the river stairs nearby and get back to Lambeth to collect my mount.' He fished an object from beneath his cloak and handed it to the other man. ‘Here is a pocket watch so you may mark down the hours.'

The Falcon nodded. ‘I will return around midnight as planned and prepare the barrels for firing.' He turned and glanced over at the storeroom entrance.

Tom shrank back from the gap and held his breath.

‘God speed, my friend. And when the deed is done, deal quickly with your affairs here for you must to Flanders and tell the Spanish King how things lie. We'll need his support to tame any resistance and secure the safety of the country.'

The two men turned and strode back across the stone floor. A few moments later, the door banged shut and Tom and Cressida were alone again.

Tom sat there in a daze, grappling to make sense of what
he'd heard.

‘So that spy of yours was right.'

He jerked his head up. Cressida's eyes shone back at him in the gloom. He nodded and licked his lips.

‘Well.' She tossed her head in the direction of the door. ‘I doubt that other brute will be back anyway. He must have hoped we'd die along with the King.'

The mention of the King jabbed Tom into action. He leapt to his feet. ‘We've got to warn him, while there's still time.'

Cressida frowned. ‘But how?'

‘We must go and see him, tell him to his face.'

She laughed. ‘Are you mad, cousin?'

‘What do you mean?'

She jumped up and faced him. ‘First, we've got no idea which palace the King is staying in.'

‘You mean he's got more than one?'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course. He's the King! And second, even if we find out where he is, do you really think his guards are going to let us in?'

Tom slammed his boot against the nearest barrel. ‘But it's a matter of life and death.'

She let out a sigh. ‘All right, supposing we did get inside. Third, do you think the King would believe us? I mean – look at us.' She stared down at her grimy skirts and tattered sleeves. ‘Even the greatest actor in London couldn't convince anyone they were of noble blood dressed like this.'

Tom clenched his jaw. She was right. But they couldn't stand by and let these men murder the King and all those
innocent people. ‘What about your father? The King would believe him, wouldn't he?'

‘Maybe, but we'd have to get to his house in Southwark first.'

‘So?'

‘The quickest way is by boat. But we need money to pay the wherryman. So unless you've got a secret stash of coins . . . ?'

He shook his head then balled his fingers into fists. ‘We can't give up now. We'll have to stop them ourselves!'

She put her hands on her hips. ‘And just how do you propose we do that?'

Chapter Thirty-four

Monday 4 November – Night

T
om stared at the barrels of gunpowder. There must be thirty of them at least. And they were heavy. Too heavy for him and Cressida to shift. He ran over to the door, scrambled up the steps in front of it, then lifted the latch and peered out.

It was dark outside. Clouds scudded like sailboats across the face of the moon. A gust of wind blew the dank, chill smell of the river towards him. A nearby clock began to chime the hour. Others joined it.
Seven. Eight. Nine
. Three hours to go before the Falcon returned.

He glanced across the wide paved courtyard in front of him. A brick gatehouse stood in the opposite corner. Through its arch he caught sight of a street beyond. If they couldn't get across the river to his uncle's house, maybe they
could try and find a watchman or a constable instead. Except they might not believe them either. Or, worse still, accuse them of being mixed up in the plot.

Think, Tom Garnett! Think!
He dashed back inside and scanned about him. A set of three pails stowed by the wall next to the storeroom arch caught his eye. Robin Cat had said they were near to some river stairs. He ran over and snatched up the pails.

‘Here.' He kept two of them and threw the other one to Cressida.

She pulled a face. ‘What am I meant to do with this?'

‘Come with me. I've got an idea.' He ran back to the door.

Reluctantly she followed. ‘Where are we going?'

‘You'll see.' He climbed back up the steps.

She hesitated.

‘Hurry. You heard what he said. He'll be back soon.' Darting outside, he raced across the courtyard and poked his head through the gatehouse arch. To his left stood a row of crooked houses. To his right the walls of a great stone hall soared into the night sky. It was the same building he'd seen from the lodging house yard.

Cressida pulled up alongside him and peered over his shoulder. ‘That's Westminster Hall. And the House of Lords where the Parliament meets is above the cellar.' She tapped him on the arm and pointed back at the building they'd just come from. ‘I saw them once before when I came up to London with Mother to visit Father and we went to one of Mister Shakespeare's plays. A tragedy. It was so sad.'
She gave a loud sigh. ‘I kept the playbill as a souvenir.'

He rolled his eyes. There she went again talking about Mister Shakespeare and plays and stuff when they had more important things to think about. Like saving the King from certain death. He glanced back at the building's arched windows and shuddered. There wasn't a moment to lose.

‘Which way to the river?'

‘This way I think.' She led him out through the arch and on to the street and signalled at a narrow alley to their left. A distant sloshing sound echoed along the walls of the mean-looking houses that lined it.

‘Come on then.' He tugged her arm but she dug her heels in and refused to move.

‘Do you want to save the King, or not?'

‘Of course I do. But I don't see how going down a slimy alleyway that leads nowhere is going to help. We don't have the money for a wherry. You said so yourself.'

‘No. But river water is free.'

Cressida's eyes widened in horror. ‘Surely you're not expecting me to
swim
across?'

He sighed. The potion Browne had given her had turned her soft in the head. He lifted up the pails he was carrying and slammed them together. ‘Wetted gunpowder doesn't light.'

She wrinkled her nose. ‘If you think I'm going to haul great pail-loads of water up and down this . . . this open sewer.'

‘Suit yourself.' He ripped the pail from her hand. Why had he ever thought she would help? He turned and
slithered down the alley without a backward glance.

The damp air wound around him and slid down the back of his neck. His teeth began to chatter. He tightened his grip on the pails and followed the smell of the river until he came to a dark-shuttered tavern. The slap-slap of water drew him down a flight of steep steps next to it. When he reached the bottom one, he squatted and peered into the swirling current below him. A shiver rippled through him as he remembered the Falcon's words about dead men's bones.

A rumble of thunder filled the air. He jerked his head up and stared at the opposite bank. The lights of houses and taverns winked back at him in the darkness. Father was out there somewhere, all alone in that stinking cell. His heart clenched. He'd promised to save him, but what were his chances of doing that now?

A splash of cold water hit his forehead and ran down the side of his cheek. He blinked and shook himself. If he didn't fill the pails and get them back to the cellar fast, he'd be a traitor twice over. Setting two of them down, he gripped the third and dipped it into the inky-black depths. He'd nearly filled it when a sudden surge of water yanked at the rope handle, tugging it from his grasp. As he made a swipe for it, his boots slipped from under him. He tumbled forwards, arms flailing and . . .

SPLASH!

He hit the surface and went under. A torrent of ice-cold water flooded his nose and mouth forcing the breath from his lungs. He hung there for a moment like a piece of
seaweed, twisting and turning in the murky current. Then a jolt in his chest jerked him up.

WHOOSH!
His head broke the surface again. He gulped in a mouthful of frost-filled air and blinked.

Once . . .

Twice . . .

Three times . . .

Out of the darkness, a glint of something metal.

A ring. An iron ring dangling from the wall to his right.

He snatched. His fingers brushed against it. He snatched again but before he could get a grip, the current spun him round and swung him away.

Icy hands clutched at his legs and arms, dragging him down.

Down

and down

to the dead men.

He kicked against them.

They were strong.

Too strong . . .

He closed his eyes and let himself drift.

‘
Swim, Tom!
You've got to
swim
!'

The words shocked him awake. A torrent of cold river water gushed down his nose and throat. He choked it out, thrust his head back and sucked in another mouthful of air. A sudden memory of playing at being fish in the sea with William shot through him. With a kick of his legs, he turned and struck out for the bank.

He was halfway there when a giant snake came twisting
through the air and splashed down next to him.

‘Quick! Grab the rope, before it's too late!'

He swiped for it and missed, then swiped again.

This time his fingers closed tight round the rope's tarry surface.