The Butterfly in Amber (2 page)

L
ONDON
, E
NGLAND

29th August 1658

‘T
here's London Bridge!' Luka cried. ‘We're almost there, at last!'

A great stone edifice loomed over them. Shops lined the street, each with houses piled on top, higgledy-piggledy with gables and windows and chimneys that filled the air with a brown haze of smoke. On one side of the cart, a man held up dead hens by their feet, shouting, ‘Get your chickens here, young and plump!'

Beside him a woman shouted, ‘Asparagus, fresh picked!'

‘Live eels-o, live eels-o!'

‘Rabbits, rabbits!'

‘Pots to mend? Kettles and pots?'

All around their cart, people were walking and talking, running and riding, shouting and cheering, hammering and haranguing. Above it all was the constant churning of the corn-mills built into the arches of the bridge.

Woken by the noise, Sweetheart stirred and sat up, straw surging away from her bulk. ‘Sssh, Sweetheart, down, Sweetheart,' Emilia called. Grumpily the old bear lay down again.

‘Stupid old bear,' Luka said. ‘I wish we didn't have to drag her about with us everywhere.'

Emilia bit back a sharp retort. She knew they were both exhausted from the last few weeks of constant running and hiding, and weighed down with worry over their families. It was harder for
Luka, though. She had all her faith invested in the magic of the chain of charms but Luka had no such comfort. He thought the fate of his family rested solely in his hands and, if he could not come up with some way to rescue them, they would all die.

We'll find the butterfly in amber, don't you worry
, Emilia promised her family silently.
Somehow
. . .

It was gloomy between the tall buildings, for the sun was already low in the sky, reminding them that yet another day had passed. Emilia had never much noticed the passing of time before – one day had always passed much like another, marked only by the changes in the seasons. Now she was acutely conscious of every minute, every hour. Each evening, as the sun set in bloody streaks in the west, it reminded her cruelly that her family was one day closer to their trial, one day closer to being condemned to death.
Hurry, hurry, hurry
, her heart told her, and her tired body tried to obey.

The cart passed under the heavy portcullis. Screeching birds wheeled overhead. Emilia looked up, only to recoil in horror.

Impaled on long sticks on top of the gate were a number of grotesque human heads, some no more than bone and gaping cavities, others still covered with rotting flesh, their long thin hair blowing in the breeze. The smell was foul. Emilia
gagged, and pressed her hand over her mouth.

‘Come to London-Town for work, have we, sweetie?' an impudent young man shouted. ‘I hear the Keeper of the Heads needs a hand. I could recommend you?'

One of his friends howled with laughter. ‘Bad choice of words! The Keeper of the Heads has too many hands up there already, and legs and feet too. Watch out one doesn't fall on you!'

Emilia shuddered, and the young men laughed again. Luka urged the pony on, and Emilia gasped, ‘What did they mean? Hands are up there too, and feet?'

‘Traitors are cut into four, and a limb placed on every gate into the city,' Luka said flatly. ‘Didn't you know?'

Emilia shook her head.

‘That's what would have happened to our friend the Duke if they'd caught him,' Luka said. ‘Hanged, drawn and quartered.'

‘Aye, I'd heard that, but I didn't realise . . . They'd have cut him in four?'

‘Eventually,' Luka said dryly. He would have said more, but one look at Emilia's face stopped him. ‘Don't you worry,' he said consolingly. ‘All our friends got away safely.'

Emilia thought of the Duke of Ormonde, and Tom Whitehorse, and the other friends they had made on their adventures, many of them working in secret to try to restore the exiled King Charles II to his throne.

‘Cromwell's head will be stuck up like that one day,' Emilia said, after a long moment. ‘They'll dig him up and cut off his head and stick it on a stake.'

‘Milly,' Luka said uneasily, half in protest, half in warning.

‘Not here,' she said. ‘At the palace, where they cut off the king's head.'

‘How can you say such things?' he hissed. ‘Do
you want to be taken for a witch? Hush your mouth.'

‘It's true.'

‘Maybe so,
drabardi,
but watch what you say!'

Emilia shut her mouth up and did not speak again. Luka was right, she thought. She must learn not to blurt out the things she mysteriously knew to be true. She must learn when it was wise to speak, and when it was wiser to hold her tongue.

The cart moved out into sunshine, crossing a wooden drawbridge that rattled under the hooves of their pony. With nothing but flimsy wooden railings on either side of them, Emilia had her first view of London. It spread as far as the eye could see on the opposite bank of the river, narrow hovels of timber and straw leaning up against great churches and mansions of stone, which in turn jostled against warehouses and wharves with tall peaked roofs. The water of the Thames rushed through the arches, a long way below.

Then the view of the city was cut off as the cart moved into a narrow, dark tunnel, the buildings on either side leaning together and arm-wrestling for space.

The hair on Emilia's neck prickled. ‘I don't like it. Can't we go back?'

Luka glanced over his shoulder. Marching quickly behind them was a company of soldiers.

He scanned the crowd anxiously and saw with a dreadful jolt of his heart the familiar bulk of Coldham the thief-taker some way ahead, searching the faces of the crowd, with more soldiers at his back. There was no way forward. There was no way back.

Luka seized their pack and slipped down from the cart, clicking his tongue to Zizi, who leapt to his shoulder.

Luka seized the ring in Sweetheart's nose.

‘What are we going to do?' Emilia whispered, slithering to the ground. Rollo leapt down behind her.

‘I don't know,' Luka said. ‘Hide? If we get into one of those shops maybe …'

People had begun to exclaim and point at the sight of the huge old bear. Some were frightened, and backed away from her, clearing a space around them. Luka and Emilia glanced around for somewhere to hide, but it was too late. Coldham had seen them.

‘There they are!' he shouted. ‘Seize them!'

Dragging on Sweetheart's chain, Luka dodged and weaved through the crowd, Emilia at his heels.

Hands seized Luka's coat and almost dragged him off his feet. Zizi leapt out, clawing and biting. The soldier yelped and let go, and Luka ran on, Sweetheart lumbering behind him.

‘Stop or I'll shoot!' Coldham cried.

Everyone shrank back against the walls, or threw themselves down. There was nothing between Luka and the tense black mouth of the pistol but a span of air.

Luka somersaulted over the nearest shop counter. He landed with a thump and was on his feet in an instant. Sweetheart clambered after him, sending vials and bottles of precious spices crashing to the floor. A man in a white turban wrung his hands and wailed. Luka had no time to listen. He looked anxiously for Emilia.

A pistol shot rang out. Time seemed to slow. No matter how hard Luka tried, he could not force his body to move any faster. Then he was knocked flying by a big, hairy shape.

Rollo!

An instant later Emilia was diving across the counter, smashing all the bottles Luka had somehow managed to miss.

‘Hurt?'

‘Nay!'

‘Let's get out of here!'

‘How?'

Luka glanced around wildly. He saw a long,
dark, narrow room, the floor covered in smithereens of glass, dried leaves, flowers, bark, dust. The furious face of a dark-skinned merchant, and beyond, a small window out to the river, a trapdoor in the rush-strewn floor, and a ladder to the rooms above.

Luka ducked the merchant's flying fist, then seized the handle of the trapdoor and hauled it up. Below, far below, torrents of water raged through the narrow archway.

He had time only to glance back and see Coldham framed in the dark wood of the shopfront. He had his pistol raised. Luka gulped and looked at Emilia. She shrugged, twisting her mouth in dismay, then jumped through the trapdoor, down, down, down towards the river. Luka heaved Rollo after her, and the big dog went tumbling down, howling in dismay. Luka crossed his arm protectively over Zizi, then jumped, his other arm dragging at Sweetheart's chain.
Sweetheart leapt too, a huge black shadow crashing down upon him.

Luka could do nothing but fall.

He smashed into the water, and was driven deep under the wild white rapids. The breath burst out of his lungs. Sweetheart hurtled after him, blotting out all the light and air. Luka saw her go past him in a burst of bubbles. He swam for the surface, feeling the remorseless drag of the tide on his body. His head burst free of the water, and was sucked down again immediately. He fought his way up again and managed a quick gulp of air.

Zizi scrambled up his body and perched on his head. Her weight, slight as it was, pressed him down into the water. Then Sweetheart burst out beside him, swimming strongly. Luka hauled on her chain and managed to grab her collar. She dragged him clear of the stone arches, water gushing all about. Desperately he looked for Emilia.

At first Luka saw nothing. Then he saw Rollo's wet, sleek head, held high. Beside him was Emilia, struggling to keep her head above water, her hand on the dog's neck. Sweetheart swam towards Emilia who grabbed weakly at the thick collar. The bear turned and swam for the far shore, the two children towed along behind. Rollo dogpaddled behind.

Gasping, shivering, water gushing from their clothes, the two children crawled out of the river still clinging to the collar of the huge old bear.

‘Sweetheart,' Luka said hoarsely, coughing up river water, ‘I will never call you stupid again!'

Boatmen on the river lifted their oars and waved, laughing, while workmen on the busy wharves leant down and shouted at them in high good humour. Emilia and Luka ignored them, too busy trying not to cut their feet on the barnacles that encrusted the rocks.

‘What a good bear you are,' Emilia said, letting
Sweetheart haul her up the steep steps. ‘You saved us, you good girl.'

Luka patted her muzzle. ‘Just as soon as I can, I'll get you a whole bucket of ale!'

Sweetheart's eyes brightened at the word, and she surged up on to the wharf, looking around her for an inn.

‘I'll have to get us some money first. We're broke!'

They did their best to wring the water out of their clothes and hair. Rollo shook himself furiously, sending a shower of filthy water over them.

‘Rollo!' Emilia cried. ‘Couldn't you go and shake somewhere else?'

‘Criminy, but I'm cold!' Luka exclaimed, rubbing his arms. ‘We'd better try and find some shelter, Milly. Night's coming on.'