Southwark was stirring by the time they got back to the Sign of the Parley. Ned unlocked the gate and ushered everyone inside, glancing nervously up and down the street. Just when he thought he and Gabriel might be able to forget about the guisers, the bastards went and did something like this. Poor little mite, stolen away from everyone he knew!
He shut and bolted the gate behind them and joined his friends in the kitchen.
“So, what’s this plan of yours?” Mal asked.
Ned gestured to Gabriel, who was grinning like a child with a secret.
“Burbage has been thinking of sending the Prince’s Men on the road,” Gabriel said, “since the theatres are all closed now. You can travel with us until we’re safely out of London, then ride ahead to Cambridge and we’ll catch you up when we can.”
“And Burbage can furnish you with disguises as well,” Ned added. “Wigs, false beards, the lot.”
“That’s perfect,” Coby said, and turned to Mal. “Isn’t it perfect?”
He nodded cautiously. “How soon could you get the players together? We need to leave as soon as possible.”
“I’ll have them rounded up before noon,” Gabriel said.
“Noon? That’s too long,” Mal muttered.
“You’ll be of no use to the lad if the prince claps you in irons.” Ned went over to the hearth and got out his tinderbox. “Besides, you can’t leave without some breakfast inside you. You look fit to faint, the pair of you.”
Mal glanced at his brother, who sat hunched over at the far end of the table, head in his hands.
“Very well.”
“I’ll be off then,” Gabriel said, rising from his seat.
Sandy looked up abruptly.
“Can we trust these actors?” he asked. “We still don’t know who all the guisers are, or their lackeys. What if Burbage, or Shakespeare, or–”
“Of course we can trust them,” Ned said. “Shakespeare helped get me and Gabriel out of the Marshalsea, remember? If he’s a guiser, I’m a Moor. And Burbage is too much the drunken whoremonger to be of any use to anyone.”
“I’ll go with you,” Coby said to Gabriel. “I can pick out some costumes for disguises and run errands.”
“No.” Mal caught hold of her sleeve. “We stay here, the three of us. I won’t risk you being caught.”
“And you think here is safe? It’s the first place they’ll look.”
A long silence whilst they all pondered this likelihood.
“She’s right,” Mal said at last. “Forget breakfast, Ned. Let’s gather our belongings together and get out of here. Gabriel, we’ll meet you, Ned and the Prince’s Men at the Globe at noon.”
Ned put down his ladle. “Where will you be?”
“Best you don’t know. I have a few boltholes around Southwark; we’ll be in one of those.” He clapped Ned on the shoulder. “Try not to get arrested in the meantime, eh?”
Kit’s spirits sank as the day wore on. The marshes seemed to go on forever, empty of people or roads or any means of escape. And yet he knew from studying maps that this was only one small corner of England. How big the world truly was, compared to the little globe that fitted within the compass of his arms.
They stopped for the night on an island in the marshes. The workman untied their ankle bonds once he had carried them ashore; like he said, it wasn’t as if they could go anywhere. The well-dressed man threw some clothes at them and told them to put them on. Kit was vastly relieved; though the night was warm, he felt uncomfortable wearing just a nightshirt in the presence of strangers. At least it had dried out, even if it did still smell of piss a bit.
Sidney pulled a face. “These are peasant’s clothes. I’m a cousin of the King; I can’t wear these. I won’t.”
“You’ll put them on or feel my belt,” the well-dressed man told him. “Cousin or nephew or the prince hisself, I care not.”
Kit pulled on the rough woollen slops, hoping that last comment had not been aimed at him. However the men hadn’t addressed him as “Your Highness” yet, so perhaps they hadn’t been trying to abduct the prince. But in that case, what did they want with him? His father wasn’t rich or powerful…
“There’s no drawers,” Sidney whined, though not loudly enough for the man to hear him.
“Tuck your nightshirt around your bum,” Kit said, showing him how. “That way they won’t itch as much.”
There were no stockings or shoes either, just jerkins of the same woollen stuff, threadbare and a bit musty-smelling.
Kit spread out his blanket as far from the water as possible whilst staying well away from their captors, and the two boys sat on it huddled together, more for mutual comfort than warmth. The bird noises had quieted, to be replaced by the croaking of frogs and the whine of mosquitos. The setting sun traced rose and gold ripples across the dark water, but there was not a building to be seen on the horizon nor any firelight nor smoke from a chimney. They were alone in this flat, watery wilderness.
The well-dressed man built a fire in the middle of the island and started grilling fish threaded on sticks. Kit’s mouth began to water, and he tried to take his mind off his grumbling stomach by trying to work out how far away the frogs were, but it was no use. The younger of the two workmen must have heard it even over the croaking, because he brought them some more of the bread, but no fish. Sidney looked as though he was about to complain, but the man leered at them and he thought better of it.
“I want to go home,” Sidney mumbled when the man had gone back to the fire.
“So do I,” replied Kit. “But my father and uncle will find us soon and rescue us, I promise.”
Sidney eyed him suspiciously. “How do they even know where we are?”
“I…” He shrugged. How could he explain it, when he didn’t understand it himself? He just knew, as sure as if someone had told him.
“I think we should try to escape. Steal a couple of horses and ride away as fast as we can. I bet those two ruffians have never been on a horse in their lives.”
Kit sighed. “Where are we going to find a horse out here, clotpole?”
“We have to wait until we’re back on dry land. There’s bound to be a house or a farm or something.”
“And of course you know all about stealing horses.”
“I know how to ride one, better than you.”
“Do not.”
“Do so.”
“Oi, quiet, the pair of you!”
Something whistled through the air, and Kit yelped in pain. A stick, thrown by one of the men round the fire. He gave Sidney one last jab in the ribs then turned his attention to the bread he’d been given, and for a long time his jaws were occupied with something other than talking.
Afterwards he lay back down on the damp mossy ground and tried to get comfortable. The roots of the tree stuck in his back worse than Sidney’s elbows had, back in the bed they shared in the tower. After a while the men put out the fire and settled down to sleep themselves. Kit lay awake staring at the stars, wishing he could fly up there amongst them. The thought gave him a shivery feeling, like he could make it happen if he really wished hard enough. He closed his eyes and concentrated for the longest time but nothing happened. With a sigh he rolled over and buried his face in the blanket.