Dowling breathed inwards, sharply. Withypoll straightened his back and smiled again, pity vying with evil intent upon his haggard face.
Arlington drew on his pipe and regarded Withypoll with quizzical eye. ‘You’re right, he does talk in my ear. And he has discovered nothing.’
Withypoll’s brows shot so far up his head it looked like he swallowed a fly.
Arlington ignored him. ‘You say Josselin followed us here. Where is he now?’
‘I reckon he hides in the churchyard of Thomas Apostle,’ I replied, aware he was testing me.
Withypoll turned, eyes blazing. He and the soldiers had been waiting in the churchyard.
‘Or somewhere else we will not find him.’
‘Hmm.’ Arlington frowned. ‘Then how do we catch him?’
‘He wants to meet you. I reckon he will meet you only in a public place where he believes he is in control of the surroundings.’ Where he would be in control, because he was more intelligent than Arlington and Withypoll combined. ‘A place with open space and lots of light.’
‘You listen to him?’ Withypoll snorted. ‘Josselin is trapped inside the City walls. He will take whatever opportunity we offer him.’
Arlington stood. ‘I have to get back to the fire. The King will be wondering where I am.’ He clicked his fingers in Withypoll’s face. ‘We will give these two another opportunity.’
Withypoll scowled.
‘You have until tomorrow to find Josselin.’ Arlington turned to face us once more. ‘Do not disappoint.’
He opened the door and stepped out into the alley. The sky burnt orange, framing Arlington’s squat silhouette. We were left alone with Withypoll.
‘Very clever,’ he hissed, sitting on Arlington’s chair, elbows on knee, staring at the blade of his knife. ‘You think you saved yourselves, don’t you?’
He eyed the soldiers, growled and shook his head, still furious. Then he went to the door and stuck his head out into the alley. ‘The fire is spreading fast,’ he called. ‘I can hear the flames at the end of Old Fish Street.’
I couldn’t hear flames, but I heard the sound of men shouting, women screaming. London was in chaos. Those whose houses burnt would be scrambling to empty their houses. The streets would soon
be full of overladen carts filled with people’s possessions, most with no obvious place to go. The City gates would be overrun with citizens seeking to fetch their goods away, find somewhere else to stay. The soldiers at the gates would find themselves overwhelmed, not knowing what to do. Men outside the gate would be pushing to get in, to help with the effort to fight the fire. Men and women would be fighting to get out, as far away from the fire as they could get. Josselin had created the perfect world in which to travel unseen.
Withypoll tipped his beaver hat, face empty of all expression. ‘Arlington told me to leave you, so we will leave you.’ He gestured at the two soldiers to exit the door. ‘Good luck,’ he said, quietly. ‘I think this makes us even.’
With which he closed the door behind and left us to our fate. The key turned in the lock and his footsteps faded away down the alley.
‘A prayer, Davy,’ I whispered, rope digging into the flesh about my ears. Light shone in from a little window at the top of the far wall. Impossible to say if it was fire or dawn. ‘We need a good prayer.’
I realised I forgot to visit Culpepper. The deadline passed.
Chapter Thirty-One
The first Comet had a large tail, full, well fixed; there’s much Unity betwixt his Majesty and People.
A tiny muscle in my neck locked in spasm, shooting stabbed pains down the left side of my head. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the agony. My calf muscles cramped and my toes ached, yet I couldn’t relieve the pressure even a fraction, for every time I relaxed, just an inch, the rope tightened a little more.
‘How are you, Dowling?’ I managed a strangulated whine.
Dowling growled. ‘There came a great wind and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead.’
‘The wind may die down,’ I replied, not sure I understood. ‘It’s been blowing for two days.’
He didn’t answer.
‘What about God?’ I asked. ‘Will He not save us?’
‘Upon your head the name of blasphemy,’ he swallowed.
My eyeballs were popping out of my head. ‘If the fire does arrive, then perhaps it will burn the rope first,’ I suggested.
‘For that we should pray very hard indeed,’ Dowling replied, solemn. ‘Yet I fear you lack the faith.’
‘Well you pray, then,’ I retorted. ‘For you have the faith of a thousand, do you not?’ I felt suddenly hopeless.
‘You are an atheist, then,’ Dowling exclaimed, in shrill triumph.
‘Just because I don’t live my life as if someone were watching from the sky does not make me an atheist.’
Dowling muttered something while I contemplated the silence and tried to quell the panic and fear. I needed to piss.
Thin wisps of smoke slithered under the door, swallowed up before they reached the ceiling, leaving behind only the acrid smell of burning wood. Then the faintest sound of crackling flames, creeping up to the door with despicable malintent. The air grew cloudy, the door blurry and my eyes began to water. I jerked my wrists despite the tightening cord about my neck, fighting the terror that throttled my heart. A wave of black fog billowed into the room, choking and harsh, drifting to the roof and hanging there. I held my breath and tried not to move, my head dizzy. I closed my eyes. Dowling coughed and coughed again, wheezing until he retched.
I tried to shout, but no words came out. My breath rasped at the back of my throat. Tears streamed and the flesh about my eyes burnt. I tried again to hold my breath, but my mouth burnt and filled with phlegm. I was forced to breathe deep, but nothing happened. Then I coughed so hard it felt like my body conspired to turn itself inside out and my lungs threatened to explode. Strange lights danced in front of my eyes.
Shrewsbury’s face floated before my gaze, the bags about his eyes so loose and floppy his eyeballs appeared shrunken. He wore a dark grey cloak about a cadaverous body, thin and bony. The syphilis ate him. He hovered just below the ceiling, forcing his face into mine, grinning like a demon. His face was long like Josselin’s. It had ne’er struck me before how alike they appeared. A heavy thud sounded in my ears, like an axe against a block. Had Shrewsbury chopped off Dowling’s head? I tried to turn and see, but someone grabbed my ankles and lifted them into the air. I glided across the floor towards a fiery glow. Shrewsbury was dragging me to Hell! I tried to jerk my feet loose, kicking out at the bindings that would not be free. I heard my voice rattle as sputum filled my throat. Smoke snaked into my mouth and nose, my head spun. Then something hit me in the face. A strong wind.
‘Stir yourself, Lytle,’ someone shouted into my ear.
I opened my eyes to see Dowling’s red, sweaty face pressed close against mine. I could hardly see, my eyes were so crusted. I tried to bring a hand round to wipe them, but couldn’t move. I turned to see Josselin holding my other arm, the two of them forcing me up the narrow alley. My back burnt so hot I feared my shirt was on fire.
‘I’m glad you came,’ I tried to say, but succeeded only in spraying Josselin’s face with a lungful of green mucus.
He spat on the floor without moving his head, struggling to hold me straight. I stretched my legs and attempted to swing them in rhythm with our slow procession back towards College Hill.
‘I can walk myself,’ I croaked, afore choking again. I dug my heels in the ground and pulled my arms free, falling backward upon the alley floor. Dowling knelt at my side and peered into my eyes.
‘I can walk,’ I said again, tugging on his shirt as I staggered to my feet.
‘Then walk fast,’ Josselin grumbled. ‘The fire is closing in on all sides.’