Second Voice didn’t reply.
‘Fact I don’t see why we has to take him out at all. Why can’t we kill him here, be done with it?’
‘The man wants him strung up, so we string him up. You fain to argue about it, then you should have argued when you had the chance. Nay quoth Stringer, when his neck was in the halter.’
‘At least we could kill him first?’
‘We do as we’re told. No more to be said.’
‘He’s probably dead, anyway. You hit him mighty hard.’
‘He’s not dead. You have made fair speech, now rest.’
First Voice didn’t reply. The pain was almost unbearable. I could feel with my fingers, though they were frozen, immersed in the same cold puddle in which my face lay. My stomach still threatened to unload. I could feel a gash on the back of my head, throbbing. I was on my side, curled in a foetal position. Fortunately I wasn’t lying on either of my arms. My right arm was lying on a rough and lumpen surface, my hand was dangling limp in the water. I rubbed my arm gently against that surface. It felt like rope.
‘Is the rope thick enough?’ First Voice spoke, breaking the silence. I froze and held my breath.
‘The rope is thick enough.’
‘How thick is the pole?’
‘Thick enough. I looked at it yesterday. It’s been repaired recently, the wood is new and the fitting is sound. It will hold him.’
I was in no fit state to take on these two men. It would take me an age to sit, let alone stand up. My stomach had quietened. I didn’t breathe. The blood pounded at the back of my head, the front of my head, the back of my eyes and in my ears.
‘Has he paid you yet?’ First Voice asked.
‘We get paid when we done the job. Why do you challenge me, Mottram? Were you not there?’
‘I know, I know,’
‘Ye think he won’t pay us?’
‘No, course he will. Just asking, weren’t I?’
There was another long period of silence.
‘What should we do if there’s people around?’
‘We have discussed this many times.’ Second Voice sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth.
‘Methinks we didn’t talk it through well enough. He told a story as if it were simple, but now I am less certain.’
‘We’ll do the job as we said we would.’
I began to flex my muscles, one by one, slowly and systematically. By flexing my biceps my lower arm began to feel better. I flexed my thighs very slowly in order to avoid attracting attention. I tensed my calf muscles at the same time as my toes. I made no movements with my neck — the slightest movement resulted in searing pain around the wound on my head.
‘What time is it now?’
‘Half past one.’
‘Did he say leave here at two, or leave the wharf at two?’
‘He didn’t specify.’
‘If we get started now, then, we’ll likely be ready to leave the wharf at about two, wouldn’t you say?’
Second Voice sighed. There was a cracking noise and a shuffling like the sound of a man getting to his feet. ‘The candle is nearly dead, anyway. You pick him up and let’s be on our way.’
‘That’s more like it!’
I lay still and listened to Mottram’s heavy steps. Big hands grabbed my armpits. Gritting my teeth I stopped myself crying out as he slung me over his shoulder, the back of my head rubbing against his elbow. The pain was twice as bad with my head hanging, the throbbing intensified. His coat was damp. He carried me up a short spiral staircase. As we emerged into a dark room at the top, I looked out of one eye. There was a big table laid out in the middle of the room, thick, with a row of knives hung up on one wall. The room smelt of rotting meat. At the end of the table next to the front door was a barrow. I was swung about and thrown into it, with my legs hanging over one side, and the back of my head landing with a thump on the bottom of it. I thought I was dying. I passed out again.
‘It’s yonder, just beyond your left shoulder,’ Second Voice called out. Those were the words that woke me. A cold wind blew up my trouser legs. There was something on my face that smelt of fish, weighing down on it. I felt rough prickles against my face. More rope.
‘Hey!’ Mottram said slowly.
‘What?’ Second Voice snarled.
‘I think I just saw him move.’ My heart seized.
‘How can you see him move when he’s bouncing up and down in the bottom of the barrow?’ Second Voice sounded fed up. Listen to him!
The wind blew harder and colder and I heard the sound of water lapping against the river wall.
‘There she is.’ Second Voice was ahead now. Mottram must be pushing the barrow.
‘I hope you don’t expect me to row us all the way to Westminster by myself,’ Mottram grumbled.
‘Come and help me get her untied.’ There was a thump, the sound of a man stepping down into a boat. The barrow was dropped, again sending fresh waves of pain and nausea from my head to my stomach. It had to be now.
I pushed myself slowly and steadily upwards, my feet slipping to the ground, the rope rolling off my face and falling onto the flagstones.
‘Hey!’ Mottram’s voice shouted. I stood up straight and turned. A big, heavy man was holding a rope in one hand standing at the top of the wharf above the river. Mottram. The man I had seen at the Exchange. The rope led downwards. ‘He’s got up!’
‘Stop him, then!’ Second Voice cried out from beyond. There was the sound of feet scrambling on stone steps.
I turned and ran. I saw and recognised the spires of Mary Somerset, Mary Magdalene and Nicholas Cole. Beyond them the big square bulk of Old St Paul’s. This was Broken Wharf. Running up the hill as fast as I could I struggled to find strength in my stiff, tired legs.
‘You’re too damned slow!’ Second Voice shouted angrily at Mottram. It was him I was afraid of, not Mottram.
Looking over my shoulder I saw my demons in profile. Mottram was tall and stout and would not catch me, but the other man was shorter, more athletic — and close behind. I tried to run faster. My eyes burnt, my lungs were raw and waves of nausea rippled up from my guts, but I kept going thanks to the grace of … Second Voice was catching up, I could hear his steps behind. Fish! Where to go? Where to go? No idea! I darted left into a black alley and sprinted forward, careless of what might lie before me. Slipping twice on the cobbles I slid forward on the sole of one shoe, but righted myself both times. Left, right, left. Not once did I choose a blind alley. I chose the narrowest passages and darkest yards. I emerged out onto a main street. Knightrider Street! West! St Paul’s Bakery! Looking behind, I saw the shadow of Second Voice emerge, turn, spot me and give chase again. But he was farther behind now, forty or fifty yards, and he was alone. I reached the corner of the bakery and headed straight for the wooden row of shops that was there, a hundred yards long. The shops were all alike, with window shutters made of Eastland board. I pulled at the first set of shutters. They were locked tight shut, and the second, and the third, but the lock on the fourth set was looser. I pulled it open with three mighty pulls and leapt through the gap, pushing against the window behind with my body. I landed in a heap on the wooden floor with glass chips all about me. Ignoring the pain of the shards that embedded themselves in my hands, I jumped to my feet. I pulled the shutters closed and held them, leaning backwards with all my weight in case Second Voice tried to pull on them. Breathing hard, my body complaining and threatening to retch I listened hard, but could hear nothing above the noise of the blood pounding in my ears.
Footsteps! Quiet footsteps, quick but cautious, stopping and starting, like a mouse or rat. Footsteps on the street. I held my breath and waited. The steps stopped. No sound. Slowly, very slowly, I leant forward and looked out through the gap in the shutters. Still I could hear nothing. I looked for shadows, listened for the slight crunch of shoe on dirt. Nothing.