"Over there, the stairs!" Richard now hissed at me and I followed his gesture. There was indeed a narrow staircase on the far wall of the room that led to the upper floor. This was usually reserved for the girls, who had their sleeping chambers up there. The small wooden staircase lay very conveniently in the shade, while the exit door was shrouded in bright torchlight. If we could make it upstairs unseen, we would be safe for the time being. So putting the plan into action, we crept towards the stairs. Fortunately, roaring laughter could be heard from the tables every now and then, so the squeaking and creaking of the wooden steps was not noticeable as we cautiously made our way up.
"That was close." Rich exhaled deeply as we reached the upper hallway. "I almost got the impression that Tom had seen us."
"Are you sure?"
"No, not a bit."
"It doesn't matter," I said contritely. "We can't stay here anyway. We have to get back to Stanley."
Richard shrugged and we crossed the narrow hallway with the doors of the dormitories on either side. From a door ajar we now heard wild gasps. It sounded like a woman was in distress, so I gripped my rapier tighter and peered through the gap together with Richard. The scenario that opened up to us there, however, did not look like forced action. Ethel and Tamora were lying on top of each other in a large rumpled four-poster bed, completely unclothed. However, they had lain down in an inverted position in relation to each other. Ethel had shamelessly buried her head between Tamora's spread thighs, while Tamora licked Ethel's pubis, which was above her, along with her wide bottom. Behind Ethel's bottom, in turn, knelt a corpulent older gentleman who thrust rhythmically and rapidly between the buxom cheeks, roaring like a rutting deer. Ethel's face (which resembled my mother's) was contorted with lust - a completely disturbing scene for me. Over the back of a chair at the front of the chamber we saw a very expensive doublet with gold embroidery hanging. In front of it stood noble shaft boots with ornate spurs.
Discreetly, we withdrew and walked down the corridor to its end. There we quietly opened a door that led to another staircase running down the back of the inn.
"I've always wondered what those stairs were for," Richard gasped beside me as we hastily moved away from the clubhouse.
"Well, now you know. The girls bring the wealthier customers to them here. That way they don't have to go through the taproom where they would disturb the Guardsmen and could be seen by the patrons. I bet that guy just paid a fortune for the evening."
"I would have gladly swapped places with him." Richard grinned all over his face as we disappeared into a side alley. "What the girls did to each other was pretty weird. Do you think they lick each other all the time in their spare time too?"
"Hard to say. I don't think most customers indulge them extensively. That's probably why they have to take care of their own relaxation." I got philosophical. "Then when you have such a pretty bedfellow, I suppose it stands to reason that you'd help each other out."
Richard's expression had transfigured and an even wider grin crossed his face. "You're right, George. That's the way it has to be."
"Anyway, now we have to go back to the lion's den first."
"The pit of the Wolves," Richard immediately corrected.
"Smartass!"
"Scumbag!"
"Let's go!"
Chapter 10
"There he is." We had waited for a solid hour. Now Richard said, "See, I was right."
We were crouched behind a parked cart on the opposite side of the Wolves' lair. I had been of the belief that this would be a waste of time, but Richard had assured me we would merely have to wait. Stan would want to turn our amulets into money and he would not be able to wait until the next day to do so.
"Like I said," he whispered now. "His trick is always to pretend he's having a drink. In truth, the crook always just drinks water and pretends to be funny. Then, when everyone has dozed off, he does his dirty business."
Stan's figure, cloaked in a black cloak, detached itself from the semi-darkness of the barrel that marked the secret passage and moved prudently and smoothly down the street. Cautiously, we took up pursuit. Although I carried my rapier, I shied away from open confrontation. Stanley was a cunning robber chief who surely expected to be attacked at this time of day. Most likely he carried a pistol under his clothes, ready to fire, against which my beautiful sword would have no chance at all.
Stan moved faster and faster in an easterly direction through the harbour district. We entered a busier area where, despite the hour, there were still passers-by. Richard and I kept our eyes down so as not to attract attention and reduced our distance to Stan so as not to lose sight of him. Cold fog hung in the alleys. It had become significantly colder once again, so that I was shivering despite my thick doublet. Behind an inn, in front of which two drunken sailors lay in their vomit, was a narrow building marked 'Cunningham Pawnbroker'.
"A pawnbroker?", I groaned as I watched Stan enter the building through the creaking door. Warm light still filtered through the small windows onto the street. We hurried to get to the door before it fell back completely into the lock. We managed to hold it open a small crack unnoticed. Stealthily, we looked inside the building and recognised a small sales room with a wooden counter. On the shelves against the far wall we saw lots of bric-a-brac: ornate goblets, bowls, glasses and some paintings. A narrow-shouldered man with only a few hairs left on his head now appeared directly behind the counter. His close-set eyes flashed cheerfully and curiously. His appearance resembled a bird of prey looking around for prey.
"God be with you, Master Cunningham!" The men shook hands.
"You're the last customer of the day again," grinned the pawnbroker. "What nice thing have you brought me today?"
Now we heard it clatter and jingle as Stanley spread his belongings out on the counter.
"Oh, very pretty." The shopkeeper nodded appreciatively. "I'll give you two shillings for the ring."
"Four."
"It's not worth four, Stanley."
"Look at the ornaments. That's proper goldsmithing."
"Make it three. That's my final offer."
"Three and a half."
"Don't overdo it!"
"Good three. What about the amulets? They should be worth quite a bit more than that."
The pawnbroker now pressed a strange-looking monocle to his right eye and took one of the amulets. His critical gaze examined the coat of arms of the Scottish Guard. He bit down on the edge and finally looked Stanley straight in the face. "This is worth nothing, my friend. It's not gold, it's brass. Beautifully crafted, I admit, but worthless. The stones that look like rubies are coloured window glass."
"That can't be." Stanley looked dismayed. "You're trying to pull a fast one on me, aren't you?"
"How dare you, Stan!" the pawnbroker was indignant.
"In all these years we've done good business. I never asked where you got all the jewellery you hawked from me. I was always discreet and fair."
"I suppose you mean you always made a good profit from me. This isn't the first time you've taken advantage of me, you windy, money-grubbing wretch."
In the fraction of a blink of an eye, Stanley was struck right in the face by a punch. The offended shopkeeper apparently had no problem getting physical. Stan struck back. A wild scuffle broke out on the counter, with the amulets being swept off the counter by Stan's arms and landing on the floor. The pawnbroker now went straight for Stan's throat and choked him. "Ungrateful bastard!" he exclaimed, but got a big eye in return.
"It's now or never!" said Richard next to me. I knew what he meant and opened the door a little wider. Rich slipped into the sales room, grabbed the amulets from the floor and slipped out again without the fighting men noticing him. Immediately we sprinted off to put as much distance as possible between us and Stanley.
"Lying son of a bitch!" we heard the pawnbroker yell. "Take that, you scoundrel!" retorted Stanley. Those were the last words we heard as we turned the next street corner.
Richard had thrown me an amulet as we ran and I had hung it around my neck - not a moment too late, as I immediately realised. In a doorway I recognised Angus, one of the Guardsmen on guard duty. Our eyes crossed and he grinned wryly as he saw us hurrying along.
For a moment I could hardly believe our luck. We had outwitted the Wolves and even regained our amulets. Now we just had to hide near the 'Breeze' and wait for the chimes of Saint Pauls. The morning was already dawning slightly. So it could not be long now.
In a frenzy of victory, we ran around the next street corner, displaying the amulets, when we saw two burly figures appear in front of us. They were naked except for their pants and completely filthy. I recognised them immediately. Both of them had started this adventure together with us. However, they no longer possessed amulets. Their eyes slid greedily to the jewellery that we now wore again with pride. In their hands they held large wooden clubs, which they raised screaming as they rushed towards us like a wall of fury.
Chapter 11
I certainly had my rapier and Richard had a small knife, but the concentrated fury of our rivals immediately made us take to our heels. The greed in their looks had been overpowering. No doubt they had lost their amulets to muggers and were now doing everything they could to make amends for their disgrace. As we hurriedly made our escape, I wondered a little about myself. Had I not defied the Musketeers in France? Had I not defeated their captain? Why was I running away from these green aspirants? Exasperated, I clutched the hilt of my rapier and prepared to stand up to my opponents. As I ran, I nodded to Richard and he understood what I meant, even though I could not see approval in his eyes, only fear.
At the next corner I turned as I ran and held out the bare steel to the attackers. Richard had drawn his pathetic knife as he also turned. One of the attackers ducked under my blade and struck his club hard against my right shin. I cried out in anger and pain. Tears welled up in my eyes, so much had the blow stung. Richard had deliberately gone down next to me and in a flash had thrown himself at the feet of the onrushing aspirant, which now brought him down.
He hit the pavement with a whimper, but the second attacker was still in good shape. He knocked the sword out of my hand with his club. As I was still dealing with the great pain in my shin, he managed this almost effortlessly. The precious weapon sailed through the air, spun several times and was snatched by the hilt as if from nowhere by a strange hand. I recognised another Guardsman aspirant. He was wearing only a pair of pants and his amulet. His hair was flaxen and long. His torso looked like he was doing a lot of hard outdoor work. He had seized my weapon and I held my breath waiting to see what he would do with it. Sure enough, he now held the blade under my opponent's nose. "What you are doing is wrong. If you have lost your amulets, recover them from those who are responsible for them!"
The youngling who had tripped Richard stood up with difficulty. His lower jaw was bleeding from the fall. A front tooth was missing. "I'm not messing with those damn Seafarers again," he spat. "Those guys are straight out of hellfire. I'd rather take you guys on." With these words, he lunged at the blond aspirant and struck pitilessly with his cudgel. The blond parried the attacks, but quickly had to realise that he was inferior in size and strength. When the second truncheon-bearer also rushed to the aid of his crony, the blond called out to Richard and me: "Follow me!"
We now followed our helper without any delay. But the two attackers were close on our heels, rushing us through narrow streets and squares. I fervently hoped to see one of the Guardsmen who could surely have helped us out of our precarious situation, but I could not find the vermilion far and wide.
We fled down St. Martins Street and turned towards the Thames, always eager to leave our pursuers behind us. Near the river, a large open space spread out. Three huge, wooden cranes stretched their jibs into the sky. This had to be the Three Cranes shipyard. Nearby had been the upturned boat that had served as my dwelling during my first weeks in London. In the light of the many torches, we could now see, a little further in the background, a huge unfinished hulk on stilts, with a lot of workers busy. They were bending planks over hot embers, hammering wooden splints into the outer wall of the hull, which still resembled a skeleton in many places, or were busy with sanding work. Our blond companion ran in the direction of this ship. On the way, he threw me the sword, which I caught somewhat clumsily. He smiled at it and called out to me, "I'm Amos. This is yours, I believe."
"Thanks, man!", I gasped back. "I'm George. My friend here is called Richard. Thanks for your help!"
"I don't like it when people play dirty." He was gasping as well by now. "Let's run for the ship! Maybe the workers will help us against the thugs." To be able to run faster, I had now pushed my rapier into the waistband of my trousers, where it was held by the rope that also fixed my pants.
A little later we had reached the huge scaffolding and were whizzing under the supporting pillars. Our vigorous chasers had taken the same direction.
"Watch it, you brats!" one worker yelled at us. Another cuffed Richard as he ran. No one seemed to want to help us. We reached a wooden ladder on the hull and climbed it quickly. We were physically inferior to our chasers, but we could make up for that to some extent with skill and speed here on the ship's skeleton. The ladder led up to a kind of scaffolding that spanned the entire hull. A narrow footbridge served as a transport route for the workers. We quickly moved towards the stern. Another climb followed. By now we were a considerable distance above the ground. If we fell, we would not only break all our bones, but also our necks.
"Your time is coming," one of our pursuers roared, foaming with rage. I almost felt as if I could feel his breath on my back as we ran. Amos ran ahead of me. Richard was at the front of our group. I increased my pace again as best I could, but I was close to exhaustion by the time we reached the stern. Some workers were hammering planks onto the stern. One of the big wooden cranes had stretched its swivel arm over the stern. Dangling from a strong chain leading out of the tip of the swing arm was a wooden platform that was used to carry building materials. Since the workers up here had already unloaded it, it was swung away from the stern of the ship again.
"This is our rescue!" Richard ran past the stunned workers towards the platform. He jumped onto the moving structure without delay and looked around expectantly for us. By now the platform had swung over the railing and was now hovering over open ground. With an elegant jump, Amos also made it onto the rescuing construction. The distance between the ship and the platform increased rapidly. The depth between them meant the certain death. I sprinted to the railing, turned off my mind and jumped too. A blink of an eye later, however, only my upper body reached the edge of the platform. I was hanging over the abyss. Instinctively, my hands tried to claw their way into wooden planks, but they found no grip. I slid. My weight pulled me down. But Amos and Richard had rushed to the edge and grabbed my arms. They tried to pull me onto the platform, but at the same moment a sharp pain ran through me, as if I were lying on the rack of a torture cellar. A huge weight had attached itself to my legs and was pulling my body apart. I looked down and recognised one of the chasers who had also jumped and had caught my legs in the process. Now he was tugging at me like a huge lump of lead. My muscles tensed under the strain. All I could feel was pain. If my friends hadn't been holding me, I would have fallen to the depths immediately. Their faces were also distorted with pain as they tried in vain to pull me up. By now, the crane's swing arm was far away from the construction site. A barge full of wooden planks was anchored on the Thames, waiting to be unloaded further. I was gradually overcome with cold anger at our pursuers. Were they out of their minds? What were these ragamuffins thinking? Just because they were a little older, a little bigger and a little stronger than us, they thought they could just take our amulets. Not with me! I had had enough of it. I began to move my lower body vigorously back and forth, even at the risk that Amos and Richard would not be able to hold me. The iron grip of my 'appenda
ge' slowly loosened, I kicked my legs to speed this up. I felt the success of my action. The fact that I was not wearing footwear now proved to be an advantage. The other aspirant's paws slid off my mud-stained feet. A horrible screech followed and the guy fell into the abyss. There was a loud splash as he broke the surface of the Thames. Because of the darkness, however, I could not see whether he resurfaced. But it was very unlikely, because who could actually swim?
Meanwhile, the platform was slowly descending. A rattling sound echoed through the night as the steel chain links slid over the roller. The crane, similar in appearance to a windmill, had continued to turn and now came to a stop on the deck of the barge. Dumbfounded workers looked at us as we nimbly jumped off our means of transport.
"What are you rascals doing here?" One of the men gave us a rather nasty look.
"We came here to sign on as ship's boys." Richard joked lightly.
"Hey, you've got to be kidding us. I'm going to pull your mutton legs. You're gonna ..."
"Stop it!" My patience was wearing thin. I unsheathed my rapier and held it under the nose of the boat's helmsman. "I merely request passage ashore for myself and my friends."
The man barely batted an eyelid and just spat sideways. "Aye, but we're anchored. We'll put you over in the dinghy."
I thanked the man with a jovial nod.
The Caledonian Race: A Pulp Adventure (George Glen Series Book 2) Page 6