“You’re new in town.” The man smiled. His lips were wet and rubbery. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I only got here today.” Tom was afraid to give any information away. He had taken an immediate dislike to the man without quite knowing why.
But the man seemed unaware of it. “You’ve come to the right place,” he said. “My name is Grimly. James Grimly at your service!” He tried to bow but his stomach was too round and didn’t have anywhere to bend. “So you are looking for work?”
“I might be…”
“How nice.” The man ran his eyes over Tom rather as if he were inspecting a horse or a piece of meat. “If you were – that is – looking for work,” he went on, “I might be able to help.”
“How?”
“I have a large number of people in my employment. Young lads like yourself. James Grimly’s boys are well-known on the streets of London.”
“What sort of work do they do?” Tom asked, feeling more uneasy by the minute.
“It’s charity work,” Grimly explained. He giggled. “Yes. There are people, you see, who need to give to charity. And so it follows that there must be people who are charity. That’s what I supply. That’s my boys.”
Tom didn’t quite understand this, nor did he like it. “Thank you, Mr Grimly,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m interested.”
“Your choice, my dear fellow. Of course it is! Maybe soon you’ll change your mind. But for now I leave you to dine with Duke Humphrey!”
Tom frowned, not knowing what he meant.
Grimly pointed at a large, stone tomb. “Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester!” he explained. “No money? No food? Then you’re on your own with him!” The little man laughed and walked away, his boots clattering on the stone floor.
Relieved to see him go, Tom turned and was about to go back the way he had come when he stopped and froze.
The main door must have opened and closed while he was talking to Grimly. A man had come in and was talking to another cluster of men, asking them questions. Even from a distance, Tom recognized his long black hair, his slim, languid body, his penetrating blue eyes. Gamaliel Ratsey had followed him to London. Somehow he had overtaken him on the road. If he so much as raised his head, he would see him. Tom knew he had to hide.
He looked the other way. James Grimly had almost reached the far door and before he knew quite what he was doing, Tom had caught up with him. Grimly’s snowball head swivelled on his shoulders. He didn’t look surprised to see Tom.
“My dear boy!” he said. “My most likeable fellow! Do I take it that you’ve changed your mind?”
“Yes,” Tom blurted out. “I have.” He was almost whispering, afraid that Ratsey would hear him even though he was right on the other side of the cathedral.
“Then let’s hurry to my offices before you change your mind again,” Grimly said. “We’ll have to prepare you for your work. It will mean certain … changes. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you can start.”
Tom nodded, although he had heard little of what the man had said.
Leaving Paul’s Walk behind them, the two set off together.
Grimly had a yard at the end of a dark, narrow alleyway near the Thames. The city was much quieter here, with fewer people on the streets and a damp, evil-smelling fog in the air. Slimy water and mud rose over Tom’s ankles as the two of them hurried towards a pair of mouldering wooden gates.
“My home,” Grimly muttered. He opened the gates and ushered Tom inside. The gates led into a rough, partly cobbled courtyard, squeezed between three buildings that seemed to be leaning on each other to stay upright. Tom looked around him. Set in the middle of the courtyard was a single, wooden chair with a high back and solid arms and legs. Tom had no idea what the chair was for. But there was something about it that made him go cold inside.
“Belter!” Grimly called. “Snivel! Get the book! Get out here! We have a new recruit!”
Almost at once a door at the side of the courtyard flew open and two men hurried out. The first of these, the man called Belter, was huge and muscular, completely bald with a face that hadn’t quite formed, like an over-sized baby. He was naked to the waist. He had no hair on his chest and his nipples were black. Snivel was older, a crumpled bag of a man, carrying a leather-bound book underneath his withered arm.
“A new recruit?” Snivel rasped. He licked his lip. “From Paul’s Walk?” he asked.
“Where else?” Grimly turned to Tom. “We’ll prepare you straight away.”
“Prepare me?” Tom was getting more nervous by the second. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I told you. It’s for charity!”
“Charity!” Snivel agreed.
“What sort of charity?” Tom demanded.
Grimly sighed. “The homeless and the disabled,” he explained. “I’ve got boys all over London. On street corners. Outside churches. They’re Grimly’s boys.”
“You mean they’re beggars!”
“Exactly. But they’re special beggars. They work for me and I take half of what they earn. But in return I help them, you see. I adjust them.” Grimly flicked a finger in Tom’s direction. “Take a boy like you. You’re a little thin. A little ragged. But how much do you think that’s worth? Good people, charitable people, people with money … they want something more. Oh yes, they might give a penny to a child shivering with cold. But how much do you think they’d give to that same child, missing a leg?”
Grimly had barely spoken the last three words before Tom was running for the gate. But Belter had been expecting it. Before Tom had taken two paces he was grabbed from behind and dragged, screaming to the wooden chair. There was nothing he could do as he was forced down, his hands and feet securely fastened with rope. It was over in a matter of seconds. By the time the giant had finished with him Tom was sitting helplessly, unable to move.
“Let me go!” he shouted. “I’ve changed my mind! I don’t want to work for you!”
Grimly touched a finger to his lips. “Don’t shout,” he said in a soft, soothing voice. “It won’t hurt that much.”
Belter had produced a dirty canvas bag from somewhere. He dropped it on the cobbled ground and Tom heard it clink.
“Now what shall we do with him?” Grimly asked. “How about one arm and one leg?”
Snivel had opened his book. “We did one of those last week,” he said.
“All right then. Just the legs.” Grimly smiled at Tom. “He’s a handsome fellow. Interesting hair colour. Nice eyes. Let’s leave the top half alone.”
Belter grabbed hold of him and Tom screamed.
Then the doors of the yard crashed open.
Tom was too far gone to understand fully what was happening but he became dimly aware that Belter had straightened up again and that Grimly was walking forward with a look of annoyance on his face. “You!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
Tom forced his head to turn so that he could see the new arrival. A boy a couple of years older than himself was standing by the open door, leaning against the wall and smoking a pipe. He was looking at the scene with what could only be described as an amused smile. Tom thought he had seen the boy somewhere before but he knew that was impossible.
“Let the boy go,” the new arrival demanded.
“What?” Grimly looked more sad than angry. “But he came here of his own choice,” he protested. “I found him at Paul’s Walk…”
“Oh yes! And you explained to him all about your little ‘adjustments’ I’m sure. Just like all the others!”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! We can talk about this…!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Snivel reaching into a fold in his shirt. While Grimly prattled on, the old man’s hand inched out and now it was holding a wicked-looking knife. Tom opened his mouth to call out a warning to the boy but there was no need. In a single movement he swept back his cloak to reveal a short sword which was suddenly out of its scabbard and in his hand, slic
ing through the air. The blade caught the edge of the knife, tore it out of Snivel’s hand and sent it spinning through the air to clatter harmlessly on the ground. Then the point of the boy’s sword was at Grimly’s throat, pressing against the skin.
“Please!” Grimly’s black eyes bulged. A bead of sweat trickled over his neck. “This is just business. It’s nothing to do with you. He’s my boy. I found him.”
The boy shook his head and pressed a little harder with the sword. “Not this one, Grimly. He’s a friend of mine. Let him go.”
A friend of mine? So Tom was right. He had seen the boy somewhere before. But where?
Grimly had one last try. “But look at him!” he moaned. “Nice face. Intelligent eyes. But sad with it. We were just going to take off his legs. He’ll earn a fortune.”
“Maybe,” the boy replied. “But you won’t be alive to see it.” His hand tightened on the sword. “I’ve often thought London would be better off without you, Grimly,” he said. “All I need is the excuse…”
“No! Take him!” Grimly was on the edge of tears and his voice was a whisper. Belter and Snivel ran forward and a few seconds later the ropes had fallen away and Tom was able to stand up.
“This way…” the boy said. He had lowered his sword but his eyes never left the three men.
Tom staggered over to him and he and the boy left the yard together. It was only when they had reached the end of the alley and emerged into the main street that he realized two things.
The first thing was that he did know the boy. He had seen him the night before at the Red Lion, stealing a purse in the middle of the play.
And the second thing was that he wasn’t a boy at all. He might be wearing trousers, carrying a sword and smoking a pipe, but Tom had just been rescued by a girl!
moll cutpurse
“My name,” she said, “is Moll Cutpurse.”
“Cutpurse?” Tom frowned. “Is that your real name?”
“One of them. I’ve got lots.” Moll thought for a moment. “I used to be called Mary but I soon put a stop to that. Much too girlish.” She rubbed her chin as if hoping to find stubble there. “You wouldn’t want to be a girl,” she said. “Not in the sixteenth century!”
“What do you do?” Tom asked.
“What do you think I do?” Moll exclaimed. “I’m a thief. A highly qualified thief. In fact, I came top in my class!”
She and Tom were sitting in a small, square room above a shoe shop. The building was perched on the south bank of the river, so close that Tom could hear the water lapping against the brickwork. The single room contained a bed, two chairs, a table, a cupboard and a small fire that struggled to keep out the damp. However, the windows had glass. The roof didn’t leak. And, as Moll was quick to point out, it didn’t have rats.
She had warmed up some stew over the fire and served it on two thick slices of bread – she had no plates. Somewhere she had found a bottle of wine. Now the two of them were gazing at each other over the table.
“Do you have parents?” Tom asked.
“My father used to run the shoe shop downstairs,” Moll replied. “But he died of the plague. My mother too. I think I had a brother but he disappeared. Anyway, I’m on my own now.”
There was a long silence. Moll leant forward and put another log on the fire. The flames reached out tiredly to consume it.
“I suppose you want to know how I found you,” Moll said.
“Yes.”
“It was just luck, really. I was at Paul’s Walk. I go there. Everyone does. I saw you meet up with Grimly and I followed you.”
“But why? Why did you save me?”
“Because I wanted to kill you myself.”
Tom stared. Moll was still wearing her sword and he waited for her to draw it – but her hands didn’t move.
“You cost me plenty at the Red Lion,” she went on. “I’d never seen so many purses. I’d have had a dozen of them if it hadn’t been for you. And you could have got me hanged!”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s a bit late for that now.”
Tom gestured at the sword. “So why haven’t you?” he asked. “Killed me, I mean.”
Moll shrugged. “Because if you were stupid enough to go off with James Grimly you were probably too stupid to know what you were doing at the Red Lion. Anyway, don’t ask too many questions or I may change my mind.”
There was a brief silence.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Tom said.
“That’s all right.” Moll took a sip of wine. “The question is – what do I do with you?”
“Can I stay here?”
“No!” Moll sighed. “All right. One night. Maybe two. But I don’t like boys. Particularly stupid boys who don’t know what they’re doing. What are you doing? I suppose you’re a runaway. Left your master, have you?”
“I didn’t run away. It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like? You might as well tell me. Not that I’m offering to help…”
So Tom told her his story; about his life with the Slopes and Gamaliel Ratsey; the arrival of William Hawkins and the ambush in the forest; Moll’s eyes narrowed when she heard Ratsey’s name and when Tom told her he had seen Ratsey at Paul’s Walk she shook her head doubtfully. “You know him?” Tom asked.
“I’ve heard of him. Everyone’s heard of Ratsey. But it’s unlike him to be down here in London. And I think it’s bad news for you.”
“That’s what I thought,” Tom agreed.
“He’s dangerous. As long as he’s here, you’re in danger. He’ll find you soon enough. And when he does…” Moll drew a finger across her throat.
“That’s very encouraging,” Tom muttered.
Moll thought for a moment. “Tell me more about Hawkins,” she said.
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“That’s the bit of your story that doesn’t make sense.” Moll took out her pipe and lit it. “He was obviously a gentleman. Maybe even a member of the court. He asks questions about you and about your parents and then he snatches you and brings you back here.”
“He said I should go to Moorfield.”
“But why? What did he want with you? I mean, you’re a nobody. A nothing. A stable boy who barely knows one end of a horse from the other.”
“Thanks!”
“And why Moorfield?” Moll sighed and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “I suppose I could take you there.”
“You know where it is?”
“Of course I do. It’s just outside the city wall. We could walk there in half an hour. But I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you. There’s nothing there. A few butts. Some windmills. If that’s what he brought you all this way to see, he was wasting your time.”
“Maybe he lived there.”
“Nobody smart lives in Moorfield. How do you think it got its name? It used to be a moor. Now it’s a field.”
“At least we can look,” Tom said, gloomily.
Moll nodded. “All right. We’ll look. But it’s too late to go there now. The sun will be down in an hour or so. We’ll go there tomorrow morning.”
“What about tonight?” Tom looked around the room. “You said I could stay here?”
“Yes.”
“But there’s only one bed.”
“No problem. You can have the floor.”
From the moment he had walked into Moll’s room, Tom had felt that he was being watched. But it was only later that night, as he lay on the floor with a single blanket and the flickering fire to keep him warm, that he realized who by. The room looked out, not just on to the river but also on to London Bridge. The huge bridge with its twenty stone arches and its shops, houses and chapels all crammed together above the water, was one of the great sights of the city.
But as he gazed at it in the moonlight, Tom noticed something else. There were three heads turned towards the window, three pairs of eyes fixed on him even now. But they were eyes that saw nothing. The heads they belong
ed to ended at the neck, cut off and stuck on metal poles.
Traitors. This was the price they had paid.
Tom rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head. But he could still feel the eyes boring into him. And it was a long, long time before he lost himself in the brief escape of sleep.
Moll was right about Moorfield.
She and Tom were standing in a rectangular field, just north of the city wall. Far away to the north, Tom could just make out the shape of three windmills. There were a few cattle grazing here and there. Despite the icy weather – it seemed to be getting colder by the day – a handful of people had come out to practise archery, aiming at two straw-filled targets, the “butts” that Moll had mentioned. It was a sunny day but the sun was white, not yellow, and gave no warmth at all. Somewhere, dogs were barking. Otherwise, Moorfield was empty and silent.
“Seen enough?” Moll asked.
“Yes.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear him properly. Maybe he didn’t want to bring you here.”
“He definitely said Moorfield.”
Moll shrugged. “Let’s go and get a drink,” she said. “I’m freezing!”
They turned south and went through Moorgate, back into the city. That was the strange thing about London. It was huge, crowded, the streets and houses jammed into what little space there was between the wall and the river. But walk ten minutes in almost any direction and suddenly you had left it all behind and you were back in the countryside. It was a city surrounded by green.
Moll led Tom into a tavern, took the table nearest the fire and ordered two pints of ale. Neither of them spoke until it came. At last Moll lit her pipe and broke the silence. “So what are you going to do now?” she asked.
Tom was feeling more miserable than ever. In all the time he had been travelling from Framlingham and despite what Moll had said the night before, he had been hoping that Moorfield would mean something, be something. That when he got there everything would make sense. But a field, a handful of cows and three windmills? Why should Hawkins have brought him all the way from Framlingham for that?
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Maybe you should get out of London. If you’ve got Ratsey looking for you!”
The Devil and His Boy Page 5