Black Powder

by Ally Sherrick

  He hooked it towards him with the handle of the ladle. A fragment of paper, badly charred. And some words. His words.

  Dear Mother,

  I wanted . . .

  London . . .

  new friends . . .

  A bitter taste flooded his mouth. His message. The Falcon had promised to get it delivered for him. But he’d burnt it instead. A sudden wave of dread rushed through him. What other lies had he told him? He shot a look at the pot of stew and frowned. That extra bowl he’d seen the Falcon help himself to earlier. What if it hadn’t been for him but for someone else? Someone under lock and key.

  Sliding the remains of the letter inside his jerkin, he reached up and felt for the set of keys. They weren’t there. The Falcon must still have them. If he and Browne really had got Cressida shut away somewhere, how was he ever going to rescue her? A memory rippled through him. Something she had said about a boy like him being able to pick a lock. He reached for his knife. Maybe she was right.

  A candle stub sat on the fireplace mantel. He grabbed it and dipped the wick in the embers of the fire. The candle caught and flared. He waited for the flame to settle, then crept out of the room and made for the stairs. A few moments later, he was standing on the landing at the bottom of the ladder. He peered up into the blackness and listened. At first, all he could hear was the wild pounding of his own heart.

  He listened more closely. Wait. Yes! There it was again. The same moaning noise he’d heard the night before. The wind in the rafters? Or something else? He shivered. Time for some reinforcements. He slunk into the sleeping chamber and fished Jago out of his box.

  ‘Come on, boy. I need your help.’ He stroked the mouse’s ears, then dropped him inside his waist-pouch, crept back out to the foot of the ladder and began to climb.

  The air grew colder the higher he went. A sudden draught caught the candle flame and the walls came alive with twisting black snakes. He reached the top rung and blinked. A shaft of moonlight shone through a hole in the roof above him, throwing a circle of silver on the rough floorboards ahead. Beyond it, half hidden in shadow, was the outline of a wooden door. He hoisted himself up through the hatch and edged towards it.

  Another moan.

  He froze. Someone or something was definitely in there. But who? Only one way to find out. Gritting his teeth, he counted to three and tiptoed towards the door. He put his ear against the wood. Silence. He waited, the breath hard as ice in his throat. Still nothing. He must have imagined it. He puffed out his cheeks and turned to go.

  A sobbing sound made him start. He turned back and pressed his eye to the keyhole. ‘Wh–who’s there?’

  The sobbing stopped and a rustling noise replaced it.

  He pulled out his knife and gripped it tight. Time to discover the truth. He thrust the blade into the keyhole and gave it a sharp twist. The lock held fast. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. He frowned. If only he had a set of spy keys like Hunt. He pulled the blade free then slid it in again and jiggled it up and down. Come on. Come on.

  With a sudden click the door swung inwards. He held back for a moment, then, thrusting the blade out in front of him, he inched through the gap and into the small room beyond.

  ‘Is anyone there?’ He held the candle above his head and peered about him. A pile of blankets lay heaped against the far wall. As he approached, a hand shot out and a splat of something cold and lumpy hit him full in the face.

  ‘Leave me alone, you brute!’ A wooden bowl came flying through the air. He ducked. The bowl hit the wall with a clatter, then spun across the floor, rolling to a stop at his feet.

  ‘Stop! It’s not who you think.’ Tom leapt back, wiping gobbets of rabbit and onion from his cheeks.

  The blankets reared up and a white face peered back at him from beneath a tangle of yellow curls. ‘Tom? Is that you?’

  His stomach lurched. So Hunt was right. She’d been here all along. He groaned and sank to his knees. What was he going to do now?

  Chapter Thirty

  Cressida pulled free of the blankets and slid over to him. She was dressed in the same blue gown she’d been wearing at Cowdray. Except now it was smeared with mud and stuck with bits of straw.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought one of those men had come back again.’ She crouched next to him and clutched his arm. ‘I’m so glad to see you! I thought I was on my own. How did you manage to escape?’

  He frowned. ‘Escape? What do you mean?’

  ‘Aren’t you their prisoner too?’

  ‘No.’ The knot in his stomach grew bigger. ‘No, I’m not.’ He shot a look at the door. If anyone came in now . . . ‘Hold this!’ He jumped to his feet and shoved the candle at her then darted back to the door and twisted his knife in the lock until it clicked shut.

  Cressida’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you locking us in?’

  Flopping down beside her, he took back the candle and stuck it in a knothole in one of the floorboards. ‘It’s a long story. What happened to you? I thought you went off to fetch Sergeant Talbot?’

  ‘I did.’ She sniffed. ‘But I changed my mind. I came back to see if you were all right. Except you weren’t there. So I followed the tunnel as far as the outside. And that’s when that . . . that great brute jumped out on me.’ She closed her eyes and shuddered.

  ‘You mean Browne?’

  She snapped her eyes open again. ‘I don’t know what he’s called. He didn’t take the trouble to introduce himself. But he has a nasty way with a stick.’ She pushed her hair back and pointed at a black mark on her left temple.

  He winced. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘Not so much now. Though I’m sure I look a proper mess.’ Her bottom lip quivered. She tugged a twist of matted curls back over the bruise. ‘The worst thing was when the vile monster gave me some sort of sleeping potion.’ She pulled a face at the memory. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he got the idea from one of Mister Shakespeare’s plays.’

  Tom’s scalp pricked. So the jar of mandrake oil had been to drug her.

  ‘And they’ve been sneaking it in my food too. I haven’t eaten the last two lots and I feel much better. There, I’ve told you my story. Now it’s your turn.’ She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘Are you with these men or against them?’

  He flushed. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘Prove it then!’

  He sat back, took a deep breath and told her. About how Skinner had made him betray Father. About the Falcon and his promise of help. And about the meeting with Robin Cat and the plot to kidnap Cecil. From time to time he paused, waiting for her to laugh or call him a fool, but she didn’t. She just sat there listening, eyes wide as an owl’s. When he got to the bit about seeing his father in gaol, the tears came again and he was forced to look away.

  She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  He blinked and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘A man called Hunt, a spy who’s pretending to be one of Cat’s gang; he told me they’d kidnapped you. That I shouldn’t trust them, because they had something bad planned. I didn’t believe him at first, but now . . .’ His stomach twisted again at the memory.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean the plan to capture Cecil?’

  He shook his head. ‘Worse.’

  ‘What?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. But he told me I had to find you and get away from here as soon as possible.’

  She frowned. ‘I am sorry for doubting you, cousin.’ Her voice was soft; sad-sounding. ‘It’s not your fault. The constable was threatening your mother. You had no choice. And this man, this Falcon or whatever you call him, has tricked you. He pretended to be your friend when all along he just wanted you to dig his tunnel for him. As for your father . . .’ Her hand found his again. ‘He does not deserve such a fate. He was only doing what any decent person would.’ Her blue eyes gleamed back at him in the candlelight. ‘You were right. It isn’t fair. Why should he
and people like him suffer for their faith when others with more money and power like . . . like us, can do as we please?’

  He stared at her open-mouthed. Was this really the same proud cousin who had lorded it over him at Cowdray? Perhaps that bump on the head had done her some good.

  Cressida flushed. ‘I know you might think it strange for me to say this after everything that has happened, but I think your father is so brave. He stands up for what he believes in. He and your mother dared to go against the Montagues because they loved each other. Whereas my father . . .’ She bit her lip and began fiddling with the frayed edges of a bow on the front of her dress. ‘He just does what the King tells him.’

  He frowned. ‘He has a lot to lose.’

  She sighed. ‘If you mean money and paintings and golden candlesticks, yes.’

  ‘And his family too.’

  She gave another sigh. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She tugged at the bow again then shot him a sidelong look. ‘There is more to you than I thought, Tom Garnett.’

  His cheeks burned. He glanced at the door. ‘Come on, we’re wasting time.’ He snatched up the candle stub and jumped to his feet.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Won’t they try to stop us?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not if we’re lucky. The Falcon has gone out. That’s why I was able to come looking for you.’

  He helped her up, released the lock with his knife blade and led her outside. He had his foot on the top rung of the ladder when a door banged somewhere down below.

  Cressida clutched his arm. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ His heart thumped against his chest. What if the Falcon had returned? ‘We can’t risk it.’ He pushed her back towards the attic room.

  ‘But you can’t leave me here!’ Her grip on him grew tighter.

  A stab of guilt spiked him. What else could he do? He uncurled her fingers. ‘I’ll be back for you soon, I promise. Wait.’ He reached inside his waist-pouch and let Jago crawl into his hand. ‘Here. Take him. He’ll keep you company.’

  She wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Go on. He won’t bite.’

  Reluctantly, she cupped her hands. He dropped the mouse into them. ‘Look after him.’ He stroked the ends of Jago’s whiskers.

  She gave a nod, then turned and ducked back through the door.

  He pulled it shut behind her, twisted the knife in the lock and crept back down the ladder to the landing. He paused outside the sleeping chamber and held his breath. Voices echoed up from downstairs. The Falcon’s, Cat’s. Another’s too. His head spun with the terrible truth. Cressida was right. These men were his enemies, not his friends. And the Falcon was the worst of all. Pretending to like him, saying he would help him. Taking him to see Father in the Clink when all along he’d just wanted to use him.

  Father! He stifled a groan. How was he ever going to save him now? But wait! A wave of hope rushed through him. There was still a chance. If they could escape and find his Uncle Montague . . .

  ‘Master Garnett.’ The Falcon’s voice called up from below. He sounded impatient.

  Tom shivered.

  ‘Where are you, boy?’

  ‘Coming.’ He took a deep breath and walked slowly towards the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The Falcon stood grim-faced in a doorway at the foot of the stairs.

  A lump formed in Tom’s throat. In spite of everything, part of him still couldn’t believe this man had only been pretending to be his friend.

  ‘In here.’ The Falcon pulled him inside.

  The room was lit by candles mounted in sconces on the wall. It was completely bare of furniture save for a table which stood beneath a shuttered window opposite. Two figures dressed in hats and cloaks stood at the far end.

  One of them turned as he entered and extended a gloved hand. ‘Good evening, Tom. Will you be so kind as to join us?’ Robin Cat smiled, but it was a smile which could have turned a puddle to ice.

  He swallowed and walked towards him. As he got closer, the other man twisted round and fixed him with a steely glare. He froze. Harry Browne. What was he doing here?

  Robin Cat stepped over to Tom and draped an arm round his right shoulder. ‘Mister Browne says you had a visitor earlier while my friend, Mister Faw— I mean the Falcon, was with me in Lambeth.’

  His heart lurched. So Browne had been spying on them.

  ‘I . . . I . . . er . . .’ He glanced at the Falcon but he frowned and looked away.

  ‘Tell the truth, boy,’ snarled Browne. ‘Or it will go the worse for you.’ He shoved his fist under Tom’s chin.

  ‘Quiet, Harry. Can’t you see you’re frightening him?’ Robin Cat pushed Browne away. He gave Tom an apologetic smile and pulled him closer.

  Tom’s nostrils pricked with the smell of pipe smoke mixed with incense.

  ‘Mister Browne says the person who came calling was our new friend Mister Hunt. Is that so, Tom?’

  A wave of panic surged through him. The net was closing and he didn’t know how to stop it.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He blinked.

  ‘And what did he want?’ Robin Cat’s grip tightened.

  He licked his lips. Think! Quick! He glanced at the feather in Robin Cat’s hat. A sudden memory stirred of how, once, on a hunting trip with Father and William, they’d used a wooden bird to fool the others into thinking it was safe to land.

  A decoy. That was what he needed now. Then with any luck they’d call off the real plot – whatever it was – and let him and Cressida go. He drew in a breath. ‘Mister Hunt . . . he threatened me. He said he was one of Robert Cecil’s spies. That he knew all about your mission. He wanted me to spy on you and report back to him.’

  The Falcon gave a stifled groan.

  Robin Cat’s eyes narrowed to two green slits. ‘And did he give you the details of what he thought our mission was?’

  Tom gritted his teeth. If they guessed what he was up to . . . He clenched his fists and forced himself to meet Cat’s gaze. ‘No. But he knows you plan to kidnap his master, doesn’t he?’

  Browne went to say something but Cat held up his hand. ‘Yes, yes, of course. We have told him as much.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Hunt’s visit, Master Garnett?’ The Falcon’s eyes flashed with orange fire.

  Tom looked away. ‘I wanted to, but I – I was afraid.’ At least that bit was true. He glanced back at his frowning face. The Falcon was a dangerous man – Hunt had made that clear. So why did he feel as if he’d let him down again? He hesitated, then took a deep breath and went on. ‘He said if I told anyone, he . . . he would kill me. He’s the same man I heard meeting in secret with Mandrake, the Montague’s tutor, outside the gates at Cowdray. I recognized the voice.’

  ‘Cowdray, eh?’ The Falcon’s scar twitched.

  Harry Browne glared at Tom. ‘You are softer than a bunch of milkmaids if you believe the boy’s lies. I’ll wager Master Mole here is working for Hunt and has been all along.’

  Tom’s mouth dropped open. ‘No, I—’

  The Falcon stepped towards Browne, fists curled. ‘What are you talking about, man? The boy came to London at my invitation. ’Tis nonsense to point a finger at him. And wasn’t it you who brought Hunt into our company?’

  Browne’s hand shot to his belt. ‘Are you calling me a spy, sir?’

  Robin Cat jumped between them, pushing them apart. ‘There will be time to settle any personal scores when our mission is complete.’ He spun round and gripped Tom by the chin. ‘I hope you are not lying to us, Master Garnett? After all, we have been good to you, have we not? I hear the Falcon even took you to see your father in the Clink.’

  Tom blinked nervously. ‘No, I mean, yes, I mean . . .’

  Cat fixed him with a hard stare, then dropped his hand and sighed. ‘What that scoundrel Hunt told the boy rings true with what we suspect, does it not, gentlemen?’ He turned and faced the others. ‘That we risk being uncovered.’

  The Falcon cleared his
throat. ‘I’ll wager Hunt is behind the letters I told you about. The ones sent to warn certain grand people sympathetic to our cause of the blow we intend and how to avoid it. After all, which one of us would be so foolish as to do such a thing and risk Cecil discovering our plans. Unless . . .’ He shot a look at Browne.

  Browne’s face flushed with rage. ‘Another insult!’ He glanced at Cat then pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. ‘I will do as Robin says for now, but when all this is over . . .’ He threw the Falcon a hate-filled look.

  The Falcon snorted. ‘It matters not who sent the letters now. The big mistake was in trusting one of Cecil’s spies.’

  Robin Cat held up a hand. ‘Enough! From what you told me, the letters do not give the detail of our plans. And we have been careful to keep them secret from our friend, Mister Hunt, which means he cannot yet know for sure the exact time and place or our method. So’ – he glanced from the Falcon to Browne and back again – ‘we will carry things through tomorrow night as agreed. And our brave and loyal young comrade shall be with us all the way, eh, boy?’ He grabbed Tom by the shoulders and hugged him close.

  Tom forced his lips into a smile. Except smiling was the last thing he felt like doing. The decoy hadn’t worked. A bolt of fear shot through him. Unless he could find a way to escape, he’d have no choice but to go along with whatever Cat and his gang had planned.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The men talked into the night. The sound of their voices drifted up the stairs and wound in to where Tom sat huddled under his blanket in the sleeping chamber. He strained to hear what they were saying, but it was no use; he couldn’t make out their words. He sank his head between his shoulders. He still didn’t have a clue what their true plan was. And in just over a day’s time Father would go to the gallows. He shivered and closed his eyes.

  An image of a young woman flickered in front of him, her pale face framed by wisps of blonde hair. It was the girl in the portrait at Cowdray. Except now her blue eyes brimmed with tears. As he watched, the tears spilled over her lashes and trickled down her cheeks, dissolving them into mist.