The Jade Boy (18 page)

“But what about me and my girls?” said Pinchbeck. “What am I supposed to do, eh? My house and my main business are all within the city walls and people like us don’t have an invitation to court.”

The duke sighed and pretended to look out of a window. “I am sure that I can find a place at the king’s revels for a wealthy man like you, Alderman. Doors can always be opened – for the right price.”

Pinchbeck was silent for a moment, then he grumbled. “This is all getting very pricey. The wife and girls will be wanting new dresses for court and it’ll cost a pretty penny to ship our goods out of the city at such short notice. I trust this will be worth it, My Lord?”

The duke smiled broadly. “Oh I think you’ll be very satisfied, Alderman. Indeed, I trust that we will all be most satisfied.”

He walked over to a particularly elegant model that looked more like a palace than a house. “Gentlemen, this will be my home at the heart of the new London. I always wanted a fine house on the banks of the river. When our fire has cleared the diseased scum and the deadwood from those narrow passages down by the Thames, I shall build this house on that very spot. It will be my… reward.”

His eyes gleamed as he turned to look at them again. “There is one last thing. You all know that our friend in France can be a little… how can I put this? Eccentric?”

The men chuckled in agreement.

“Count Cazalon has asked that we should sign our names to this contract.”

The duke produced a smaller roll of paper from
his coat and untied the red ribbon that bound it. The paper unfurled, and Jem could see that it had a large wax seal hanging from ribbon at the bottom.

“It is a formality, nothing more,” Bellingdon continued in a bored voice. “This document merely records our interests as partners of the company that will own the new London.”

The duke paused for a moment and then added, “Count Cazalon was most specific on this point. He returns to London this week and when he returns he expects to collect the completed contract from me – a contract we have signed in our blood.”

The men shuffled uneasily. Avebury gave a great snort.

“That smacks of devilry. I’ll not do it.”

Bellingdon gave him a narrow look. “The choice is yours, Edward. You either sign or leave us. But if you choose to leave, I believe things will go very badly for you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a statement of fact,” the duke replied, fingering the hilt of his sword. “Come, Edward,” he said evenly. “We have all walked a long way down this road now. Is a drop of blood too much to ask?”

Avebury snorted again and then gave a curt nod.
“Very well. It seems I have no choice.”

The duke produced a small knife and pricked his own thumb. He signed the document with a quill from the desk dipped in a bright drop of his blood. Avebury went next.

Just as the last of them, Kilheron, was scribbling his name on the contract, Jem sneezed.

The men froze. Bellingdon’s hand gripped the contract so hard that the paper crackled as he turned to scan the room.

Terrified that he was about to sneeze again, Jem gripped his nose between thumb and forefinger and bent lower in the model. His legs were trembling and he felt as if he might be sick.

It was the sawdust. Inside the hollow, echoing model, the sneeze had seemed incredibly loud. Jem was certain that his hiding place was about to be discovered. Now, every beat of his heart sounded like the tolling of a bell.

In the gallery the men were silent, until Kilheron piped up in a nervous half whisper. “What was that, George?”

Bellingdon’s voice was tight with fury. “This room was sealed on my order. I promise you, gentlemen, no one has been in here except me.”

“Well, I certainly heard something,” said Pinchbeck.

“And I too,” said Avebury, adding, “it came from
down there.” He pointed at the far end of the gallery where Jem crouched in the model cathedral.

“Then let us investigate,” said the duke, drawing his sword and advancing slowly.

The others followed, throwing back their coats to reveal the light swords hanging at their sides.

The men circled the models in the gallery on the right and left flank. As they neared the wooden cathedral, Jem dipped to the floor and tried to fold himself into the smallest shape possible so that he could squeeze into the furthest arm of the star.

He could hear the footsteps coming closer and closer and he could hear the metallic scrape of the men’s swords on the walls as they flicked at curtains and hangings.

Heavy boots sounded on the floor right next to his hiding place.

“I think there’s something over here, George,” a voice hissed.

Every nerve in Jem’s body coiled tight as a hangman’s noose. Suddenly there was a tearing noise as a tapestry was ripped aside, followed by a huge roar of surprise.

“God’s teeth man, it’s huge! A monster!” said Avebury.

Jem heard the sound of something scratching and skittering on the wooden floor, followed by the sound of running and thumping. The footsteps moved further up the gallery.

“Hit it, George! Use the hilt of your sword,” shrieked Kilheron. “It’s making for the chimney. Quick, man. Now!”

Jem heard a heavy blow and single high-pitched screech. There was a moment of silence and then the sound of more footsteps.

Pinchbeck spoke. “Well, I’ve seen some rats in my time, but never a beggar that big. Not even in the grain holds of me ships.”

“It’s the heat,” replied Avebury. “They are living well off the middens this summer.”

“Be that as it may, gentleman,” the duke interrupted, “but in any case, I believe we have found our spy.”

There was a general murmur of agreement before Bellingdon continued, “Come. We shall cement the contract we have signed today with a toast and then we shall dine.”

Jem heard the sound of stamping feet as the men marked their approval, then the gradually quietening sound of retreating footsteps.

Inching from his hiding space, he stood up again and peered through the glass. Midway down the gallery, the duke was ushering his guests back into the antechamber where the banquet was set.

As the last man left the gallery, the duke walked over to a cabinet set against the wall. Jem watched as he bent low to feel for something on the far side of the black lacquered doors. A narrow tray shot out from the base between the clawlike feet and the duke placed the contract carefully into this secret compartment, before pushing it back into place. As he straightened up he turned and stared hard at the model cathedral before shrugging his shoulders and following his guests.

The doors closed behind him and Jem heard a click as a key turned to lock the room. His stomach performed a somersault and his head felt as if it might explode with a mixture of fear and relief.

The voices grew louder as the afternoon wore on. The duke was entertaining his business partners like royalty.

For now, Jem was trapped. He couldn’t leave the gallery until the guests had gone. He shifted
uncomfortably, suddenly aware that he needed to relieve himself.

Looking up through the dome he tried to assess the hour from the light in the room. It was, he guessed, late afternoon. The day was hot and inside the model, the air was thick and muggy. Trying to ignore his full bladder, he leaned back against the wooden wall and rested his head on his knees.

When Jem woke it was dark and his first, panicked thought was that he had been buried alive. Reaching out in the blackness, his hands touched wooden walls and his nostrils were filled with the smell of sawdust. It took him a moment to remember where he was and in a moment more, he was reminded of the urgent need to empty his bladder.

The room was utterly silent. Cautiously, he felt his way to the place where the sections of the model cathedral fitted together and pushed gently until a chink of grey appeared in the dark.

The tall narrow windows of the gallery lit the room with the weak light cast by a half-moon. Jem squeezed through the gap and carefully pushed the section back together to disguise his hiding place.
Around him the bulky black shapes of the models were brooding and almost alive. Their shadows made the gallery dark and menacing.

As he padded past the cabinet he remembered the contract. Every one of the conspirators had signed it in their blood. He had to take it for evidence.

The cabinet was Oriental in design and decorated with twisting golden dragons chasing balls of fire. The pattern gleamed clearly in the thin moonlight. Running his fingers lightly across the cabinet’s side, Jem felt that one of the flaming balls was raised a little from the lacquered surface. He pressed the ball and heard a small click as the hidden drawer shot out. Nestling in the drawer was the contract, bound in its red ribbon. But deeper inside the drawer was another, larger, scroll. Jem quickly picked it up and unrolled it to reveal a drawing of the city with a star at its centre. The duke’s copy of the fire map! Jem grabbed both scrolls and pushed the drawer shut again before stuffing them both into the torn lining of his jacket.

He walked softly to the doors and brought the ring of keys from his pocket. He found the right key and brought it to the lock.

Carefully he opened the door. The anteroom had
been cleared and returned to normal. Apart from the long table and chairs, nothing remained of the feast. Ludlow House was silent.

Jem locked the doors behind him and headed across the anteroom toward the hall.

“And what do we have here, then?”

He was just at the foot of staircase when he felt cold, bony fingers grip the back of his neck.

Wormald’s eyes glowed in the moonlight. He could hardly conceal his delight at catching the boy. He shot out a hand and gripped Jem’s ear, twisting it sharply and painfully.

“Sneaking about looking for food at this time of night, eh? I thought I told you that you were barred from partaking of the remnants of the feast with the rest of us. But it seems, as usual, that Master Jeremy Green is too high and mighty to abide by the rules.”

It was a lifeline and Jem grasped it. Wormald had no idea what he’d really been up to. He almost felt the duke’s papers burn through the lining of his jacket as he pulled himself to together to stammer. “I– I’m sorry Mr Wormald. But I was so hungry. I couldn’t help myself.”

The steward’s eyes narrowed.

“I wonder how hungry you’ll feel after a night
locked in the cellar? There are rats the size of cats down there. And then, tomorrow morning we’ll ask the duke what he thinks, shall we? He won’t take kindly to thievery in his own house.”

Much to Wormald’s disappointment, the duke didn’t seem particularly interested in Jem’s midnight raid on the kitchen. He seemed to be afflicted with a headache and was more concerned about positioning a band of linen soaked with cool lavender water across his forehead than listening to the steward’s complaints.

“Wormald, I really have no time for these petty household disputes,” he muttered. “Punish the boy as you see fit. And you,” the duke glanced at Jem. “… should endeavour to curb your greed.”

He squeezed the linen strip above the bowl and reapplied it to his temples. “Now go.” He flicked a lace-cuffed hand in their direction and closed his eyes.

When they were in the corridor, Wormald smiled maliciously. “Punish the boy as you see fit, eh? Well, Master Green, what I see as fit punishment is for you to clear the blocked drains under the kitchen and
then to be locked in the attic for the next two days without food or water – after a beating, of course. Wait here. You, Tobias, watch him for me.”

Toby the footman put a hand on Jem’s shoulder as Wormald stalked back to the kitchen to fetch his cane.

A door further down the corridor opened and Jem’s mother appeared. She bustled past and made a show of ignoring him. Then she stopped and retraced her steps. Leaning close so that Toby couldn’t hear her, she brought her lips close to Jem’s ear as if she was going to kiss him.

“I know what you did,” she hissed.

Jem’s eyes widened in amazement. Sarah continued, “Stealing my keys to open the larder! I am ashamed of you.”

With that Sarah turned her back on her son and marched away up the corridor. Jem watched miserably as she disappeared into the duchess’s rooms.

Jem paced the boards of the attic again. His back stung from Wormald’s lashes and his whole body stank after a morning of crawling through the broad
drains that led from the kitchen out under the thick old walls of Ludlow House to the open channels of the yard. The drains were clogged with knobs of rotting meat, rancid animal fat and unidentifiable gristly things that Jem didn’t like to think about. He’d scraped his way through the filth to clear a fresh escape route for the kitchen slurry and now he was sweaty, rank and desperately thirsty.

The hot stuffy air of the attic made him smell even worse. At first it hadn’t been so bad. He’d flicked through a book and then he’d leaned out of the window trying to gulp some fresh clean air into his lungs. He watched the colour fade from London as the red burning ball of the sun set in the west. The jangling chimes of the city churches told him it was nine o’clock. A whole day had passed since he’d hidden in the model!