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Deathscent: Intrigues of the Reflected Realm. Robin Jarvis
Читать онлайн.Название Deathscent: Intrigues of the Reflected Realm
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007450473
Автор произведения Robin Jarvis
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство HarperCollins
“A highly unusual diversion,” Master Tewkes offered, not knowing what else to say.
Doctor Dee turned to Sir Francis. “I propose we take the boy with us instead,” he stated wryly. “At least the lad knew how to put a stop to that absurd spectacle.”
“I agree!” Lord Richard said quickly. “Adam could be a great help, I’m certain. Why, he’s called Adam o’the Cogs because that’s all he’s interested in. Always got his nose buried in some faulty clanker. Born to it, he was.”
“The learned Doctor was speaking in jest,” Master Tewkes told him.
Walsingham rose from his chair. “I have witnessed enough disgraceful nonsense this night,” he declared. “See that Edwin Dritchly knows of our plan. We leave at dawn.”
His secretary followed him from the hall but, before Doctor Dee accompanied them, he looked long at Lord Richard. “Can you forgive me?” he asked.
Richard Wutton turned to stare at the empty stage. “For this final privation?” he said. “I daresay the apprentices will struggle through. Jack Flye is quite proficient and the two youngsters are capable in their own fashion. Somehow we will manage.”
“I did not mean what happened this evening,” the astrologer murmured. “This is all Walsingham’s doing, I wanted no part of it.”
An embittered smile appeared on Lord Richard’s face. “And you had not the courage to gainsay him,” he said. “How familiar that sounds to me. No, John, go back to the horoscopes and mathematical formulae you cherish more than your fellow man. I do not forgive you and never shall.”
There was nothing more to be said. Doctor Dee wrapped his robe about him and swept from the hall.
Alone, Richard Wutton contemplated the task ahead. Telling Edwin that he was to leave for London the next morning was not going to be pleasant. Slowly he emptied his guests’ unfinished wine into his own cup and drank.
An hour later the deed was done. Master Dritchly had received the news unhappily but without objection. He knew it would be futile to refuse but he was certain that his wife would not be so calm.
She was not.
A great deal of wailing and cursing had come from the kitchens but eventually the commotion had subsided and now the couple were discussing what was to be done. Mistress Dritchly loved her husband dearly but she could not bear to think of leaving Lord Richard’s service at such short notice. Between them it was decided that she would remain at the manor until a replacement could be found, then she would follow her husband to London.
After speaking with his wife, Master Dritchly had gone to tell his apprentices. The boys sat at their benches in stunned disbelief and dejected silence pervaded the stables.
Half-heartedly they started to dismantle the musicians to see what had gone wrong, but they were too preoccupied to concentrate on the task. After a while they climbed up to the loft where they threw themselves on to their beds.
“S’pose you’ll be boss of us now,” Henry said to Jack.
The older boy was chewing a piece of straw and merely grunted in response.
“Reckon you can do it?” Henry persisted. “Can you tackle the tricky bits of work what come in?”
Jack spat the straw from his mouth. “I can tackle you and that’s all you need bother about,” he said.
“Eyes is always difficult,” Henry went on. “Old Dritchly might be a sweaty pink slug but he were clever with them eyes. Lining them up’s awkward; when I’ve had a go the lousy mechanicals end up with a squint and can’t walk in a straight line.”
“Hush up, can’t you?” Jack groaned from the darkness. “We got to see the old boy off at dawn.”
The hay loft fell quiet. It was a warm, airless night. Outside a morose snorting came drifting across the yard and Henry turned over restlessly. “Can’t sleep with that filthy row,” he grumbled.
Adam had been lying on his back, staring up into the blackness which crammed the rafters. He could not sleep either but it was nothing to do with Old Temperance. The boy disliked change and he could not imagine what the workshop would be like without Master Dritchly to guide them along.
Out in the piggery the great sow’s snuffling continued.
“Foul, rumbling swine!” Henry seethed.
“She’s missing the piglet,” Adam said softly. “Funny how they get attached to one another. I’ll go give him back to her.”
Down the ladder he clambered. Then, taking up a lantern, he unhooked Suet and set about refilling a small glass phial with amber ichor taken from the recorder player. Fastening the two halves of the wooden creature together, Adam strolled out into the yard.
Old Temperance’s large shadowy bulk was pressed against the piggery fence. The moment the sow saw him, the snorting grew louder and the glass lenses of her eyes glimmered in the dark.
“Here you are,” Adam said, lifting Suet over the railing and pressing the Wutton crest on its back.
Immediately the piglet jiggled into life, squirming in the boy’s grasp until he placed it upon the ground.
“Glad to see someone happy,” Adam observed as Suet went scuttling for cover beneath its ‘mother’s’ barrel of a stomach.
The mechanicals greeted one another with almost genuine affection and when Flitch, the other piglet, came scooting from the sty, the three of them went tearing about the piggery, squealing and squeaking as loud as their internals would permit.
“Shut up or I’ll come down there and hack you all into kindling!” Henry’s voice shrieked from inside the stables.
Adam managed a faint grin and, leaning on the fence, looked across to the manor. Several windows were still aglow with candlelight. In the topmost room, Mistress Dritchly was busily helping her husband to pack, and two of the guest bedchambers were similarly illuminated. A light downstairs showed that Lord Richard had not yet gone to bed. Adam guessed correctly that he had started on the October ale.
“We’re going to have to work mighty hard once Master Edwin’s gone,” he told himself.
Behind him, the wooden pigs had calmed themselves and Adam turned towards the stables.
Hearing the boy leave, Suet came trotting to the fence where it rested its chin on the lowest rail and pushed out its snuffling nose. Then, very softly, it began to grunt and the sound brought Adam to a standstill. Slowly he turned around and gazed at the piglet in amazement. The little wooden mechanical was grunting to the tune of O Mistress Mine.
“Suet?” he breathed. “How on …?”
Before he could say any more, a frantic yell suddenly erupted from the barn and Jenks, Walsingham’s groom, came lunging out.
“Fetch Dritchly!” the man called, running up to Adam and seizing him by the shoulders. “The horse! Belladonna! There’s something wrong! Quick, boy – quick!”
All traces of the groom’s former sneering arrogance were gone and, glancing past him to the barn, Adam could see why. Through the wide, open doors he saw the magnificent steed of Sir Francis Walsingham staggering backwards and forwards, juddering alarmingly.
“Shaking sickness!” Adam gasped.
Jenks pushed him aside. “It cannot be!” he snapped fiercely. “No beast in my charge has ever succumbed to that. Go fetch your master!”
Adam nodded and raced to the manor house. He understood why the groom had denied the suggestion with such vehemence. Shaking sickness was a rare, unexplained