all."
"Pity."
There was a moment's awkward silence.
"I suppose," Gabriel said, "you've not lacked for work since the playhouses reopened?"
Ned grinned. "You angling to find out what play Henslowe has chosen for this contest?"
Gabriel looked around then sat down at the table, motioning for Ned to do likewise.
Ned sighed. "To be blunt, I don't know. He's got me working from dawn to dusk, copying sides for at least half-a-dozen different plays, and none of his men have been told anything definite either."
Gabriel made to leave, but Ned reached out and caught his wrist. The contact sent a shiver of pleasure down his arm to the base of his spine.
"I do know something that might interest you, though," he said. "Something better than finding out what the Admiral's Men are up to."
The actor sat down again. "Go on."
This time it was Ned's turn to glance around the taproom. There was still no sign of Mal.
"I have a friend. You've probably seen him in here with me a few times. Tall dark fellow, a bit foreign-looking."
"Oh yes, I remember him ," Gabriel purred. "I thought it very unfair of you, keeping him all to yourself."
"It's not like that." Ned flushed. " He's not like that."
"You could have fooled me, darling."
Ned resisted the temptation to explain further. It was none of Gabriel's business. And this was going to be worth it in the end. Oh, yes.
"Do you want my news or not?" he asked.
Gabriel pouted and fingered his love-lock.
"I'm listening," he said.
"Well…" Ned leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
"No! You, my dear, are a treasure." He seized the front of Ned's doublet and kissed him on the mouth. "Bring him to our table when he arrives, and I promise you I will be very grateful."
• • • •
"You told him what?"
Mal stared at his friend in despair. Why did he ever bother trying to keep secrets, with Ned around? Thank the Virgin Mary and all the saints Ned hadn't overheard the conversation with Grey. Had he?
"Everyone will know soon enough," Ned replied, frowning. "I don't know why you're making such a fuss."
Mal hesitated. He had come here hoping to strike up a conversation with Edward Alleyn, the leading actor of the Admiral's Men, but perhaps Parrish would do just as well. Anything to keep Ned quiet.
"Come on, then," he said with half-feigned irritation. "Best get this over with."
He followed Ned to a table near the fireplace. On one side sat Ned's former lover, along with a glum-faced fellow of about thirty whom Mal didn't recognise; opposite them were two actors he did know by sight, Henry Naismith and Rafe Eaton. Squeezed between this latter pair was the young tireman he'd seen at Goody Watson's.
All eyes were on Eaton, whose mellow baritone carried easily over the hubbub. Mal only caught the end of the tale he was spinning:
"… And then I say to him, 'By Heaven, sir, I would not marry her if she shat gold!'"
Everyone around the table laughed, apart from the boy, who smiled nervously and clutched his tankard closer. Ned took advantage of the pause in conversation to address the leader of the troupe.
"Master Naismith?"
The actor-manager looked up.
"What do you want, Faulkner? I thought I told you to stay away."
Parrish said, "Ned has brought someone to see you, sir."
"I'm not hiring."
"I'm not looking for work," Mal said. "I have… connections you may find interesting."
"Go on."
Mal leant closer. "The skrayling ambassador. I am to be his bodyguard."
Coby stared down into her tankard, hardly able to believe her luck. She had been wondering how on Earth she could contrive to meet this man again, and here he was.
"Well, you are welcome, sir," Master Naismith was saying. "Henry Naismith at your service. Leader of this humble band of players."
"Maliverny Catlyn." He bowed in courtly fashion. "I saw your Hieronimo in
"Pity."
There was a moment's awkward silence.
"I suppose," Gabriel said, "you've not lacked for work since the playhouses reopened?"
Ned grinned. "You angling to find out what play Henslowe has chosen for this contest?"
Gabriel looked around then sat down at the table, motioning for Ned to do likewise.
Ned sighed. "To be blunt, I don't know. He's got me working from dawn to dusk, copying sides for at least half-a-dozen different plays, and none of his men have been told anything definite either."
Gabriel made to leave, but Ned reached out and caught his wrist. The contact sent a shiver of pleasure down his arm to the base of his spine.
"I do know something that might interest you, though," he said. "Something better than finding out what the Admiral's Men are up to."
The actor sat down again. "Go on."
This time it was Ned's turn to glance around the taproom. There was still no sign of Mal.
"I have a friend. You've probably seen him in here with me a few times. Tall dark fellow, a bit foreign-looking."
"Oh yes, I remember him ," Gabriel purred. "I thought it very unfair of you, keeping him all to yourself."
"It's not like that." Ned flushed. " He's not like that."
"You could have fooled me, darling."
Ned resisted the temptation to explain further. It was none of Gabriel's business. And this was going to be worth it in the end. Oh, yes.
"Do you want my news or not?" he asked.
Gabriel pouted and fingered his love-lock.
"I'm listening," he said.
"Well…" Ned leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
"No! You, my dear, are a treasure." He seized the front of Ned's doublet and kissed him on the mouth. "Bring him to our table when he arrives, and I promise you I will be very grateful."
• • • •
"You told him what?"
Mal stared at his friend in despair. Why did he ever bother trying to keep secrets, with Ned around? Thank the Virgin Mary and all the saints Ned hadn't overheard the conversation with Grey. Had he?
"Everyone will know soon enough," Ned replied, frowning. "I don't know why you're making such a fuss."
Mal hesitated. He had come here hoping to strike up a conversation with Edward Alleyn, the leading actor of the Admiral's Men, but perhaps Parrish would do just as well. Anything to keep Ned quiet.
"Come on, then," he said with half-feigned irritation. "Best get this over with."
He followed Ned to a table near the fireplace. On one side sat Ned's former lover, along with a glum-faced fellow of about thirty whom Mal didn't recognise; opposite them were two actors he did know by sight, Henry Naismith and Rafe Eaton. Squeezed between this latter pair was the young tireman he'd seen at Goody Watson's.
All eyes were on Eaton, whose mellow baritone carried easily over the hubbub. Mal only caught the end of the tale he was spinning:
"… And then I say to him, 'By Heaven, sir, I would not marry her if she shat gold!'"
Everyone around the table laughed, apart from the boy, who smiled nervously and clutched his tankard closer. Ned took advantage of the pause in conversation to address the leader of the troupe.
"Master Naismith?"
The actor-manager looked up.
"What do you want, Faulkner? I thought I told you to stay away."
Parrish said, "Ned has brought someone to see you, sir."
"I'm not hiring."
"I'm not looking for work," Mal said. "I have… connections you may find interesting."
"Go on."
Mal leant closer. "The skrayling ambassador. I am to be his bodyguard."
Coby stared down into her tankard, hardly able to believe her luck. She had been wondering how on Earth she could contrive to meet this man again, and here he was.
"Well, you are welcome, sir," Master Naismith was saying. "Henry Naismith at your service. Leader of this humble band of players."
"Maliverny Catlyn." He bowed in courtly fashion. "I saw your Hieronimo in
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