The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(107)
"Here!" Coby fumbled at her belt for the heavy iron ring.
As they wrenched it open, she remembered why the door had been locked in the first place.
"Master Catlyn!"
She ran towards the stairs. Parrish grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back.
"Don't be a fool!" he shouted over the din. "We have to get out!"
She shook him off and ran up the stairs, pressing herself against the wall as the richly clad nobles streamed down to safety. Even in the near dark, she was certain none of them was Mal.
"Master Catlyn!"
By the time she reached the gallery, it was almost empty. The refreshment table had been knocked over and the floor was a mess of broken porcelain, fruit pulp and half-melted ice.
"Hendricks!"
Her heart leapt as she saw Master Catlyn crouching near the ruined balustrade.
"Hendricks, get the ambassador downstairs. I need to help carry His Grace to safety – he is sorely wounded."
"Of course, sir."
She glanced at Suffolk and paled, then returned her attention to the ambassador.
"If you please, Your Excellency…?"
The skrayling was a good six inches shorter than her, so even with her injury it took little effort to support him as they made their way downstairs. The tiring room was thick with smoke now, and she had to put out one hand to feel the way to the back door. At last they emerged coughing into daylight, and she led the ambassador a safe distance from the burning building.
The escaping audience, emerging from the main gates on the far side of the theatre, poured out into Gravel Lane or across the bridges to Paris Gardens. A few stragglers turned back to gaze at the spectacle, but most Londoners were too well aware of the danger of fire in a city built mostly of wood.
"Hendricks, yes? We meet again," the ambassador said, smiling at her.
She could not return his greeting. A vision of Master Naismith's ruined face rose in her memory. What was there to smile about?
A taller skrayling ran up, his whorled face creased with concern, and questioned the ambassador in his own tongue. Coby stared at the theatre as if in a dream, her hair curling in the waves of heat that rolled across the seared grass. Suddenly she recalled that the powder keg with its deadly contents was still in the tiring room. And Master Catlyn was in there with it.
With a cry of despair she ran back towards the burning building, but halted when the shapes of two men appeared through the smoke billowing from the door. They were carrying something between them. The duke.
"Master Catlyn!" she shouted hoarsely, beckoning to them. "Get away from there!"
The rescuers stumbled towards her. Not fast enough.
"Everyone, get away from here as quick as you can!" She gestured to the skraylings, but they just stared at her. She pointed to the theatre. "Great firework. Kill all."
Lord Kiiren barked an order to his guards, who ran to help carry the duke. Within moments the injured man was settled on one bench of the coach, and Coby found herself bundled inside, squeezed between the ambassador and Master Catlyn. Lord Grey crouched awkwardly on the edge of the bench opposite, steadying the duke as the coach lurched across the field. Coby tried not to stare at the spike of gunmetal still protruding from the duke's leg, but it drew her eye as if daring her to blench.
The coach turned left towards Newington to avoid the crowds heading towards the river. They had barely gone fifty yards when a dull explosion rocked the coach. The horses whinnied in terror and broke into a canter, causing the coach to bounce along the rutted road and Lord Grey to curse loudly. When the driver finally brought the beasts back under control, Coby dared to twist round in her seat. Through the small back window she could see a pall of black smoke rising from the ruins, and flames devouring what little remained. The theatre was destroyed, and Suffolk's Men with it.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Baines halted outside a glover's shop opposite the Bull's Head, pretending to admire the rich hues of the leather samples nailed to a board. Ned hunched inside the djellaba, convinced the foreign garment would only attract the attention he was desperately trying to avoid.
"That the place?" Baines asked him, jerking his head discreetly in the direction of the tavern.
"Yes, but it'll be empty today. Everyone who can spare the time and money will be at the Mirror." Like I would be, if there wasn't a murderous throat-slitting bastard after me.
"Good. Better chance of our man spotting you."
"You're going to use me as bait?"
In the fraction of a second before Ned's feet could obey him and break into a run, Baines caught his arm in a pincer grip and drew his dagger, keeping it at waist height.
"Going somewhere?" Baines growled.
"No, no. Just for a drink." God knows I need one.
"Good. Now, here's the plan–"
A low boom sounded in the distance.
"What was that?" Ned asked, looking around. Then he remembered; Gabriel had told him a cannon was to be fired during the play. He hoped it was going well.
"Oi, pay attention," Baines said, flicking the dagger blade towards Ned's belly. "Now, in a minute we're going to stroll into that next alley, where you'll take that thing off. Next, you stroll back out, go straight across the street to the tavern and order your usual drink. If you see anyone you know, greet them as you would any other day, talk to them, play a game of shove ha'penny–"