The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(13)

"I will do everything in my power to ensure the theatre is ready in time," Naismith said when he had recovered his composure.

Cutsnail smiled, showing off his long eye teeth to full advantage.

"I am certain you will," he said.

The purse of crowns weighed heavy in Coby's pocket as she walked to Goody Watson's. She could not have felt more conspicuous if she had been wearing girl's clothes, or none at all. Surely a sharp-eyed cozener had already spotted the tempting bulge or heard the muffled clink of coins? She scanned the crowded streets, but nothing seemed amiss. A few minutes later she reached the house of the tailor's wife without incident, and slipped through the open front door with a sigh of relief.

She paused on the threshold, sneezing at the dust that filled the air. Gowns, jackets and cloaks of every colour hung from pegs along one wall, whilst doublets, breeches and various linen items were folded in neat piles on shelves or scattered across trestle tables. A variety of hats, most of them black, occupied another set of pegs, and pairs of boots and shoes lurked under the tables alongside boxes of small household goods such as candlesticks and pewter dishes. Goody Watson sat by the window with her mending basket, half an eye on her work and the other half on a portly gentleman who was swaggering up and down, trying out the hang of a hip-length cloak that did nothing for his figure.

"Mistress Watson?"

The pawnbroker peered up at her, pressing her spectacles against the bridge of her nose with a work-reddened forefinger.

"Ah, Naismith's lad!" She put down her work and got to her feet stiffly. "The minute I heard you were back in London, I thought, 'Naismith'll be by any day now'." She looked around, frowning. "Your master ain't sick, is he?"

"No, just very busy. He sent me–"

"I'll take it," the portly gentleman said, elbowing Coby aside. "Ten shillings, did you say?"

Whilst Goody Watson haggled with her customer, Coby wandered around the shop examining the goods on offer. Buying costumes was one thing, but Master Naismith had insisted she get some new clothes for herself too, if she was to be his deputy. What to choose? She picked up a dark green doublet that looked about her own size.

"I put a few things by for you," Goody Watson said, when the man had gone. "I know what Master Naismith likes. Here."

She hauled a chest out from under the table and opened it.

"There, what do you think of that?" she asked, laying out a pair of scarlet velvet trunk hose trimmed with silver braid, complete with matching codpiece. "Belonged to Sir Walter Raleigh when he first came to court. Handed down a couple of times since then, o' course."

"Very… handsome." She doubted the provenance, but the hose were perfect for the stage. The more eye-catching the better. "I'm sure we can find use for such… striking apparel."

The tailor's wife produced a succession of fine garments, each with its sad tale of an impoverished gentleman desperate for a few shillings. Coby selected those few that fitted both their requirements and her master's purse, and was about to pay when she remembered her own needs.

"May I try this on?" she asked, returning to the green suit.

Goody Watson gestured for her to go ahead, and went back to her mending. Coby turned her back and began unbuttoning her doublet, grateful for the shopkeeper's poor eyesight. She pulled on the garment and was pleased to discover it was not too wide in the shoulders nor yet too long in the sleeve. The waist was a little loose, but she knew a few tailoring tricks to make that less obvious. The matching slops looked as though they might be a reasonable fit, and in any case she wasn't going to try them on in here.

She was in the middle of changing back into her own clothes when a shadow darkened the doorway. Suddenly aware she was half undressed, Coby shrank into the corner clutching the doublet to her chest like a child with a cradle blanket.

A man entered the shop, tall and rangy, with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked familiar, but Coby couldn't place him.

"Mistress Watson." He inclined his head towards the proprietress. "I'm here to redeem my pledge."

"Back in work at last, eh, Master Catlyn?"

She got up from her stool and began rummaging around under one of the trestle tables. The man gazed idly around the shop, and seemed to notice Coby for the first time.

"Don't I know you?" he said, staring at her.

"Er…"

"The Bull's Head." He pointed a finger at her, as if in accusation.

"Er, yes." Now she knew where she recognised him from. She had seen him several times with Gabriel Parrish's former… companion, Ned Faulkner. "I'm with Suffolk's Men."

"A player." He didn't sound impressed.

"N-no, I'm the tireman."

"Really?"

"Really." His cockiness was starting to irritate her. "I'm here buying costumes for the company."

The tailor's wife emerged from under the table, holding up a lute in a dusty leather case.

"Here we go." She held out her free hand. "Four shillings."

"I think you'll find it was two," Catlyn replied.

"Two-and-six, then. You was late last month."

A jingle of coins changed hands and he took the instrument, cradling it in the crook of his arm with absentminded affection.