The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(24)

It was but a short walk from Ned's house to the new theatre at the far end of Bankside. The theatre field was empty of workmen for the moment, but the piles of sand, clay and straw spoke of recent – or imminent – industry. Sounds of hammering came from the theatre itself. The main doors stood open, so Mal wandered inside.

"Hello?" he shouted, looking around. "Master Naismith?"

"Who is that?" a voice called out from the galleries.

"It is I, Maliverny Catlyn," he replied, stepping out of the shadowy entrance tunnel. "I come by appointment, to speak with your tireman."

After a few moments he heard footsteps on the gallery stairs, then the young tireman appeared.

"You still wish for lessons in Tradetalk?" the boy asked.

"That's why I'm here."

"We had best go outside. We shall not be able to hear ourselves think in there. And in any case, Master Naismith doesn't like anyone from outside the company spying on our progress."

"Indeed not." Spying on actors? What would anyone want to do that for?

As if guessing his thoughts, the boy added, "The Admiral's Men would give a good deal of money to know our plans for the contest."

So that was what Ned had been up to, that night in the Bull's Head. Mal smiled to himself. Perhaps he should not have judged his friend so harshly.

"You have the advantage of me, lad," Mal said to his companion as they walked across the field.

"Sir?"

"You know my name, but I do not know yours."

"Jacob Hendricks, sir."

"Dutch?"

The boy nodded.

"Anxious to get over there and fight?" Mal asked.

Hendricks shook his head.

Mal gave up that line of conversation. If the boy was going to be so taciturn, learning a language from him promised to be hard going. He looked around.

"This is a poor spot to sit and talk. Look, there is shade, down there by the millstream."

He pointed to a knot of alders on the edge of the pleasure gardens.

Hendricks bit his lip. "I am not so sure."

"Come now, we cannot stand around in the sun like labourers. And it seems we cannot sit in the shade of yon theatre either, lest I am suspected of eavesdropping."

"Very well," the boy said. "It is just… Master Parrish said I should stay away from such lewd places. He–" Hendricks blushed like a girl. "He says I am too pretty for my own good."

"What, you think I would ravish you?" Mal laughed. "Jesu, you're a child, for Heaven's sake!"

"I'm not a child, I'm seventeen."

"Aye, well, tell me again when your voice breaks and I might believe you."

They crossed the little wooden bridge into Paris Gardens and sat down in the shade of the alders. Mal studied the boy's profile for a moment. Furrowed brow, a nose red and peeling from the sun, a bottom lip curled downwards in, what, frustration? Or misery? No sign of violence, but then not all bruises show. He wondered if that was why the boy hugged his ribs so protectively.

"I suppose tempers are running short," Mal said. "What with the contest and all."

"Something like that." The boy picked up an alder cone and threw it into the stream.

Mal made a sympathetic noise. It was none of his business, and he did not press the matter further.

"So, where shall we begin?" Hendricks said with forced cheerfulness.

"How should I know?" Mal said, sitting alert with forearms propped on his knees. "You're the teacher."

The boy glanced at him, ready with another retort, then seemed to change his mind. He smiled nervously.

"Well, the first thing you need to know," he said, staring off into the distance, "is that Tradetalk uses English words, more or less, but not in the way an Englishman would do. The skraylings refuse to make certain letters, to whit, m, b and p–"

"Why?"

"It is said they find them effeminate, like a lisp. The upshot is, they must find new words for many common English things, such as mother, brother and the like."

"And man and woman?"

The boy blushed again.

"Yes."

"So, how do you say 'man' or 'woman'?"

"Man is 'fellah'. Woman is 'she-fellah'."

"Like she-wolf?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But you address a man as 'sir', whatever his rank, and a woman as 'lady'. Not that you will need to address a woman in Tradetalk."

"Is it true there are no womenfolk here?" Mal asked.

Hendricks shrugged. "I have not seen any, nor no children neither. Perhaps they keep their women hidden, like the Turks are said to do."

Mal repeated the Tradetalk words a few times. It all seemed simple enough, if a little barbaric to the ear.

"Even the Turks are not so secretive," he said. "But then the skraylings seem fond of secrets."

"And stories," Hendricks said. "That's why they come to the theatres so much, even those who cannot understand the speeches."

"Your patron is a friend of the skraylings," Mal said. "And I hear yon theatre is being built with skrayling silver. That is a bold venture."