The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(31)

"Sandy?" He sat down on the bed. "I have to go soon and… I don't know when I can return. I have to earn money to pay for our keep."

Sandy said nothing, only stared into the distance.

"If I can't come," Mal went on, "I'll send Ned to see you, all right? You remember Ned?"

"Ned. Short for Edmund. Yes."

"Good. He'll keep you company well enough. I'll have him bring his deck of cards."

"He cheats."

"That he does." Mal forced a smile, and kissed his brother on both cheeks. "It won't be much longer, I promise."

Coby sat down on the grass by the front doors of the theatre, feeling conspicuous. In nearby Paris Gardens, revellers laughed, and a man was singing "The Pangs of Love" to the playing of a lute. A few passers-by gave her curious looks, but probably thought her just a young swain waiting for his sweetheart. If only…

Shortly after five o'clock the gate opened and Master Catlyn entered the theatre field. Coby leapt to her feet and tried not to look too pleased to see him. She led him round to the back of the theatre and unlocked the door. The theatre was of course empty on the Lord's Day, which was why it made such a private practice-space. As they passed through the tiring house and out onto the stage, Master Catlyn handed her one of the two cudgels they used for their practice. They were sturdy lengths of maple, three feet long and an inch and a half thick, shod with iron. Ostensibly for walking, they were a favourite weapon of apprentices, who would often gather to fight on one of the fields outside the city walls, much to the indignation of their elders.

After a few warm-ups and drills they sparred for a while. Master Catlyn's fighting technique was not at all like the moves the players used on stage; instead it involved a surprising amount of grappling and body contact, and she had been thrown to the boards on several occasions. It was at once terrifying and exhilarating, feeling his arms about her or his weight pinning her down. Every night she prayed for forgiveness for her unchaste thoughts, and every day she thought of little except her next meeting with him.

She did not only think and daydream, however. Every spare minute she could get alone, she had been practising moves, sometimes even using her tailor's dummy as a pell. It seemed to be paying off. Master Catlyn did not swear at her quite as often as on previous occasions, and she got a couple of solid blows past his guard towards the end. As he was a good six inches taller than her, with a grown man's strength, she was pleased with herself for managing even that much.

"All right, time for something new," Master Catlyn said, tossing aside his weapon. It rolled across the stage to fetch up against one of the pillars.

"Sir?"

"I want to show you how to disarm a man. Come at me as before."

She advanced towards him, cudgel gripped in both hands. As she let go with her left hand and raised her weapon to strike, he caught her right arm with both hands and twisted it behind her back. The cudgel slipped from her grasp.

"Ach, God's teeth!" Master Catlyn let her go, muttering under his breath.

"Are you all right, sir?" Coby asked, stretching her aching arm and flexing her fingers.

"Dropped the damned thing on my foot," he replied. "I swear to God, I would rather fight a man armed with steel than one of these bloody things."

He kicked the cudgel across the stage. Sensing this would be a good time to take a breather, Coby produced two bottles of beer she had hidden in a shady corner of the yard before leav ing the theatre last night. Master Catlyn took one with a muttered apology for his foul language on the Lord's Day.

"Is something the matter, sir? You seem in an ill humour today."

"It's nothing." He uncorked his beer and took a swig.

Coby nodded sympathetically. One thing she had observed about men was that they rarely unburdened their hearts. It was a habit she tried to emulate, though in present circumstances it was so frustrating. There was more to her feelings for him than mere girlish fancy, she was sure: she truly liked Master Catlyn. Well, except when he swore at her. But at least it was proof her disguise still held. She felt certain a gentleman like him would not blaspheme so in front of a woman.

They sat on the edge of the stage in the late afternoon sun, their legs dangling over, like two small boys fishing from a jetty. It reminded her of her childhood, of long hot summer days spent tagging along behind her brother Kees and his friends as they explored the woods and pools around their home town. She felt tears starting to prick her eyes and scrubbed hastily at them with her sleeve.

"Worn out already?"

"I was just thinking of my family. I haven't seen them since…"

"Since the fall of Antwerp?"

She nodded. "Mother wanted to move north, to Amsterdam where we have cousins, but Father insisted we would never be safe with the Spanish in control of the Netherlands, so we took a boat across the Narrow Sea. There was a storm – I don't know if they are alive or dead. I asked everywhere I could when I got to England, but…"

"Both my parents are dead," Master Catlyn said in a quiet voice. "My mother died when I was small, and my father a few years ago. My brothers…"

"Tell me about your sweetheart," she said on impulse. It was like picking at a scab; she knew it was stupid, but there was a grim satisfaction in reopening the wound. "Are you to be betrothed?"