The Alchemist of Souls (Night's Masque, #1)(83)

Coby glanced around. Several of the actors were in earshot, though they were engaged in the current scene and not paying her any attention.

"If it's something important, should you not tell Master Naismith?" she said.

Parrish hunkered down next to her.

"This isn't theatre business," he said quietly. "It's… personal."

She was tempted to remark that she had seen more than enough of his personal affairs.

"I have too much work to do today, sir," she replied, turning a page. "As well you know."

"A few minutes of your time, that is all…"

"Is it about…?" She jerked her head towards Philip, who was arguing with Oliver about a bit of stage business involving a fan.

Parrish shook his head.

"Very well," she said. "You can talk to me when we break for dinner."

"Thank you."

The rest of the morning went smoothly enough, and Coby soon found herself leaving the theatre with Master Parrish at her side. They walked along Bankside in silence, until Coby had to ask: "So, what is so important you must drag me away from my dinner?"

Parrish halted, and took hold of her shoulders.

"First, you must swear to tell no one what I am about to relate; at least, not yet."

"I cannot swear to something when I know nothing about it, nor whether it is honourable to do so."

"And I cannot tell you unless you swear."

"Then we are at an impasse," Coby replied.

She pulled free of his grasp and carried on walking. He ran to overtake her, standing in her way like an ill-behaved child thwarting his mother.

"I thought you were in love with that fellow Catlyn," Parrish said. "Or do you not care if he lives or dies?"

She stared at him, heart in mouth.

"What are you talking about? Is Master Catlyn in danger?"

"Not yet. And you can help – but only if you swear to secrecy."

"I swear," she whispered.

"Then come with me. We should not speak of this in the street."

Coby went with Master Parrish to his lodgings, all thought of her day's work forgotten. Master Catlyn was in danger, and it was in her power to help…

Parrish lived above a draper's shop in Bermondsey Street, not far from the skraylings' guild house. Coby had been to the shop a few times, buying oddments of Holland and sarcenet for costume repairs, but had never ventured into the actor's home before. She followed him down a short alley to the shop yard, where a rickety wooden stair led up to a walkway that ran round the upper storey of the tenement.

"Is he here?" she asked.

"Catlyn?" Parrish shook his head. "Someone else."

He opened the door and ushered her inside. Coby's eyes widened in surprise. The single-room lodgings looked more like a cross between Master Cutsnail's office and a brothel than an impoverished actor's home. A motley collection of old tapestries, lengths of painted cloth, and threadbare velvet and damask cloaks covered the walls. The close-curtained bed was hung with rich fabrics too, dotted with embroidered animals in appliqué: harts, leopards and other heraldic beasts. Numerous chests stood about the room, some shut, some with lids wide open; one was piled high with hats of every colour and style.

"Gifts from admirers," the actor said, waving a hand in the general direction of the heaped treasures. "You can come out, love! He's here."

This last was not addressed to Coby. The bed-hangings twitched aside and Ned Faulkner emerged, looking even paler and grimmer of visage than Master Parrish.

"What's going on?" Coby asked, glancing from one man to the other.

"Sit down," Master Parrish said, dumping a heap of linens on the floor to reveal a plain three-legged stool.

Coby did as she was bidden, whilst Master Parrish sat on the bed next to Faulkner and placed a hand over one of his, gazing at his lover with a troubled expression.

"Ned has a story to tell."

Coby listened in horror to Faulkner's account of the men who had threatened him, and their plot against Master Catlyn and his brother.

"You betrayed him," she said. "He is your friend, and you betrayed him."

Her hand tightened into a fist, and she almost wished she had brought a cudgel. Master Catlyn would be avenged, one way or another.

Faulkner buried his head in his hands. "Tell him, Gabe."

"One of the villains broke into Ned's house before dawn today," Parrish said, "and tried to kill him. The fellow is dead – but so is Mistress Faulkner."

"No," she whispered. She looked at Faulkner with renewed pity and horror. "You killed a man?"

"It was kill or be killed."

"But – they will be looking for you," Coby said. "You must face charges."

Faulkner stared at the floor. Parrish put an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

"A formality, love. No jury is going to convict a man of murder when he was simply protecting himself in his own home."

"You still must give yourself up. Otherwise they will assume you are guilty."

"I know," Faulkner muttered. He looked up. "That's why I need you."

"Why should I help you?"