The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(20)

Ned turned away and looked out of the window. Let them hold on to hope as long as they could. Sedition was close enough to treason to make no odds, and the permission of the council could easily be sought after the fact. He clenched his good hand around his metal fist. Sweet Jesu, let it not come to that.

“Where is Harris, anyway?” Nicholas said to no one in particular. “Strange he didn’t come into work today. Suspicious, even.”

“You think he betrayed us?” Ben asked.

“He’d never do a thing like that,” said Jack. “He’s my best friend.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Ned imagined Peter looking crestfallen.

“I think,” Nicholas said, “that he’s a craven turncoat who cares more for his own good name than the wellbeing of his friends. He always thought he was better than us.”

“That’s not true,” Ben said. “He’s a good, conscientious worker, that’s all. Master Faulkner was lucky to get him.”

Ned smiled bitterly to himself. Anyone would think I wasn’t here. God knows I wish it were so.

A stir of movement by the gatehouse caught his eye, and his heart leapt as a slight, fair-haired figure emerged into the yard, accompanying the fat gaoler. Gabriel. But was he a visitor, or had he been dragged into this mess? Ned watched the two men cross the yard, his stomach churning with fear. It felt like an eternity, but at last footsteps sounded on the stair outside, followed by the rattle of locks and bolts being unfastened. The door swung open and Gabriel stumbled over the threshold before it slammed shut behind him.

Ned crossed the cell and caught Gabriel, who clung to him for a moment like a drowning man to a timber. The actor smelt of sawdust and greasepaint and tobacco, and Ned swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

“They told me you’ve been accused of printing seditious ballads,” Gabriel said, releasing him at last. He put his hands on Ned’s shoulders and gazed into his eyes. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

“I swear, on my honour. For what that’s worth.”

“Then why–?”

Ned drew him aside. Jack had produced a set of knucklebones, and he and Nicholas were playing against one another in the space between the two beds, watched by their fellows.

“I was the one who kicked off that business in Kent. If Selby had connections among Walsingham’s men, he could have found out. And we know he got a message out, before–”

Gabriel shook his head. “He couldn’t have found out you were responsible. If he’d known before Mal arrived, things would not have gone half so smoothly. And there was no way he could have found out afterwards, surely?”

“Perhaps you’re right. But what else could it be?”

“There haven’t been any accusations of a, well, a more personal nature?”

Ned glanced at his employees. “You mean, you and me? No, not yet. Anyway, why arrest us for a different charge altogether, especially one so flimsy?”

They all turned as a key grated in the lock. The gaoler came in, bloodshot eyes sweeping over the prisoners. Two of his men stood in the doorway, arms folded.

“Well, now,” the gaoler said softly, “which of you wants a go first? How about you in the corner, lad? Think we’ll have you squealing soon as look at you.”

Jack shrunk back against the wall, edging towards Peter. Ned stepped forward.

“Take me first.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Grown man like you, we need to soften you up a bit first, let you see what happens to the men in your care if you break the law.”

Ned stiffened, but did not step aside.

“In any case,” the gaoler went on, “we’re having to bring in something special for you.” He laughed unpleasantly. “Bit tricky, racking a man with one arm, ain’t it, lads?”

The two men behind him laughed in chorus with their leader.

“So, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn, Master Faulkner.” He jerked his head towards Ben. “We’ll start with him. He’s your chief journeyman, isn’t he? Bet he knows everything that goes on, better even than the master.”

Ben paled, but stepped forward. Ned laid a hand on his arm as he walked past, thinking to say something reassuring, but words failed him. Ben pulled away, his face a mask of mistrust. Dear God, let this not be happening.

The door slammed behind them and the four men’s footsteps retreated down the stairs. For several long moments the room was silent but for Jack’s muffled sobbing as he curled up in the corner of the room, head buried in his arms.

“Cowards and filthy sodomites, the pair of you!” Nicholas pressed his back against the side of the door as if he could squeeze out through the narrow gap. “I hope they bugger you both with red hot irons until you plead for death.”

Ned swallowed. The thought had crossed his own mind more than once; it was the kind of poetic justice that men like their captors would favour.

“I hope they take you next,” Ned said to Nicholas in a low voice. “And be ready with plenty to tell them. They never believe a man’s word against that of his master, not unless they torture him to be sure. Their threats to me were just words, meant to unman me; you’ll they’ll take apart without a second thought.”

Nicholas turned as grey as the wall behind him. Ned went to stand by Gabriel, staring out at the yard.