Free The Playmakers by Graeme Johnstone Page A

“Who I suspect, powerful as he is, might be challenged by a
man of such obvious strength as your good self.”
    “Oh, reckons he’s strong does he?” said the
guard, relaxing his hand on the spear just a little.
    “He does, sir,” crooned Budsby. “But even
from this distance and in this dimming light I can see that your
experience as a guard has gifted you with a most powerful body,
too, ready to take on all-comers.”
    “Well, I do my job.”
    “Exactly,” said Budsby, moving rapidly to
within two yards of his quarry. “And that is why the good citizens
of this area, and indeed, people all across this wonderful country
of ours can go about their duties knowing full well that men such
as you are providing protection from our mortal enemies.”
    And so saying, he unscrewed the silver top
from his walking stick, extracted the phial, pulled out the cork
and offered it, saying, “Do you fancy a little tipple, good
sir?”
    The guard peered down at the silver tube,
looked quietly left and right, and eased the grasp on his spear
further. “Don’t mind if I do, sir,” he said, grabbing the phial
with his free hand. “It’s a nice reward near the end of a long
day.”
    And as the man tilted his head back and
swallowed the rough, warming liquid, Budsby slyly turned back to
Soho and Shakespeare standing twenty yards away at the front of the
first wagon, and winked.
    “Thank you sir,” said the guard, handing it
back when he had finished. “I appreciate your kindness. It’s just
that around here these days, we can’t take no chances.”
    “Oh?” said Budsby distractedly, going to have
a swig himself, he discovered that the guard had finished the lot
off.
    “Being over here on the east, we get a lot of
dangerous types smuggled on shore and heading for London.”
    “What sort of, er, types?” asked Budsby
carefully.
    “French and Spanish, mainly. Enemies of the
state. Spies, messengers, and rumour-mongers.”
    “Spies?”
    “And atheists.”
    “Atheists, too?”
    “And Jesuits.”
    “Jesuits, hey, well I’ll be damned.”
    Budsby kept all these responses as neutral as
possible. He never cared much about all this spy stuff, but it was
dangerous to indicate any feelings one way or another.
    “All trying to challenge the authority of the
Earl and of the Queen herself,” continued the guard.
    “Ah, yes, the Earl …” said Budsby slowly,
trying to elicit just which Earl the man was talking about.
    “The Earl of Oxford. Edward de Vere
himself!”
    “Oxford? You’re a long way from Oxford,
aren’t you? Why, Norwich is just up the road.”
    “The Earl has properties everywhere, sir.
Don’t forget he is the Lord Chamberlain, second only in rank to Her
Majesty.”
    “True, true. But I thought, you know, most of
the estates he inherited when he was twelve, he had since sold
off.”
    “Maybe, sir. But a castle in de Vere’s name
is just up the road, and I’m the advance guard.”
    “Ah, de Vere, a man of distinction,” added
Budsby carefully.
    “Distinction, yes. Letters, too,” said the
guard. Then leaning forward, he added, “But, just between you and
me, as for actually paying poor sods like me on time, well, that’s
another matter.”
    “A bit tardy, yes?”
    “He means well enough. But you have to haggle
to get your wages.”
    “Do you now?”
    “With his estate manager. You don’t see much
of the Earl around here. He’s in his thirties now, always living it
up big down south, and if I had half a chance I’d be down there
myself, too.”
    Budsby moved closer, and said almost
conspiratorially, “And tell me, what happens to these spies and
atheists?”
    “Quite frankly, they don’t worry me, sir. I
just do my job.’
    “Right.”
    “But I gather, for any that we catch, there’s
no second chance,” he added, stamping the end of his spear on the
ground. “Over in Norwich, they get the axe, the gallows, or the
stake.”
    “Hmmmm,” said Budsby, thoughtfully. “Oh well,
we will