Free The Merchant of Vengeance by Simon Hawke Page A

could maul each other to your hearts' content?"
    They turned to see a tall, gray-bearded, and barrel-chested man with sharp, angular features and thick, shoulder-length gray hair standing between them and the front entrance to the Locke house. In his right hand, he held a stout quarter-staff with one end resting lightly on the ground. "Either way," he continued, "I would much prefer that you conduct your mischief elsewhere, and not at my front door, if you please."
    "Master Charles Locke, I presume?" Smythe said. He started toward him, but immediately stopped when he saw Locke raise the quarter-staff and hold it across his body in the defensive posture of a man who was prepared to fight.
    "Who are you?" Locke demanded, gazing at him suspiciously. "What do you want?"
    Smythe held out his hands, palms forward. "Your pardon, good sir, we mean you no harm. My friend and I were merely having a bit of sport, is all. As it happens, 'tis you we came to see. My name is Tuck Smythe, and this is my friend Will Shakespeare."
    Locke frowned and maintained his staff held at the ready. "I know you not. What is it you want of me?"
    "'Tis a matter concerning your son," said Shakespeare.
    "Thomas?" Locke said, narrowing his eyes. "'What have you to do with him?"
    "In truth, not a very great deal," Smythe replied. "We have met him for the first time but this afternoon, at the shop of our good friend Ben Dickens, the armourer."
    “I know of him," said Locke curtly. "And yet I still know naught of you."
    "We are players, good sir," said Shakespeare, "at present with the august company of Lord Strange's Men."
    "And so what is that to me?"
    "Indeed, sir, it may be naught to you," Shakespeare replied, a touch defensively, "but the news we bring you of your son may not be naught at all."
    "Bah! Do not plague me with your riddles, you mountebank! What news have you of my son? Speak plainly and try not my patience!"
    "We believe that your son is planning to elope," said Smythe.
    "Elope!" Locke gave out a barking laugh. "What nonsense! What earthly reason would he have to do such a damned fool thing?"
    "Because the father of the prospective bride has now withdrawn his consent to the marriage and forbidden Thomas ever to see or speak with her again," Smythe replied.
    "And we have heard this from your son's own lips this day." added Shakespeare.
    Locke frowned and lowered his staff. "Indeed? And did he tell you why Mayhew has done this?"
    Smythe hesitated slightly, then replied, "He said 'twas because his mother is a Jew."
    For a moment, Locke simply stood there, saying nothing. His already stormy countenance betrayed little more response. Then he finally replied. "If you are lying about this because you are bent upon some sort of mischief, then so help me Almighty God, I shall have your hearts cut out."
    Shakespeare swallowed nervously and turned a shade paler. Smythe merely returned Locke's steely, level gaze. "Sir, I know full well just who you are, and that you are fully capable of making good upon your threat. Given that knowledge, then, consider how foolish we would have to be to play at making mischief for a man such as yourself."
    Locke's gaze never wavered. He merely nodded once, then curtly said, "Why do you come to me with this? What concern is it of yours? Did you hope to gain some favour or ask for something in return for imparting this most unfortunate news?"
    "Indeed, sir," Shakespeare began, "the truth of the matter is that we had thought the doing of a favour for a man in your particular position could be of some considerable benefit to struggling players such as ourselves, and —"
    Smythe interrupted him before he could continue. "Nay, the truth, sir, is that 'twas all my fault and, as such, my conscience did bid me cry to make amends."
    "Oh, Good Lord…" muttered Shakespeare, rolling his eyes. "Explain yourself," said Locke curtly.
    In as few words as possible, because he could clearly see that Locke would not have any patience for