Free A Mystery of Errors by Simon Hawke

blade at his side, instinctively counting on his size to work for him as he launched himself at Smythe and wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug, driving him backward. They crashed into the table where the young man's elegant friend was sitting, but he simply got up in the nick of time and stepped casually back out of the way with his goblet as Smythe and the fat man fell to the floor, splintering the table beneath them.
    Knowing that if the fat man fell on top of him, it would drive the wind right out of him, Smythe wrapped his own arms around his antagonist and twisted hard as they fell, with the result that the fat man took the brunt of their crash into the table and fell with the not inconsiderable bulk of Smythe on top of him. His thick layers of fat, however, absorbed much of the impact and kept him from getting the wind knocked out of him. He managed to dislodge Smythe, breaking his hold and tossing him aside, into another table. With an angry roar, he started to get back up, but never made it. Hoisting a bench high above his head with both hands, Shakespeare brought it down hard on top of the man's head, splintering the wood, and quite possibly bone, as well. Leaning back against the bar, the elegant man in black raised his goblet in a toast, which Shakespeare acknowledged with a bow.
    Smythe got up to see the young man hotly engaged with two opponents, the man in red and gold and the man in brown and black. And he was being driven back under their combined assault. However, before he could do anything, Smythe saw the situation resolved neatly by the young man's black-garbed friend.
    It happened very quickly. As the young man backed away, parrying furiously, his opponents passed the spot where the man in black was standing, leaning back against the bar. Moving in a casual, easy manner, the man in black unsheathed his dagger, flipped it so that he could grasp the blade with his gloved hand, then brought it down hard upon the skull of the man in red and gold. He crumpled to the floor as the man in black brought up his booted foot and kicked the other man right in the groin. The man in brown and black made a sound like a pig being stuck with a skewer, then collapsed as the elegant man in black brought the heavy pommel of his dagger down upon his head, knocking him unconscious.
    The young man stepped back with an irritated look and shrugged, spreading his arms and sweeping his rapier out to the side in an elaborately expressive gesture. "I could have handled them, you know."
    The man in black glanced at him and grimaced. "The trouble with you, Kit, is that you are not nearly as good as you think you are."
    "I was doing bloody well all right till you stepped in!" the handsome young man protested.
    "You had help," the man in black said, indicating Smythe.
    " 'Twas he who helped us," said Smythe, "for which, sir," he added, turning to the young man, "I am profoundly grateful. We have only just arrived in London, seeking employment, and our first day in town was very nearly our last."
    "Well, we cannot have louts and bumpkins abusing poets out in public, now can we? No, no, that would never do." The handsome young man grinned, adding, "We artists have to stick together, you know."
    "Indeed," said Shakespeare. "Though for my part, I would prefer to do so in a manner somewhat less bellicose."
    "Ah, but you must admit, it was a grand little set-to, was it not?" the young man said. "Just the sort of thing to get a man's blood up!"
    The man in black shook his head with resignation. "If you persist in this sort of foolishness, Marlowe, then I strongly suggest you take more fencing lessons, else I shall find some other young, deserving poet to favor with my patronage. These tavern brawls are going to be the death of you, and I would hate to see my money wasted. You still have many years of decent work in you, Kit. Assuming you survive, of course."
    The young man bowed with an exaggerated, courtly gesture. "I am properly