Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 36

G.o.dley gripped Arkwright by the arm and whooped with joy. 'But this is marvellous! Marvellous! How much easier will our task be with His Majesty free! As a focus for resistance he will be matchless.'

Stanislaus moved swiftly across the deck and called for the bosun. 'Come, man! Get us into port and anch.o.r.ed. There is not a moment to be lost!'

Ben and Scrope were concealed behind a line of barrels just by the jetty where the latter had spent his long, freezing vigil.

They had used the speedy journey from Gravesend to London to compare notes. Ben told the smelly newcomer of what he and the late Captain Winter had discovered. Scrope, in turn, told Ben of his encounters with the Doctor and Jamie.

Added to that was the news that the girl called Polly had now joined them and, though they were prisoners in the Tower, they would be quite safe for the moment.

Their priority now had to be the ident.i.ty of the mysterious Dutchman and what exactly Stanislaus and G.o.dley's package meant for them all.

Ben sank low behind a barrel, his hand pressed tightly over his mouth against the smell of his companion.

Taking the bull by the horns, he turned and whispered to Scrope. 'No offence, mate, but don't you ever take a bath?'

Scrope cackled merrily. 'Oh, no, lad. Nasty things, baths.

Injurious to the health, don't you know?'

His face turned suddenly grave and he held up his hand for silence. 'There!' He pointed through the gap in the barrels and Ben could see the high masts and rigging of the Teazer Teazer silhouetted against the moon. silhouetted against the moon.

'So,' smiled Scrope. 'We are one step ahead of them after all.'

They watched in silence as the s.h.i.+p lowered her anchor into the water and several dim figures descended the rope ladder into the rowing boat.

It took only a few moments for the party to make it to the jetty and Stanislaus, G.o.dley, Arkwright, and van Leeuwenhoek stood for a moment, deep in conversation.

'I recognise the Pole,' hissed Scrope to Ben. 'Who are the others?'

'I don't know the little one. But the one in the hat is G.o.dley. The other is the Dutchman.'

Scrope nodded, his old eyes narrowing as he peered through the darkness. Then he pulled himself and Ben back against the wall as the party began to walk towards them.

Arkwright clambered back into the boat but the others moved swiftly along the jetty. G.o.dley carried a lantern and he set it down on top of the barrels, only inches from Ben's face.

'Very well. I shall be only a moment.'

For a few seconds, his face was fully illuminated in the glow of the lamp and Ben heard Sc.r.a.pe emit a little gasp.

He turned, thinking the old man might be ill, but Scrope was simply staring ahead, his mouth opening and closing in wonder.

G.o.dley returned and, picking up the lamp, led the way through the narrow buildings towards the street.

Ben jumped to his feet but Scrope grabbed his arm.

'Come on, mate. We've got to get after them,' said Ben urgently.

'Wait, wait!' cried Scrope. 'Yon fellow. What did you say his name was?'

Ben shrugged. 'G.o.dley, he said. Richard G.o.dley.'

Scrope shook his head in wonder. 'You have been travelling in far more ill.u.s.trious company than you knew, Ben.

That man is not Richard G.o.dley. He is Prince Rupert!'

CHAPTER 11.

John Thurloe let a long sigh hiss through his clenched teeth as he strode towards the Doctor.

The little man stood with Jamie and Polly, all three grouped in a tight cl.u.s.ter in the centre of Cromwell's room.

Guards had been posted at the door in case any of the three time travellers tried to make a break for it. The general himself was absent, busying himself with the preparations for the King's trial.

'Doctor, you are being evasive,' said Thurloe angrily.

'Am I?' murmured the Doctor. 'I'm so sorry. Force of habit.'

Thurloe loomed over him, his long face clouded with suspicion. 'I know that you and the Scot are not what you claim. You are no more in touch with the other side than I am.'

'What other side?' queried Polly. 'The King, you mean?'

Jamie shook his head. 'No. He means the spirit world.'

Polly burst out laughing. 'Oh. I see.'

Thurloe swung round to face her. ''Tis no laughing matter, lady. These accomplices of yours claimed to see into the future.'

Polly shrugged. 'Well, there's a lot of truth in that.'

Thurloe frowned and returned to his scrutiny of the Doctor. 'Listen well. I am not taken in by your wizardry, Doctor. But, equally, I do not believe you to be a man of wicked designs.'

'Oh,' said the Doctor. 'I'm so glad.'

He could see the network of ruddy, broken veins that crazed Thurloe's skin.

'Tell me the truth, Doctor. How did you come to be here and what connection do you have with this Royalist spy?'

The Doctor sighed and held out his hands in a gesture of supplication. 'She's not a spy. She's our travelling companion.

The one I told you about. There's another one, too. We simply... arrived here in London and got caught up in this mess.'

Thurloe tapped his finger against his chin. 'And you did not seek to release the King?'

'Of course not,' snapped Polly. 'I was duped into it by the men I told you about.'

Thurloe nodded. 'This... Christopher Whyte. My men can find no record of him.'

Polly pulled a helpless face. 'What about the other one?

The older man?'

Thurloe shook his head. 'You furnished us with a description, but no name. I cannot act upon such flimsy evidence. Though I do have my suspicions.'

'Well, regardless of that,' concluded the Doctor, 'you must see that we are innocent of any crime. I mean, if it hadn't been for the saltpetre man we'd never even have been arrested.'

Thurloe's ears p.r.i.c.ked up. 'Saltpetre man? What are you talking about?'

Jamie gave a short laugh. 'Och, you dinnae want to bother about that, Mr Thurloe. Just a smelly old fool with ideas above his station.'

Thurloe advanced on Jamie, his eyes full of interest. 'What was this fellow's name?'

'Scrope,' said the Doctor. 'Nathaniel Scrope.'

Thurloe clapped his gloved hands together. 'You know Scrope? Why did you not say so before?' He gave a huge and unexpected grin. 'How come you to know him?'

'Actually,' said the Doctor humbly, 'we saved his life.'

Thurloe began to pace up and down. 'Then he will vouch for you. This changes everything, Doctor.'

The Doctor was astonished. 'It does?'

Thurloe nodded vigorously. 'Scrope is my best agent.'

The man known as Richard G.o.dley sank down into a chair and threw off his hat with a contented sigh. How nice it would be throw off his alias with such ease. But in these mad, topsy-turvy times it was imperative that he remain incognito.

G.o.dley. Rupert. Sometimes he forgot himself, just as he forgot why he had set out on this insane expedition. Why did he have to place his fate in the hands of barbarians like Stanislaus?

Rupert shuddered as he remembered their experience in Amsterdam. First, the visit to the odious, skeletal van Leeuwenhoek and then, after Rupert had suggested they forget their cares for a few hours, where had the Pole taken them? To the vile House of Correction!

There, for a price, visitors could watch the poor, imprisoned wretches undergoing all manner of unthinkable tortures.

For a man of Rupert's healthy, athletic sensibilities such base sadism was sickening. He had watched in horror as two boys had been thrown into a flooded cellar, the water rising so rapidly that it was around their waists in minutes. Furiously, they had laboured at two pumps. Rupert had asked the point of this and Stanislaus had smiled his evil smile. 'They must pump it out or drown,' he had said simply, turning to lay a bet on the outcome.

With a shake of his handsome head, Rupert attempted to wipe the memory away. He looked around the dank room and drummed his fingers on the table.

He did not think much of the surroundings in which he found himself how different from his old life in the glorious city of Prague but it was a relief at least to be back on dry land, even in such a grim hole as this Thames-side warehouse.

There was food and wine on the table and Rupert ate ravenously, tossing morsels to his pet monkey, which the little creature chomped and chewed with vigour, its bright eyes darting from side to side.

There was a knock at the door.

'Come!' called Rupert.

Christopher Whyte came quickly inside, closing the door behind him. He looked Rupert up and down before bowing.

'Your Highness,' he said.

Rupert smiled. 'It's Whyte, isn't it? I have had a full report of your excellent conduct in this matter, sir. Believe me, when this business is settled you will be handsomely rewarded.'

Whyte gave another modest bow. 'Was there anything else, sir?'

Rupert ran a hand through his tousled black hair. 'Yes, Whyte. 'Tis a little more delicate, I fear. I need a man I can rely on.'

Whyte frowned, intrigued. 'Your Highness can, of course, rely upon me for anything.'

'Of course,' repeated Rupert. 'But I would rather this was done as an act of friends.h.i.+p, not duty. Please be seated.'

Whyte did so, a little uneasy at not standing before the Prince. The monkey looked at him, as if it sensed his discomfort.

Rupert steepled his fingers and glanced up at the ceiling. 'I have not yet seen the King.'

Whyte nodded. 'Aye, I was informed as such.'

'There are reasons for this,' continued Rupert without pausing. 'As you may know, my uncle and I did not part on the best of terms.'

This was putting it mildly. The Prince, having commanded Charles's army, had fallen out of favour after giving up the crucial port of Bristol to the Parliamentarians.

'In fact,' said Rupert with a soft sigh, 'His Majesty sent me into exile.'

Whyte gave a little grunt. 'Then the King is not aware of your part in this scheme?'

Rupert shook his head. 'He believes it to have originated with the Queen. In point of fact, the whole thing was my idea from first to last. My dear aunt took some persuading but finally she saw the merit of it.'

Whyte puffed air out of his cheeks.

'For myself, sir, I would wish the King were safely abroad before this... a.s.sa.s.sination is attempted.'

Rupert nodded. 'Alas, if the King were not such an obstinate fellow we would never have found ourselves in this plight.'

Whyte s.h.i.+fted his weight on the rickety chair. 'What would you like me to do, sir?'

Rupert scratched his head. 'I do not want my presence here to be a surprise. I should like you to inform His Majesty that I am here and that the scheme is mine also. That I carry the full blessing of Queen Henrietta Maria and that myself, Captain Stanislaus, and the er... package from Holland all await his pleasure.'

Whyte raised his eyebrows and sighed. It was no small request. But this was no time to stand on ceremony. The King's life and the future of the monarchy itself were in the hands of the small group gathered in that dank warehouse.