Read Online The Nine Giants by Edward Marston - Free Book Online Page B

wonders.
    Firethorn’s urgency dragged the rest of the cast along behind it. The major technical problem came in Act Five when the two pairs of twins, separated since birth and totally unaware of each other’s existence, finally learn the truth and unite in love and laughter. To effect this climactic moment when all four meet together, two other actors had to stand in as one of the duos. The fleeting appearance as Argos of Rome was made by Owen Elias, a sturdy Welshman whose height and build matched those of Firethorn himself. Dressed in the costume of Silvio of Rome, padded out to give him more substance, was none other than George Dart. The substitute twins were a complete contrast. While the Welshman took the stage with overweening confidence, theassistant stagekeeper crept onto it with all the enthusiasm of a snail crawling into a fiery furnace. The latter was mortified when he knocked over a chair in his nervousness and then accidentally pulled the cloak off Silvio of Florence during an embrace with his putative twin. As the play came to an end, Dart waited in trepidation for the acid comments of Firethorn.
    But none came. Delighted with his own account of the two roles, and certain that his company would rise to the occasion in front of a large audience, the actor-manager dismissed them all with a few kind words then swept off into the tiring-house. Nicholas Bracewell was not so uncritical of what he had seen and he had many notes to give to erring performers before they slipped away. He had just administered a gentle reprimand to George Dart when Edmund Hoode sidled up to him.
    ‘Tell me her name, Nick.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘This enchantress who has bewitched Lawrence.’
    ‘That is his business alone.’
    ‘It is ours as well if it affects his conduct here among his fellows. Why, man, he was grinning at us like some lovesick youth just now. If this lady’s magic is so potent, we must lure her into the company and pay her to keep the old bear sweet. It would be money well spent.’
    Nicholas smiled. ‘We all would benefit.’
    ‘So who is this paragon?’
    ‘I may not say, Edmund.’
    ‘But it was you who tracked her down.’
    ‘Master Firethorn has sworn me to secrecy.’
    ‘Can you not divulge the name to me?’
    ‘Neither to you nor to any living soul.’
    ‘But I am your friend, Nick.’
    ‘It is my friendship that holds me back,’ said the other seriously. ‘You would not thank me for breaking my oath. Better it is that you do not know who the lady is.’
    Hoode’s eyes widened. ‘Do I spy danger here?’
    ‘Acute danger.’
    ‘For Lawrence?’
    ‘For all of us.’
     
    Sir Lucas Pugsley, fishmonger, philanthropist and incumbent Lord Mayor of London, finished another gargantuan meal and washed it down with a glass of French brandy. His guest was still guzzling away at his lunch and taking frequent swigs of beer from the two-pint tankard that stood before him. The Mayor was dining in private for once and sharing confidences with an old friend. Pugsley was as thin as a rake and as pale as a spectre. No matter how much food he ate – and his appetite was gross – he never seemed to put on any weight. The narrow face with its tight lips, its high cheekbones and its tiny black eyes resembled nothing so much as the head of a conger eel. Even in his full regalia, he looked as if he were lying on a slab.
    Rowland Ashway was a completely different man. His gormandising had left its mark all too flagrantly upon him. The wealthy brewer had been turned into a human barrel to advertise his way of life. Regular consumption of hisown best beer had given the puffed cheeks and the blob of nose such a florid hue that he appeared to be cultivating tomatoes. The two men had a political as well as a personal connection. As Alderman for Bridge Ward Within, the wily Ashway had promoted Pugsley’s candidacy for the ultimate civic honour. The fishmonger did not forget such loyalty and it had been rewarded by more than