Read Online The True Prince by J.B. Cheaney - Free Book Online Page A

I've been told, but there it is. “What—” I began, and felt my throat closing up. “What—”
    Kit stared at me, feigning interest. “What's this? It has two legs, two arms, and a mouth—it looks like some sort of human but gulps like a bunch-backed toad.”
    I clenched both fists. “Wh-what's this game you're p-playing?”
    “Game? What game?”
    “This t-t-tormenting of …” I found myself struggling for breath. “Gregory—my points—would you?”
    Gregory stepped behind me and began unlacing the back of my gown. Robin, biting his lip, was already performing the same service for Kit, so we looked like two over-decorated barges unlimbering for combat. Gregory handed me a damp towel to wipe the paint and powder off my face, all the while with dark glances at the opposition as though to signal whose side he was on. Robin inclined more to peacemaking. “What are you talking about, Richard? Nobody is being tormented.”
    I took hold of myself, slowing my speech to a crawl. “I … know … it was you … who p-planted that needle last week. And what did you use … to cause the itch? P-p-powdered nettle?”
    “What … do … you … mean?” Even though he mocked me, Kit's complexion had flushed to a deep shade that his brisk rubbing with a towel could not account for.
    “You m-must tell me that—”
    “I
must
?”
    “Whatever your reasons … you've achieved your goal. The boy is—petrified.”
    “The boy,” he repeated, tossing the towel to one side, “is too small for you to hide behind. If you gave a bad performance, take it like a man.” I opened my mouth, but could say nothing, probably because he was so close to being right. “What I've achieved,” he went on, pulling off his shift, “isgetting a r-r-rise out of you. This is lofty enough, considering what a milksop you normally—”
    I threw my corset at his head: not a trifling weapon, with its metal grommets and whalebone stays. It unleashed the tiger in him. He picked up Elizabeth's crown and hurled it at me like a discus, so the clover points caught me in the neck. Robin pinned his arms, but Gregory would not restrain me. Lacking any other weapon, I hurled myself and knocked both Kit and Robin to the floor. Recovering, Kit pounced on me, rolling us so near the loft opening that I might have fallen through it if the other boys had not screamed a warning. He punched me, and I punched him. We had each drawn blood before Richard Burbage stuck his head through the opening, bellowing to shame any bull.
    I could not make out what he said at first, but it was round enough to make Kit release me and stand up, looking sullen. Burbage's words came clearer.
    “—and depend on it, you'll pay for every farthing of damage to these clothes. Kit, come down at once. Richard, shed those ridiculous petticoats and follow presently.”
    They all went down, leaving me to look around. I could see what touched off Master Burbage: the tiring room resembled an ambush in the Queen's Wardrobe, with velvets and silks splayed out like battle-sprung horses and beads littering the floor like musket balls. Upon my life, I could not remember doing such damage in so short a time. They'll have our headsfor this, I thought gloomily, while untying the petticoat strings. Still, it was almost worth it to coax a little blood from Kit's haughty nose. For his part, he'd cut my lip. I ran my tongue around the place already swelling, then hastily tucked in my shirt, picked up my shoes and doublet, and descended the steep stairway, expecting a heavy fine to be laid on me.
    The lower room was empty. Tiring master, stage boys, apprentices, players, and hired men had all gathered on a stage that still flickered with dreadful torchlight under the lowering clouds. Richard Burbage was drawing a large circle on the planks with a piece of limestone as John Heminges hovered at his elbow, protesting, “But we must rehearse.”
    “This will not take long.” Master Burbage closed the