Page 12 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

K it pressed his hands against the damp, unyielding brick wall of the prison.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the centuries of misery ingrained in the stones.

He squinted up at the small aperture that admitted a pitiful degree of light and air.

The Tower offered no chance of escape. It had been built for just this purpose and it served it well.

He turned around and leaned his back against the wall, his ankles crossed, and surveyed his silent companions.

His gaze fell on Dutton, who sat on the filthy straw, his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving.

‘We’re dead,’ Dutton groaned. ‘We’re all dead.’

‘Keep your peace, Dutton,’ Whitely said with a voice of authority. ‘They have no evidence against us, just a map of London.’

‘And the word of an informer,’ Cotes said, his narrow eyes darting from man to man.

Dutton raised his head. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Someone told them we were meeting and why.’

‘You’re surely not suggesting one of us turned cloak?’ Whitely said.

‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Cotes said. ‘I’m telling you.’

‘And who more likely than you?’ Kit said.

Cotes paled. ‘Me?’

‘The mouse that squeals loudest is the one with the cheese, as my old nurse used to say,’ Thomas Smith muttered darkly.

‘It wasn’t me!’ Cotes protested, his voice rising an octave in alarm.

‘Throwing allegations isn’t going to help. Look at who wasn’t there.’ Whitely’s sensible voice stilled the anxiety. ‘Young Gerard, Willys or Fitzjames. It is more likely one of them.’

‘Not Fitzjames,’ Kit said, with a pang of guilt.

‘What about Willys?’ Smith said. ‘It’s my betting that this is the work of the Sealed Knot. They want us out of the way.’

There was silence.

‘What did you say?’ Whitely said at last.

‘’Tis well known in Paris that there is a committee holding the King’s Commission with orders to undermine any other plans. They call themselves the Sealed Knot. My bet is that this is their work,’ Smith said.

‘What committee? Who’s on it?’ Dutton asked. From his face, it was evident that the existence of the Sealed Knot was news to him.

Smith shrugged. ‘No one knows, but there is word that Willys is one of them.’

‘They hold the King’s Commission you say?’ Dutton was incredulous. ‘If Willys is one of them, then why not confide in us? Together we could have raised an army.’

‘An army? For Christ’s sake Dutton, we couldn’t organise a small riot!’ Kit said. ‘You didn’t really believe we could muster six hundred men?’

‘With the King’s Commission, we could have done.’

‘Enough!’ Whitely rose to his feet. ‘In case you gentlemen haven’t noticed, we are in the Tower of London and these walls have ears. Not another word.’

‘What about the girl?’ Smith broke the ensuing silence. ‘Is it true she threw a brickbat at Cromwell a week or so back?’

‘I saw her!’ Dutton looked up. ‘Dammit, I knew her face was familiar. A bit thinner and a bit grubbier but it was her right enough. I saw her throw the brickbat. Only missed by a couple of inches.’

‘Well, you can just keep quiet about it,’ Kit said sharply. ‘No point sending the girl to the gallows for nearly succeeding at something we have come nowhere close to doing!’

‘You’re quick to defend her,’ Dutton sneered. ‘Got a hand under her skirts, have you?’

Kit cast Dutton a filthy look that was lost in the dark. He slid down the wall and sat with his hands hanging loosely over his knees. He closed his eyes and wondered how Thamsine fared, locked within these same forsaken walls.

***

A fitful ray of sunlight struggled through the foetid London air, penetrating the warm, panelled room and briefly illuminating the large, oaken table behind which John Thurloe, Secretary to the Council of State, sat waiting for his visitor.

As Kit strolled into the room, Thurloe looked up from perusing the scattered papers before him.

He set down his pen and, leaning his elbows on the table, placed the tips of his fingers together and said in a low, purring voice, ‘Captain Lovell. I trust you are well?’

Kit gave the Secretary of State the benefit of a flourishing bow, which lost something when executed wearing manacles. Without waiting for an invitation, he seated himself in one of the solid oak chairs facing the table.

‘Tolerably well, Master Thurloe. The hostelry is overrun with bed bugs and lice, the rats are a truly incredible size and the food is execrable, but my day is much improved for seeing you of course.’

Thurloe sighed. ‘Spare me the charm, Lovell. You know it’s wasted on me.’

Kit casually flicked at a piece of imaginary lint on his sleeve, causing the chains on his wrists to rattle.

The gesture was purely an affectation. The sleeve of his jacket, like the rest of his attire and indeed himself, after a week’s incarceration, was very much the worse for wear.

Unshaven, soiled, stained and carrying the unmistakable stench of prison, Kit was far from his sartorial best. Thurloe’s long nose wrinkled in distaste.

Kit caught the gesture. ‘I pray your pardon for my appearance, Thurloe, but as you are well aware the accommodation has afforded me few luxuries.’

‘Indeed, but then it was not intended to,’ agreed Thurloe.

Kit raised a hand to a livid bruise on his right cheekbone. ‘Was this strictly necessary?’

Thurloe shrugged. ‘Adds a degree of authenticity. I trust Sergeant Harris was not too rough on you?’

Kit glared at the Secretary of State. ‘I am lucky he did not break a bone.’

‘How are your fellow captives?’

Kit shrugged. ‘Surprised that their idiotic plan was discovered.’

‘And who do they suspect of betraying them?’

Kit shook his head. ‘The suspects abound. Roger Cotes now seems to be the principal object of their blame. Never one to be trusted was Roger. Shifty eyes.’

Thurloe smiled. ‘Not you?’

‘Never me, Thurloe.’ Kit’s finger traced the carving on the arm of the chair. He looked up and met Thurloe’s eye. ‘What do you intend to do with them?’

Thurloe’s long fingers drummed the table.

‘They’re a sorry enough crew. Very quick to talk and there are titbits of information I find quite intriguing.

As for the plot itself?’ He shrugged. ‘Pathetic, laughable in fact.’ He shook his head.

‘When all is considered, there is precious little evidence to hold them on. To be honest I doubt that they will see a trial. We’ll hold them long enough to make them think twice about entering into conspiracies and then let them go again. ’

‘Good of you. What about me?’

‘Well, I can hardly let you go without attracting some sort of suspicion.’

Kit narrowed his eyes. ‘You enjoy this, don’t you? You’re like a cat playing with a mouse. You allow me so much freedom and then haul me back in. Is that why you’ve waited so long to see me?’

‘I wouldn’t want you to be in any doubt about your position, Captain Lovell. If you don’t care for the life I allow you, there is always an alternative!’ Thurloe leaned forward. ‘Now pay your dues! What do you know about a committee sanctioned by Charles Stuart?’

Long practice prevented Kit’s face from betraying his surprise. His eyes widened. ‘Another committee?’

Thurloe sat back in his chair. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Lovell. Do I need to remind you of the reason you work for me?’

Kit’s mouth tightened and he leaned forward. ‘Thurloe, our arrangement is at an end. I gave you the girl. I have given you Dutton and the others. You cannot ask any more of me.’

‘An overwrought woman and a pack of fools? Hardly the stuff to unsettle the Commonwealth,’ Thurloe sneered.

‘And in the meantime, you have been more than a drain on the purse, Captain Lovell. May I remind you how much it cost to settle your debts and get you out of the Clink over that matter of the horse?’

‘A gentleman must maintain his standards, Thurloe.’ A sardonic smile lifted the corners of Kit’s mouth.

‘A gentleman of no means must learn to lower his standards,’ Thurloe rejoined. ‘Now tell me what you know.’

Kit looked down at his right hand. He had gripped the arm of the chair so hard the knuckles showed white. ‘All I know is that there is a new committee that holds a commission from the King to organise a general insurrection.’

‘The Sealed Knot?’

Kit blinked in surprise. ‘You know about them?’

‘I know they call themselves the Sealed Knot. Now tell me something I don’t know.’

Sudden anger flared in Kit’s eyes. ‘If you already know about it, then why ask me?’

Thurloe held up his hand. ‘I know what it is. What I need to know is who is involved and what they plan. I want names.’

Kit took a breath. ‘I don’t have names. There are too few of them and they are playing it close.’

‘You’re lying.’

Kit spread his hands, the chains rattling. ‘God’s death! I can’t tell you what I don’t know! What are you going to do – employ some other means of persuasion on me?’

Thurloe sat back in his chair, his gaze on Kit’s face.

‘I don’t need to, Lovell. If you don’t know any more than you’re telling, the effort will be wasted, and I know you have good enough reason not to withhold information.

I’m sure you’ll tell me as soon as you have anything useful.

’ He paused, his eyes narrowing, ‘And as for our arrangement, Captain Lovell, I assure you I intend to keep my word when I am satisfied that you have outlived your use to me.’

‘Your use of words is hardly subtle, Thurloe.’ Kit smiled bitterly.

‘It’s not intended to be,’ Thurloe snapped.

‘If not for me you would have swung on a gibbet long before this or died, forgotten, in some prison. If you don’t like “outlive”, well then, maybe when I am satisfied that there is no more to be usefully gained by your employment. Now think again. Names, Lovell.’

‘Maybe Richard Willys,’ Kit said in a low, sullen voice.