Page 50 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)
A small crowd had gathered outside the little chapel in the Palace of Whitehall. They pushed against the barriers for a view of the Lord Protector, who would be leaving the building within the next few minutes.
Kit scanned the crowd looking for the narrow face of the Frenchman.
‘Where do I look? There’s any number of places he could be concealed,’ Thamsine whispered
‘That will depend on the accuracy of his weapon,’ Kit murmured.
Jostled by the crowd, Kit winced as a large man brushed his hand.
‘Are you all right?’ Thamsine slid her arm around his waist as he caught his breath.
‘I’m just fine! Stop fussing, Tham!’
‘Well?’ A quiet voice behind them made them both turn. Thurloe, soberly dressed in black with a hat pulled down well over his brow, surveyed the crowd with nervous eyes. ‘Can you see him?’
‘No,’ Kit shook his head.
‘He must be here somewhere.’ Thurloe’s lips tightened.
‘And what do we do if I see him?’ Kit said. ‘Yell? Because I am damned if I can do anything else.’
Thurloe looked at him. ‘I don’t care what you do. I’ve men scattered through the crowd, so you’re not alone.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘His Highness will be leaving presently.’
Hearing the upstart Cromwell referred to as His Highness , always provoked anger in Kit. Oliver Cromwell was a farmer from the fens pretending to be king in all but name.
‘Might it help if you told us what he looks like?’ Thamsine asked, the impossibility of the task weighing on her.
Kit shook his head. ‘Nondescript. Slight, dark hair, clean-shaven but he could have grown a beard since I last saw him.’
There were plenty of faces in the crowd that fitted that description, but none registered as familiar. The movement of the soldiers at the door to the chapel indicated that the service had ended. Cromwell would be leaving any moment.
Thamsine tensed in desperation. The crowd was not so large that Debigné could remain hidden much longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman carrying a wrapped bundle detach herself from the crowd, taking up a position in the shadows.
‘Kit.’ She touched his arm. ‘We’ve been looking for a man. Could that be him? There in that doorway, dressed as a woman.’
She was correct. There was no mistaking the narrow face beneath a goodwife’s broad-brimmed hat. Debigné had picked his spot well. He had a clear view of the doors of the chapel, but he was at least fifty yards away from Kit and Thamsine with a crowd between them.
Kit looked around. ‘Where’s Thurloe?’
Thurloe had melted back into the crowd and Kit swore as the chapel doors opened. As they watched Debigné, the assassin raised the cloth-covered weapon.
‘It’s a crossbow,’ Kit said. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the man would employ such an antique weapon but it was an ideal killing machine, deadly and silent.
Thamsine gathered up her skirts and pushed through the crowd. Kit swore and took off after her, every step sending shards of pain through his body. He caught her and grabbed her elbow.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m going to stop him.’
‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ he said.
He thrust her behind him, and moving with his injuries momentarily forgotten, he pushed through the crowd towards Debigné.
If the man had seen him coming he gave no sign. Cromwell stood for a moment, framed in the chapel door. Debigné raised the crossbow to his shoulder and fired. Someone pulled Cromwell back inside the chapel and the bolt missed its mark, crashing harmlessly into the door as it slammed shut.
‘To me!’ Kit yelled, hoping Thurloe’s men were nearby.
For the space of a few breaths, no one moved, and then half a dozen men broke away from the crowd and crashed after Kit.
Debigné, cornered, scrabbled for a second bolt.
In the time he took to reload, Kit had reached him.
Debigné raised the butt of the crossbow and swung it at Kit.
He ducked, but his bad leg betrayed him and the butt crashed into his injured hand.
With a sharp cry he went down on his knees, his hand pressed to his chest. Debigné raised the weapon again but by this time Thurloe’s men had him.
In the chaotic moments that followed, as Debigné was led away and the excited crowd buzzed and murmured, Thamsine reached him. Dimly, he sensed her kneeling beside him and she laid her arm across his back.
‘Your hand … ’ she began.
Before he could respond, a shadow fell across them.
‘Good work,’ Thurloe said. ‘I won’t forget it. My coach is waiting. It will take you wherever you have to go.’
Kit raised his head and looked up at his tormentor.
‘Is that it, Thurloe?’ he gasped through the pain.
Thurloe nodded. ‘That’s it, Lovell. Lay low, recover your strength, and we will talk soon.’