A Dead Man in Deptford Read Online Free PDF Page A

sweetheart, that I may embrown my piggot.
And how doth filthy Neddy?
    - Why then I’ll firk you, Simkin mocked. It was Kit who said:
    - These players seem clean enough. I would say that you
three gallows-fodder have the monopoly of dirt here. Ah no,
went Watson under his breath, his hand on Kit’s arm. Orwell
said:

    - Big words. A Latin and Greek boy. Monopoliology. Thou
also piggesnie might do well in a back-butting. And he smiled
foolishly and smacked kisses at the air in Kit’s direction. Kit
then. He should not have but he did.
    Kit then with two swift hands rammed the table edge so that
the whole sizeable hunk of elmwood was down on Orwell and
Simkin so that they were on the floor heavily. Then he seized
Bradley by the back hair and wound it tight what time he thrust
two fingers ugh and ugh up his filthy nostrils as he would reach
his very pia mater, and Bradley’s blind fingers sought his dagger.
But Kit by his distasteful nose hole-boring, the distaste in his face
much evident, had borne Bradley over and now had him on the
splintery floor planks where he danced briefly upon him, on the
watch for recovering Orwell and Simkin. Bradley’s dagger had
escaped from his belt and Kit now joyously seized it, making
for Orwell and Simkin who were staggering to their feet though
firmly drawing. As Bradley was rising cursing, Kit dealt him a
kick on the chin which thrust him temporarily out of combat. He
then slashed Orwell’s daggering wrist, making Orwell howl and
seek to drink the blood to stem its flow. Simkin crying no no
he then ripped in the trunks so that his shame would be exposed
to the world. This was enough for those two, though Bradley on
his feet with panting oaths and arms flailing made to encircle
Kit’s neck, which, as Kit wore a newly clean ruff to be prized,
Kit would by no means have. So he buffeted Bradley to the wall
by the serving hatch, took a quart pewter mug that rested there,
and battered his lousy head till it lolled. All this time we others
watched and gaped. Kit then panted that he would have water to
wash his hands that were so defiled that he was like to vomit, and
Simkin, hearing that word, began to take it as an injunction to do
so, which he did in green and yellow copiosity. Jack Alleyn’s two
potboys pumped up water from the well in the yard that backed
the inn and brought it in three buckets. Kit washed and washed
and washed as he would never cease washing, then all three
loads were flooded on to Simkin and his puke. He left howling
and soaked and tottering and the others followed with breathy
threats. Kit bestowed a kick in valediction on Bradley and thus the Unicorn was restored to a kind of cleanliness proper to that
emblem of virginity. But Jack Alleyn shook his head, saying:

    - They will have you. They will slit your throat. His brother
said:
    - Where did you learn?
    Kit, who panted less and drank thirstily of a nearquart,
sat and said:
    - It was in Canterbury. Fighting the Huguenots. The Huguenots can be very filthy fighters.
    - God’s big body, Henslowe said piously. Are they not
our religious brothers?
    - I have no love for the Huguenots.
    - Come, Ned Alleyn said, to supper. You, Jack?
    - I stay. There is a barrel to be broached. He nodded direly
at Kit. So we left. Henslowe made for the Bankside but Tom
Kyd, penniless but hungry, kept close to us, though Watson,
who said he would pay, had not meant that he be included in
the supping company.
    - Vomit, Kit said to him. I said the word and that ruffian
did it. It is somewhat like Seneca and Thomas Kyd Esquire,
would you not say?
    - I am no esquire, Kyd muttered. Your meaning?
    - For the one the word suffices, the other is lost without
the action.
    - I do not follow you.
    - No matter, Kit said as we walked, oft slithering, the
cobbles were slimy and rats peered from the kennel as the sun
westered and would break the heart of the man who yearned
above our filthy lot with its