Black Powder Read Online Free PDF Page B

There was only one way to find out. Ducking down, he crept as close as he could to the tree and held his breath.
    â€˜What news?’ A man’s voice muffled, as if by a cloth. Impatient-sounding too.
    â€˜The Viscount is still away in London, but there have been sightings of two strangers in town.’ The second voice scraped through the air like the point of a knife being dragged across glass.
    â€˜Any names?’ The first man spoke again.
    â€˜No. And they kept their faces hidden so my informant could not give me a description.’
    The first man made a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘A pity. Have you found any evidence inside?’
    â€˜Not yet. But I will keep on searching. I am expecting theusual crowd at My Lady’s not-so-secret Mass tomorrow. And I will be on the lookout for any new faces, of that you can be assured.’ The man hissed the last word like a snake.
    â€˜Well, keep alert. I will make mention of the strangers in my next report to the Master. It might be nothing, but our friends in London have been getting more active of late – and this place isn’t known as Little Rome for nothing.’
    â€˜So, I stay at my post?’
    â€˜Of course.’ The first man sounded vexed. ‘Make no mistake about these papists. They are as slippery as eels. They will wriggle free unless we weave our basket tight enough to hold them. The Master has always been clear on that point.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ There was disappointment in the other man’s voice.
    â€˜Meanwhile, I will visit the local taverns and see what I can find out about the strangers. There’s always some slack-jawed fool ready to blabber for a groat or two.’
    A figure emerged from beneath the tree and headed towards where Tom was crouched. Heart racing, he flung himself down behind a clump of marsh grass. What would he say if the man discovered him? The crunch of boots grew louder. He pressed himself into the mud. The man paused a few feet from where he was hiding, then marched on past. Tom heaved a sigh. That was close. He waited until his footsteps had faded into the distance, then lifted his head and peered back through the grass stalks at the house. He was just in time to see a second dark shape slip in through the gatehouse door.
    He frowned. The men were spies. That much was clear.But what were they doing here at Cowdray? And who were they spying for? The local constable? No, that couldn’t be it. The stranger had talked about London and called the man in charge the Master.
    He waited a few moments longer then jumped up. A cold breeze blew across the meadows. He shivered and stared down at his jerkin. It was covered in a layer of stinking black marsh mud. The prayer book! If he’d got it wet . . . He rammed his fingers between the buttons, felt for it, then heaved a sigh of relief. Still dry. Without it, looking like this, he’d have a job convincing the Montagues he was anything other than a beggar-boy.
    â€˜Come on, Jago. Let’s go and meet my uncle.’ He shouldered his bundle, took a deep breath and set off for the gatehouse door.

Chapter Eight
    T he door was shut when Tom reached it. He twisted the metal ring handle but it wouldn’t shift. The man must have drawn the bolt on the other side. He thumped on the wood with his fist and waited. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing.
    â€˜Hey! Is anyone there?’ He rattled the ring. From somewhere inside came the thud of heavy boots. The footsteps got closer then stopped.
    â€˜Who goes there?’ It was a man’s voice, gruff and unfriendly.
    Tom let the ring drop. He swallowed hard then drew back his shoulders and stood tall. ‘A visitor. For Lord Montague.’
    â€˜We aren’t expecting any visitors.’ The man sounded suspicious.
    â€˜It’s urgent. I have news from his sister.’
    â€˜Sister?’ A bolt rattled. The door opened a crack and a pair of eyes