Tamburlaine Must Die Read Online Free PDF

stare upon him because Blaize ceased his patter mid-sentence. He
turned as if he heard someone call him, then suddenly we were eye to
eye.

    Kit.
His mouth soundlessly formed my name. I thought I had never seen him
so pale and wondered if he was sickening. Forgetting his sport,
Blaize pushed through the crowd, coming towards me like a man woken
from a dream.

    Behind
him the stallholder petitioned the elderly man for the price of the
poems. The man began to insist the book had been gifted directly to
him, by the author himself. The crowd started to disperse as a
second, more pedantic argument broke out between the two elderly men.

    Blaize
kept his eyes on me, unaware of the show behind him.

    `I
thought you lost.' `Near enough.'

    He
put his hand on my shoulder. It was the first friendly touch I'd felt
since Walsingham's. I reached towards it putting my hand briefly on
his. He glanced at me and I felt his understanding and his fear and
regretted doubting his affection. I remembered I might be placing him
in danger and said,

    `Perhaps
we shouldn't be seen together.' Blaize withdrew his hand.

    `Perhaps,
but I'm glad you came to me. Come on, there are plenty of places
round here where we may be private.'

    Blaize
led me along a damp and leafy lane towards the charnel chapel. I knew
where we were headed, Blind Grizzle's. A small, dimly lit concern,
run by Grizzle, an ancient bookseller who could no longer see yet
plied his wares with an expertise born of memory.

    One
day, consensus had it, Grizzle would be lamped by some ruffian who
would make off with his takings, maybe even the gold he was rumoured
to have hidden in some secret place. But, though logic supposed the
shop should be beset by thieves, the old man rarely lost a book. He
had strung the ceiling of the tiny premises with tinkling bells which
trembled as you trod the uneven boards and the floor was scattered
with piles of books Grizzle had mapped in his mind, but which often
wrong-footed customers. He had a companion, Hector, a clever dog, who
marked visitors' comings and goings with a low growl, half welcome,
half warning of what would befall anyone foolish enough to trouble
his master.

    The
old man and his dog were the booksellers' mascot. Held up as an
example of canine devotion and triumph over infirmity. And those of
his trade rallied to help, though Blaize maintained they were in
league with the hound and cheated Grizzle of his best stock right
under his sightless eyes. We'd visited the shop together often and
knew the old man well, but I wasn't sure of choosing it as a place to
exchange confidences. I leaned towards Blaize and whispered, `Blind
men have sharp ears.'

    And
tight tongues.' Grizzle turned his unseeing gaze on us. `Go into my
quarters and talk private there if there is something you'd rather I
didn't hear.'

    `We
mean no slight.' Blaize put his hand on the man's arm and I noticed
that Hector remained silent. `Some things are better not heard.'

    The
old man sighed.

    `And
yet you bring them to my shop.'

    The
back room was dark and musty, heaped high with volumes. I tripped
over something in the gloom and my sword glanced against a column of
books. I swore and put my hand towards the teetering pile. It
trembled upright for a second, then Blaize laughed and the books
tumbled spine over page into a splayed and jagged mound. The dog
barked and Grizzle shouted, `Be careful what you are about. These
books are all arranged.'

    Blaize
returned his call.

    `No
harm done. We'll sort them before we go.' There was a grumbling from
the main shop, then the dog and the old man settled and we were left
in silence.

    We
sat side by side on the bed. Blaize patted my hand once, but
otherwise we didn't touch, barely looked at each other as we
recounted our bad news.

    I
spoke first, telling of my sudden summons from Walsingham's house, my
interrogation by the Council, my unexpected release and the news of
Kyd that the turnkey had given me. I left out the