The Judas Blade Read Online Free PDF Page A

thought,’ he said. His eyes roved about anxiously. ‘You must understand: I can’t trust anyone. But I don’t have a deal of choice, so we’d better talk. You said you knew Tom Prynn – but how did you know me?’
    ‘The birthmark.’ Betsy’s mouth was dry. But faintly, almost reluctantly, hope stirred within her. ‘On your right hand. The hammerhead.’
    Venn nodded quickly. ‘And Tom – what can you tell me of him? Is he a dark man, or is he fair? Tall, or short? Speak now – I must be sure of you.’
    ‘He’s neither.’ Betsy eyed him. ‘He’s of middling height – and what hair he’s got is white. Does that answer you?’
    Then she waited. Venn couldn’t know that she had just used up the last fact she knew about Thomas Prynn, a man she’d never set eyes on; but mercifully, it was enough.
    ‘Thanks be to God!’ Suddenly, the other sagged. ‘Your pardon, mistress, for what I did when you accosted me,’ he muttered. ‘I was angry – I thought you were … well, you can guess, can’t you?’
    Weak with relief, Betsy gave a nod. The change in the man was remarkable: he now looked desperate. She found herself looking round too, almost as anxiously as he had done.
    ‘It’s forgotten,’ she lied, thinking fast. ‘I … I’ve got no news, as such. Have you?’
    ‘I have – and in God’s name, I’m mighty glad to tell it!’Quickly Venn took her arm. ‘Walk with me,’ he said. ‘I may not get another chance – likely one in our cell’s a trepanner. I thought it was you …’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘I daren’t rest,’ he went on. ‘I spend the nights with this in my sleeve.’ Glancing down, Betsy saw the glint of a pocket dagger, which he quickly stowed away. And though she had no idea what a trepanner was, she kept quiet; the man was as eager to talk as she was to listen. At once, they began walking.
    ‘First, tell me your name,’ he said.
    ‘It’s Beatrice.’ She used the cover name given her by Caradoc.
    ‘Well, Beatrice,’ – Venn squeezed her arm – ‘I pray you have the means to get word outside – for I can’t.’
    ‘I have such,’ Betsy told him, hoping he wouldn’t ask her for details. But he was too impatient for that.
    ‘Then listen well,’ he said, ‘for there are matters that must be addressed. I would have passed word on, if I hadn’t been taken. You must tell Prynn – or John Phelps, or any of them. They’ll have to move swiftly.’
    He walked faster, forcing Betsy to keep up. But at what followed, she grew anxious. For soon the man was babbling.
    ‘Our man’s still in the Provinces,’ he said. ‘I believe he’s safe, but the country’s full of holes – like a Dutch cheese!’ He grimaced, which Betsy guessed was the nearest he came to smiling. ‘Someone must go there: to Delft, I think. They must find him – he may be dressed as a priest. Tell him the projection’s still set for late November, but the venue’s been changed from N to D – the Roman Plate. The family will be nearby, but I don’t know where.’ He turned to Betsy. ‘Now do you mark that, Beatrice?’
    ‘I believe so.’ Betsy swallowed. ‘Your man’s likely in Delft, dressed as a priest. The projection’s set for late November, D not N …’ She hesitated, whereupon Venn broke in.
    ‘The Roman Plate! Do you have
that
?’
    Though she nodded, Betsy’s pulse was racing. She was hungry and weak, and her mind was not at its sharpest. ‘And the family…?’ she began.
    ‘Never mind … he won’t see them. They’ll find him. Now heed me, because this is most important.’
    Venn glanced round furtively, and to her alarm she almost laughed. The man looked every inch the stage conspirator, as played by the weakest of actors, but then unlike Betsy, he was no player. She gave a sniff and bent close.
    ‘There are trepanners among the Dutch too – famblers and decoys of every sort,’ Venn said. ‘Our man must tread more carefully than ever, or it’ll all be over