Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 14

She seemed to be standing there right now, but, as Polly shook her head, she realised another girl was next to her and that she was still in the crowded, heaving inn.

The newcomer was very pretty and rather delicate-looking, wearing a heavy blue woollen dress with an ap.r.o.n over it and her blonde hair was tucked up into a little lacy cap. She was frowning concernedly.

'Are you well?' she asked gently.

Polly put on her bravest face and nodded.

The girl sat down next to her and took her hand. It was warm and rea.s.suring and Polly felt instantly comforted. She wiped her eyes again.

'I must look such a state,' she laughed. 'I'm never usually like this.'

Her new companion smiled kindly. 'My name's Frances,'

she said.

Polly introduced herself and then looked around the busy inn. 'Not the sort of place I'd expect to find a demure young lady like you.'

Frances shrugged. 'Nor you.'

Polly laughed. 'Quite right.'

Frances laid her hands in her lap. 'My father is the innkeeper,' she said. 'I have to spend most of my evenings in here, trying to fight off the brutes this place attracts.'

Polly leaned forward. 'Is your father that one over there?'

She pointed across the room at Kemp, who had emerged from upstairs and was hard at work. He still seemed much more cheerful than normal and the customers, at first bemused but then delighted, had noticed and were carousing raucously.

Frances nodded. 'That's him. Though I can't see what has come over him this evening. He's quite the life and soul.'

Polly grimaced. 'I tried to speak to him earlier but he was... unavailable.'

'Why did you wish to speak to him?' asked Frances.

'Oh, it's a long story,' muttered Polly, waving her hand dismissively. But then she frowned and moved closer to the young woman. 'But maybe you can help me. I've lost my friends, you see.'

Frances swept some tankards across the table and shuffled closer. 'Go on.'

'My friend Ben and I were supposed to meet up with two others last night at sunset. But we were attacked. I don't know what happened to Ben but I was taken back here. To a room upstairs.'

Frances's eyebrows shot up. 'The room above the inn?'

Polly nodded. Frances swallowed excitedly. 'Who took you there?'

'Some paid goons...'

'Some what?' asked Frances with a puzzled frown.

Polly shrugged. 'Hired men. The people inside were quite different. There was a very handso- er... quite a distinguished-looking young man and a much older one with a white beard. They thought I knew something about the King.'

Frances sat back, suddenly afraid. 'The King?'

Polly nodded. 'They overheard my friend and me talking and got suspicious.'

'Do you know anything about the King?' Frances's face was a picture of wariness.

Polly smiled. 'No more than anyone else.'

Frances chewed her lip thoughtfully and folded her arms.

Polly sat back. 'Look, you don't know me, but I'd really appreciate a little help. I can't find my friends and I'm honestly in big trouble if they stay lost. Couldn't you let me see upstairs? If I could just talk to those people again, I'm sure they'd help me.'

Frances shook her head. 'I'm sorry, Polly. It's out of the question. My father won't let anyone near that room. I've tried myself.' She suddenly smiled, a lovely, enchanting smile. 'But I do know someone who might be able to help you.'

Frances stood up and pointed towards the door of the inn.

'Come on.'

Polly got up and gratefully followed Frances out.

Christopher Whyte lifted the brim of his wide velvet hat from over his eyes and watched them go. Then, laying a few coins on the table, he jumped up and made his way outside into the freezing night.

The unmistakable sound of drunken laughter led Ben and Ashdown to a lopsided, cheerful-looking hostelry, on the far side of the Botermarkt.

They had to bend low to enter and were immediately confronted by a scene of wild and wonderful chaos. The room beyond was packed with sailors from all comers of the earth, just like an enlarged version of Stanislaus's crew.

There were Moors and Turks again, their ears studded with silver hoops. But there were other exotics too. An enormously fat woman who seemed ready to eat the little fellow she had perched on her lap. Two Chinamen, dressed in gorgeously ornate, jade-coloured robes, were standing by the fireplace, laughing and chattering in a high-pitched staccato. A black dwarf, his pudgy hands festooned with rings and silver bangles, was scuttling around the tables trying to sell his wares.

The tavern itself was crammed with cooking meats and slopping ale and Ben felt suddenly, ravenously hungry. The sweet smell of fresh bread and roast beef a.s.sailed his senses.

'Welcome,' said Ashdown with an elaborate bow.

'Welcome to the Dolphin. The worst stew in all Amsterdam! , Ben couldn't help grinning at his friend's enthusiasm. He began to move forward, his feet crunching on the shattered eggs and empty mussel sh.e.l.ls that littered the stone floor.

Sailors were grouped around every table, talking and cackling and making lewd gestures at the serving girls, who were struggling through, carrying foaming flagons of ale.

Ashdown clapped Ben on the shoulder. 'What did I tell 'ee?' he said with a laugh. 'There's no finer place in all Europe!'

So saying, he threw himself bodily into the heaving crowd and was quickly swallowed up.

Ben smiled indulgently and fought his way to a table. It was already crowded but one stool remained free, possibly because its former occupant was lying in a drunken stupor on the filthy floor.

Ben sat down and tried to attract the attention of one of the girls. He almost shouted 'Waitress!' but then thought better of it.

What should he call them? Wenches? Or was that only in films?

He was spared further embarra.s.sment by a tap on the shoulder from the woman sitting opposite him a huge, big-bosomed figure in a stained green velvet coat. Her hair was long, black, and matted and she had an embroidered patch over one eye. In fact, she was so completely the image of a pirate that Ben almost laughed.

The strange woman smiled at him, showing off brown teeth like stained fence posts. Then Ben noticed something else, something curious about the woman's nose. Peering closer through the haze of tobacco fumes, he realised with a start that the nose was made of silver and had been screwed tightly into the bone.

She let out a whoop of laughter and slammed her gla.s.s down on to the table.

'Quite summat, ain't she, mate?'

Ben looked a little worried. 'Sorry?'

The woman tapped her nose, which made a bright, sharp clang like a bell. 'This little beauty always gets people talking.

It's a great conversation piece.'

'Yes,' said Ben, 'I don't wonder.'

The woman folded her arms and leaned forward conversationally. 'Now, tell me. What would a pretty lad like you find here for his pleasure? There's plenty of girls who'd see you right for a guilder. Or the odd ingle upstairs, if that's your fancy.'

Ben did not understand but thought it best not to inquire further. He looked round, still anxious to find himself a drink.

'I wouldn't mind some beer to start with.'

'Oh,' said the woman flatly. She sounded so disappointed that Ben had not been excited by her list of the Dolphin's wares that he turned back to her with a smile. 'Sorry, love.

I've had a hard day, that's all.'

'They're all hard, these days,' said the woman philosophically. She extended a grubby hand. 'Sal Winter, with the Demeter Demeter.'

Ben shook her hand. 'Ben Jackson, with the Teazer Teazer.'

Winter frowned deeply and a flush rose in her thick skin, which had the unmistakable signs of black powder burns etched into it.

'The Teazer Teazer?' she growled. 'You're with the Pole's s.h.i.+p?'

'Captain Stanislaus, you mean?' said Ben.

Winter nodded vigorously. 'That's the cove.'

She sank back into her chair and looked broodingly into her empty gla.s.s. Then she clicked her fingers and, at once, a girl was by her side, refilling the gla.s.s with a strong, amber-coloured ale.

Winter pointed at Ben and the girl fetched him a flagon of the same malty stuff.

'You know him?' asked Ben conversationally.

Winter's voice dropped to a low grumble. 'Aye, I know him.'

Ben leaned forward, intrigued, blinking as the light of the tavern glinted off Winter's artificial nose. 'Tell me more.'

Jamie was smiling peacefully, sound asleep, his head sunk in a fat, feathery pillow, when the Doctor shook his shoulder.

'Eh? What?' muttered Jamie, waking. 'What is it?'

The Doctor was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a candlestick in his hand. The wispy light gave his face an almost supernatural glow.

'Jamie,' he whispered urgently. 'The book. Have you got it?'

Jamie groaned. 'What? Och, Doctor, can't it wait till morning?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, no. You don't understand. I don't want to look at it. I can't find it.'

Jamie shrugged and sank back on to the bed. 'Well, you had it last. Don't fret. You probably dropped it somewhere.'

The Doctor shook him again, somewhat crossly. 'Oh, Jamie, don't you understand? If I have lost it somewhere, the consequences could be terrible.'

'I'll get you another one.'

The Doctor jumped up, frustrated. 'It's not the book itself.

It's what it represents. Can't you see? If someone gets hold of it they'll know what's going to happen for the next twenty years!'

Jamie sat up and leaned on his elbow. 'Oh,' he mumbled.

'I see what you mean.'

The Doctor sat down again glumly. 'Quite apart from the fact that it was published almost three hundred years in the future! Why did I ever pick up the stupid thing?'

He crossed his arms and thrust out his lower lip sulkily.

Jamie thought for a moment. 'So what can we do?'

'I have absolutely no idea. Not until we get out of here, anyway.'

Jamie nodded, turned over again, and plumped his pillow.

'Aye. Right. So why don't you just forget about it until the morning and get some sleep?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, no. I'm far too worried about the book. And Ben and Polly.'