Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 21

'First impressions last,' said the Doctor with a smile.

Jamie shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed as the Doctor approached Richard Cromwell.

'Look,' he said. 'You know who we are. Speculating about the future is our business. We have to keep an eye on the...

er... compet.i.tion. And that's what that book is. Just a silly bit of fluff by one of the McCrimmon's rivals.'

The Doctor frowned suddenly. 'You haven't got it with you, by any chance?'

Richard looked up. 'What?'

'The book?' said the Doctor hopefully.

Richard shook his head. 'It is in my bedchamber.'

The Doctor smiled at Jamie and breathed a relieved sigh.

'I wouldn't go showing it to anybody else. It could upset them.'

'It's upset me!' cried Richard. 'It says I will be known as "Tumbledown d.i.c.k"! That I shall rule for only a few scant months after my father's death and I shall never be half the man he is!'

He sobbed bitterly into his lacy handkerchief. The Doctor stepped forward and put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

'There, there. There's no need to worry. As I said, it's pure speculation. A fake designed to fool the gullible.'

Richard looked up with red-rimmed eyes. 'Then what will become of me? Of all of us? If you really are what you say, then tell me the future! Tell me, or I shall have my father string you from Tyburn's gibbet!'

The Doctor folded his arms and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be difficult.

The spray hit Ben full in the face and he closed his eyes as the Demeter Demeter ploughed forward into the waves. The s.h.i.+p, as old and h.o.a.ry as its disreputable captain, was nevertheless a pleasant little vessel, her oaken planks stained almost black with age. Ice hung in the stiff, knotted rigging. ploughed forward into the waves. The s.h.i.+p, as old and h.o.a.ry as its disreputable captain, was nevertheless a pleasant little vessel, her oaken planks stained almost black with age. Ice hung in the stiff, knotted rigging.

Ben stood on the prow of the vessel, holding tightly to a forward mast as the s.h.i.+p plunged and rose on the heavy swell.

The salty air in his lungs made him feel glad and, after the events of the previous night, somewhat grateful to be alive.

Around him, Captain Winter's crew worked steadily. They were a strange collection, almost as motley as the customers at the Dutch tavern, and had clearly been drawn from many different lands. But they seemed noticeably more cheerful than the crew of the Teazer Teazer and Ben was happy to have joined their company. and Ben was happy to have joined their company.

Now they were speeding back towards London and, Ben was confident, a reunion with his friends.

He frowned as he thought of them. He knew the Doctor and Jamie would be all right, but what about Polly? When he'd last seen her she was being dragged away by that gang of men. Ben knew what kind of things people got up to in Stuart England and didn't fancy Polly's chances of getting through it with her modesty, and possibly her sanity, intact.

He let the wind blow through his blond hair and over his face for a few moments more and then turned back towards the main body of the s.h.i.+p.

Making his way through the sweating ranks of the crew, who all spared him curious but friendly glances, he banged his fist on the door of Winter's cabin.

'What?' came the growling response from within.

Ben opened the door and stepped inside into a narrow, low-ceilinged room. There was a large, mullioned window at the back and a vast old table occupying most of the s.p.a.ce, but there was none of the elegance of Stanislaus's cabin.

Clothes and discarded bottles littered the floor and there was a pervasive smell of rum.

Winter sat in her chair, poring over a ledger. Piles of scrolls and charts littered the rug beneath her wooden leg.

She looked up and the sun streaming through the window sparkled off the end of her silver nose.

'Ah, Ben!' she cackled. 'A better voyage than last time, I'll wager?'

Ben cracked a big smile. 'That it is, Sal.' He looked down at the desk. 'What've you got there?'

Winter swivelled the ledger round on the table and planted a thick finger on a two-page entry.

'There,' she said. 'That's my account of our Polish friend and his deeds.'

Ben scanned the pages quickly, then turned over. And over. Finally, he looked up in amazement.

'Makes fine reading, doesn't it?' said Winter with a twinkle.

Ben shook his head and whistled. 'Looks like he's looted half the s.h.i.+ps in the North Sea. How come they've never nabbed him?'

'They?'

Ben shrugged. 'Well, the authorities. Surely they try and keep this kind of stuff under control?'

Winter slumped down in her chair and slammed her wooden leg on to the table, dislodging half a dozen filthy metal plates. 'Hal The Revenue men take a cut, of course. And there's few richer than Stanislaus. He'd pauper us all if he got the chance. But look you here.'

Winter leaned over the ledger and turned to the final page of the Stanislaus entry. 'It was what your friend said last night that got me thinking.'

Ben was intrigued. 'Oh yeah?'

Winter nodded and her mangy hair fell forward into her eyes. 'These last few voyages of his I have on record. He's been a-toing and froing to France like a top on a string.'

'And that's unusual, is it?' queried Ben.

Winter thumped the table. 'I'll say it is. He plies the route to Holland and back and that's an end to it. I've never known him go across to France, not in all my years.'

Ben sat down. 'Well, perhaps he's trying out new territory.

I mean, if everyone knows he does the Amsterdam route, they might steer clear of him.'

Winter held up a finger. 'Aye. That they do. But my ledgers tell me that he's not been attacking any s.h.i.+p on his way to France. I have eyes and ears everywhere, see, Ben.

Even that Pole can't outwit me.'

Ben folded his arms and looked up at the beamed ceiling.

'So he's just been visiting France?'

Winter tapped the ledger again. 'I count six times in the last two months. Now why is that?'

'Maybe he's got a French sweetheart?'

Winter let out a thick, rasping laugh. 'What? That dried-up old poltroon? Nay, lad, he's less between his legs than a maiden girl.'

She began to fiddle with the ragged ends of her hair, momentarily lost in thought. Then she snapped out of it and grinned at Ben. 'But you may not be far wrong. There might be a lady who's captured our man's heart.'

'Who?'

Winter leaned back in her chair until it creaked under her bulk. 'The Queen,' she murmured at last.

Before Ben could reply, the door was flung open and a young boy raced inside. His adolescent face was flushed with fear and excitement.

'Captain!' he gasped. 'Captain, ma'am!'

Winter looked up. 'What's amiss, young Hugh?'

The boy caught his breath and looked wildly between Ben and the captain. 'A s.h.i.+p, ma'am! There's a s.h.i.+p approaching fast.'

'Well?' said Ben. 'What of it?'

Hugh was frantically wringing his slender hands. 'I think they're pirates, sir!'

Sitting in a pair of comfortable chairs, the Doctor and Jamie faced Oliver Cromwell with benign smiles. They had been temporarily spared Richard's inquisition by Thurloe's arrival, to tell them that the general required their presence at once.

For the best part of an hour they had been fending questions with what the Doctor thought was great skill, not saying too much and not too little.

Now the general sat with his chin on his hand, peering up at the ceiling as he framed yet another inquiry.

John Thurloe stood close by Cromwell's chair, regarding the two strangers with cool interest, while Richard sat in the corner, anxious to see how the mystics performed.

'Say that England be a republic, then,' said Cromwell airily. 'In that event, should we strive for closer links with our cousins?'

The Doctor c.o.c.ked his head. 'Cousins?'

'Aye,' said Cromwell. 'Our Protestant allies across the sea.'

'Oh, them,' murmured the Doctor. 'Well, what did you have in mind?'

Thurloe rolled his eyes heavenward. 'We have spoken of this before, General. It could never happen.'

Cromwell thumped his fist against the arm of his chair.

'But why not? Surely it is only logical.'

Jamie was puzzled. 'What could never happen?'

Thurloe sighed. 'The general thinks that closer integration with our neighbours is desirable.'

Cromwell pointed to his aide. 'John here will have none of it, but I say why not? An England allied to... the Low Countries, say, would be far more of a force on the international stage.'

The Doctor steepled his fingers. 'European integration, eh? It's a nice idea.'

Cromwell pointed to Jamie. 'What say you, McCrimmon?

Will it happen?'

Jamie looked a little worried but, as usual, leaned towards the Doctor and whispered nonsense in his ear.

The Doctor nodded slowly, as though receiving information of the utmost sagacity. Finally, he sat up, clearing his throat. 'The McCrimmon says it is almost inevitable. But not for a very long time. And there'll always be trouble with Euro-sceptics.'

Cromwell frowned. 'With what?'

The Doctor folded his arms across his chest. 'A figure of speech, General. It means an... er... irritant, a bothersome thing.'

Cromwell nodded his understanding, 'Like Lilburne and his Levellers,' he said sourly. 'G.o.d, they afflict me like the piles.'

He smiled cheerily. 'What say you, Doctor? Are these urrosceptics of yours not like winners on a man's backside?'

The Doctor smiled tightly. 'Quite.'

Cromwell laughed and smacked his knee. 'Now then, I must away. There is much work to do in preparation for the King's trial.' His face suddenly darkened and his tone became serious. 'I must ask you one thing, finally.'

The Doctor and Jamie nodded simultaneously.

Cromwell chose his words carefully. 'If the King dies, who should rule in his place?'

Thurloe shot a look at the Doctor, which the little man did his best to avoid. He rotated his thumbs and glanced at Jamie, who was trying to shrink back in his chair.

At last, the Doctor spoke. 'Such a question demands time, General. There are many twisting pathways that the future might take. I should hate for the McCrimmon to give you bad advice.'

Cromwell nodded. 'There's much wisdom in your words, Doctor. You shall have all the time you require.'

He rose and bowed to them and then walked swiftly from the room.

Thurloe looked at the Doctor again, a quizzical expression on his long, horsy face. 'Yes, Doctor, take your time, but not too long. And please don't disappoint me with your answer.'

With that, he swept from the room, leaving the Doctor and Jamie alone with Richard.

'Hal' he exclaimed. 'You did not say one thing that was not fudge and fumble!'

'Oh, I don't know...' said the Doctor.