Doctor Who_ The Roundheads Part 30

Jamie warmed to Polly's theme. 'These ones you always warn us about.'

The Doctor shook his head and got quickly to his feet. He turned his back on his companions and resumed his vigil at the window.

'You know what will happen,' he said gravely. 'We know how history turned out, but we have to make sure of it.'

Polly inclined her head. 'You're avoiding the question.'

The Doctor didn't reply for a moment, and then his voice came rumbling through the air towards Jamie and Polly, as though from a very long way away.

'Have I seen them? Yes, I've seen them. Or heard of them.

Englands with a third, fourth, or fifth Civil War. A resurgent monarch who ruthlessly oppresses all democracy. Or a triumphalist, hereditary Puritan Protectorate that rules the country until the twentieth century. Or an invading Catholic army which takes advantage of England's crisis to take over most of the known world. Oh yes, they're all out there. All kinds of futures. Some great, some truly terrible.'

The little man swung round and his face seemed suddenly ancient, like a stone gargoyle on a cathedral. 'We have to pay the price for travelling as we do. It's up to us now.'

The black-and-white-tiled floor of Cromwell's chamber rang with the sound of his pacing feet. Wearing an impressive buff jerkin with great hooped sleeves and a fresh linen collar, the general cut a magnificent figure.

It was a day for putting the fear of G.o.d into his men and he knew it. It had to be impressed upon every single friend of their cause that the King's escape could bring ruin upon them all. Charles Stuart had to be found, tried, and put to death with all possible speed.

There was a tap at the door and Cromwell took up position by the fireplace, legs akimbo and arms behind his back.

'Come!' he barked.

To his surprise and annoyance, it was Richard who came inside, oscillating from one foot to the other like some weedy metronome.

'Oh, Richard,' wailed Cromwell. 'What do you want?'

Richard came forward, almost tripping over his feet.

'I bring news, Father.'

'Hmm?' muttered Cromwell. 'News? What news?'

Richard smiled triumphantly. 'News of the future.'

Surely, he had concluded, this was the way to win his father's respect. He would show him the book and its incredible information about the years to come. All the mistakes they would make would be set out in detail and, therefore, strenuously avoided. It would be the making of him and of the new English republic.

Cromwell shifted uneasily, his boil troubling him again.

'The future? What are talking about, lad?'

Richard sidled up to his father and leaned back confidently against the globe that stood next to him.

'What would you say, Father, if I told you that I know when the King will die and exactly what will happen next?'

Cromwell scowled. 'I'd say you'd been at your mother's sherry again.'

Richard frowned and waved his hand in irritation. 'No, no.

I am in earnest.'

Cromwell advanced on his son threateningly. 'Have you been speaking to that Doctor and the Scot?'

Richard smiled happily. 'Yes! They have shown me the most wondrous things! The future, all mapped out for us, Father.'

Cromwell sighed and smote himself across the forehead.

'Clot! Do you not know that I have thrown them in the Tower?

They are Royalist spies who seek to baffle us all with their fakery.'

Richard felt his legs begin to shake. 'But, Father, the book '

'Book?' snapped Cromwell. 'What book?'

He swung around and turned his back on Richard.

'Enough, lad. I am too busy to play out your idle fancies.

Leave me.'

'But, Father.'

'Leave me!' bellowed the general.

With a little sob, Richard turned and slunk from the room.

He was replaced at once by Thomas Culpeper, who came swiftly inside, glancing after Richard's retreating back and shutting the door behind him. He saluted to his superior and immediately produced a scroll of paper from inside his tunic.

'Tom,' said Cromwell with a little bow. 'What news?'

Culpeper sighed and waved his hand helplessly. 'A mult.i.tude of sightings, General,' he said. 'But nothing substantial, I fear.'

Cromwell stamped his booted foot on the floor. 'He cannot be out of the city, else we would have heard of it by now. And yet, if he remains, what can be the point of it?'

He stared into s.p.a.ce for a long moment and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. 'There is something afoot, Tom, or I do not know that dissembling man.'

Culpeper nodded slowly. 'If I may suggest, General, Thurloe's agents '

Cromwell swung round. 'Do not get above yourself, Captain. John Thurloe's agents are doing the best they can. I have every confidence in 'em.'..

He turned an interested eye on his aide. An ambitious lad, of course, but capable and loyal. It would be better for all if his energies were given direction.

Cromwell lifted the back of his coat and warmed himself before the crackling fire.

'However...'

Culpeper's face lit up excitedly. 'General?'

'Mayhap Master Thurloe is too preoccupied to properly prosecute his investigation of this rescue. I am convinced that we have been betrayed. There is a rotten man among our number, Tom.'

Culpeper looked at him eagerly.

Cromwell nodded to himself. 'I'd like you to look into it, Tom.'

Culpeper bowed low and Cromwell gave him a light-hearted slap across the shoulder. 'Away with you, I'm not the King.' Culpeper looked up and caught the general's eye. He smiled. Cromwell laughed. 'Nor ever shall be! Despite what you might think, my lad!'

He waved Culpeper away but the young man hesitated. 'A question, sir?'

Cromwell's eyebrows lifted a fraction. 'Hmm?'

Culpeper chose his words carefully. 'Should not the business of the trial continue as though naught had occurred?

If there is one sure way to make tongues wag it is for you to stay and brood in here.'

There was a long and dangerous, pause like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Then Cromwell nodded.

'Y'are right, Tom. As ever. I am not some widower to be stopped in his house with grief We must prepare the death of Charles Stuart so that, when he is recaptured, none shall ever know he managed to fly.'

He crossed to his chair and picked up his gloves and hat.

'Away with you now. I have business in Parliament, do I not?'

Culpeper bowed, smiled, and marched off happily and unknowingly to investigate himself.

Captain Winter swivelled around on her false leg and cast a beady glance at the darkening sky. Then she hobbled across the deck and gripped the rail as she leaned out over the edge.

Grunting to herself, she beckoned to Ben. The young sailor trotted quickly towards her and Winter pulled him close to her ma.s.sive chest.

'I don't like the look of that sky, Ben,' she confided. 'And the Teazer Teazer's coming d.a.m.nably close.'

Ben looked up at the sky, which was indeed becoming increasingly threatening.

'Can we outrun her?' he asked.

Winter looked around at her men, all hard at work. It was important not to lower morale with defeatist talk but she knew they were in trouble. The Demeter Demeter was a clumsier ship than her enemy's and, with the cannon damage sustained in the battle, she was no match for the ship speeding so rapidly towards her. was a clumsier ship than her enemy's and, with the cannon damage sustained in the battle, she was no match for the ship speeding so rapidly towards her.

A drop of heavy, warm rain splashed against Winter's cheek and she wiped it thoughtfully away.

'Nay, Ben. We can't outrun her. But we might turn this weather to our advantage. The Teazer Teazer's a big b.u.g.g.e.r and not so manoeuvrable as her cursed captain likes to think.'

She gazed out over the sea, which was already starting to roughen up, choppy grey waves crashing against the hull.

Ben followed her gaze. 'We can't be far off port now.'

Winter shook her head. 'Nay, we're close. But we can't have the Pole taking us just as we have old London in sight.

Come.'

She began to totter towards her cabin.

'What have you got in mind now, you old rascal?' asked Ben with a grin.

Winter flashed him a black smile. 'I know many a route back to port, my lad. What say we give Stanislaus a game of it? Eh?'

She threw open the door to her cabin and writhed till her bulk worked itself through into the cramped s.p.a.ce.

With urgent strides she made her way to the desk and began pulling maps and charts from the drawers. With a cry of satisfaction, she found what she was looking for and cleared everything else from the desk with a broad sweep of her arm.

'Here, Ben! Here!' she cried, stabbing at the chart with a fat finger.

Ben looked closer. He recognised the coast of Kent and the approach to London through the Thames Valley. But the whole charted area was outlined in fine dashes, as though defining a phantom country just next to the land he knew.

'Do you know what they are?' cackled Winter.

Ben shook his head. 'No. What?'

Winter rolled up the chart and tapped it against her head.

'Marshes, my buck!'

Ben frowned and then smiled broadly.

Winter began to hobble towards the door. 'I can get the Demeter Demeter up a crack as narrow as the top of a Scotchman's purse. Let's see if the Pole has the same skill!' up a crack as narrow as the top of a Scotchman's purse. Let's see if the Pole has the same skill!'

She threw open the door. 'Hugh!' she bellowed. 'Where are you, lad? Make haste. We're changing course!'

William Kemp was in his accustomed place behind the long bar of the tavern when the door opened and Sir John Copper slipped inside.

He seemed nervous and distracted, not at all the graceful confident figure Kemp knew.

Glancing quickly around, he caught Kemp's eye and indicated with a jerk of his head that they should talk upstairs.

Sarah Kemp was also behind the bar, struggling with a tray of ale.

As Copper moved through the crowded room towards the stairs, Kemp pulled off his leather ap.r.o.n and slung it down over a barrel.

'Look after things here a moment, Sarah,' he muttered.

Sarah Kemp let out a sigh. 'What? Now, Will? 'Tis our busiest time '