The Road to Hell is Paved with Playwrights
For nineweaving by way of sovay 's crack pipe:
Kit was dazzled with headache. Something was wet and chill upon her hair.The smell of butcher's work curled round her, and she could not hide from it in the pillows. She much doubted she could move at all.
"Master Ingram," she said, and the sound hurt like hot knives. She forgot everything, almost everything. "Araminta--"
"Both still living, you contentious clap-wit, and one here with you." Minna's hand, burn-roughened, bread-fragrant, came against Kit's cheek. Her words held less than customary acid; to Kit it seemed she heard a tremor in them. "Stop trying to see. Nothing's to see."
"You," Kit disagreed. "Oh. I thought I'd bought my death."
"So did I think." Blame was laced through it. "Ingram was not shamming."
"Neither me. I did not kill him?"
"God's teeth, you did not, and for your troubles such a dent in the brain-pan I thought..." The scent and press of her vanished away. Kit put a hand up, pushing at linen, matted and damp; it lay on her forehead like leaden counter-weights, and Minna shouted before she could restore from under it her sight.
"Leave be!" she ordered. Kit's gullet overturned; the noise seemed expanding in her head. The world funneled down to a shattering pain, but Araminta stood unchanged. "Moonrise to moonrise I nurse you, from my wages silence Mother Bull-- and God's bogs! She meant to have the coroner -- see your very skullbone all unknit, sew you up like Sunday's pudding, and for your part you paw your dressings like a child!"
"Minna."
"Sleek as eel's shits is Kit Marley, half-killed and thinking to charm tavern-girls by silly names!"
"Call you Minnie like the rest do, shall I?" Kit meant a grin.
Araminta pooled with tears. "God, Kit, I thought never to hear it again."
When she reached, this time, Kit's hand did not stay cold. Minna caught it up and was, for astonishing many minutes, silent.
"What did you say, to make him go at you like that? I was not from the room five minutes. Would I never had gone at all!"
"I meant you gone," Kit answered. No point in sparing truth. "I meant him to fight me. I meant him dead!"
"He is not, and you are nearer the pit than he. Why can you not stick by your scribbling? Are not Malta, and Carthage, and all such, diversion enough?"
"Scribbling pays nothing."
"Not so much as skulking!"
"It does not keep comely sloe-haired girls in livery, out of the nunnery."
It Kit had had her eyes' use, she would swift have lost it. The hand round hers gave a lightning squeeze.
"Minna, Minna --"
"What now, Kit, as you did not kill your man? What now when you are laid too low to run? How long before the queen herself comes down to murder you, the bloody backbiting bi--"
"Love, speak no treason!" She did not trust their lives to the stoutness of the walls of Mother Bull's inn.
"Nay, I speak to reason, if it has not all bled from your skull! Whatever you've done this time, Kate, she'll not forgive."
"Why must you always consider I have done something?" Her left eye, she could open; her right was a coal of fire. Colors swam, then settled: plain furnishings, plainer linen upon the bed, the plum of Araminta's gown and her jet-black hair. Kit saw well enough, after a moment, the slide of Minna's expression from ire to fear.
She jumped out of sight of the narrow casement, stepped false in her haste and landed athwart Kit's legs. "The Queen's man Poley is below," said Araminta, "And Skeres, and Ingram Frazier!"
Kit had scarcely breath to swear.
"Shush, and still." Minna rose and turned so quickly her farthingale swayed opposite. "Hold out your hands to me."
In a widow's wink Araminta had bound Kit's hands up in bandage linen, hiding her ink-blacked second finger and the bruises from her fight. A moment after, Kit was blinded again, bandaged over cheeks and throat, swathed to cover the dark-clotted roan of her hair. Shoes and hose and second-best stockings whisked down and away, and bedcoverings cast over all, and there was time for nothing more.
"Open! Open in the Queen's name!"
Araminta drew the bolt before they could knock. "Come to settle your reckoning? Gentleman sirs, you are out of your way. Mistress Bull is below."
"Come to finish a night's work." That was Frazier. By his reek he had not changed clothes.
"We seek the intelligencer Marley," said Skeres. He would tower half again over Minna, and if he should strike her...Kit chewed her tongue to stop it shouting. She had not thought men did such things in truth.
"Seek him?" Araminta's voice was starched with scorn. "I and all this house marked where you left him! Seek the whoreson fox-kit in Christ Church yard."
"We had word the corpse-cart has not been nigh."
"Do you suppose Mistress Bull would have such doings put about? And this a fine, respectable house!"
"If not Marley, who lies there?"
"This is that Molly Miller, sirs, who a se'nnight past was so badly burned at the spit."
Kit lay still as Moll Miller now lay, though less cold and with less, she hoped, a stink. Araminta spoke on as any lass might, put to nursing a slavey she did not give a cow's piss for.The men were not leaving.
Poley, thin as his namesake, yet made his tread heavy as he came near Araminta, stood beside her, touched her. Within their feebling muffles, Kit's hands strove for a dagger. "I know you."
"Indeed my lord would need be blind not to know me. I have been in Mistress Bull's employ these five years."
"And Kit's Dutch widow long before. Dost not know, wench, that a lie to me is a lie to the Queen?"
"See for yourselves, then," said Minna, and whipped back Kit's garment -- see thou shift, not shirt -- so that three pair of boots and three clashing bucklers backed three feet hard away. The room had cleared before Kit felt a draft.
It was a drowning struggle not to leap up, nor gather Minna to safety, nor search out a sword. That she could not sit without pain to blind her
slid from her thought. Araminta paced a long while before the window, and until Kit could no longer make out boot-steps, she kept mute.
"They have mounted up," came Araminta's whisper. "They are away, by the London road."
Kit shook off the wrappings, and went on shaking. "You ought to tread the boards, Min."
For answer she went white as caul, and cast all up in the slops bucket.
Kit was dazzled with headache. Something was wet and chill upon her hair.The smell of butcher's work curled round her, and she could not hide from it in the pillows. She much doubted she could move at all.
"Master Ingram," she said, and the sound hurt like hot knives. She forgot everything, almost everything. "Araminta--"
"Both still living, you contentious clap-wit, and one here with you." Minna's hand, burn-roughened, bread-fragrant, came against Kit's cheek. Her words held less than customary acid; to Kit it seemed she heard a tremor in them. "Stop trying to see. Nothing's to see."
"You," Kit disagreed. "Oh. I thought I'd bought my death."
"So did I think." Blame was laced through it. "Ingram was not shamming."
"Neither me. I did not kill him?"
"God's teeth, you did not, and for your troubles such a dent in the brain-pan I thought..." The scent and press of her vanished away. Kit put a hand up, pushing at linen, matted and damp; it lay on her forehead like leaden counter-weights, and Minna shouted before she could restore from under it her sight.
"Leave be!" she ordered. Kit's gullet overturned; the noise seemed expanding in her head. The world funneled down to a shattering pain, but Araminta stood unchanged. "Moonrise to moonrise I nurse you, from my wages silence Mother Bull-- and God's bogs! She meant to have the coroner -- see your very skullbone all unknit, sew you up like Sunday's pudding, and for your part you paw your dressings like a child!"
"Minna."
"Sleek as eel's shits is Kit Marley, half-killed and thinking to charm tavern-girls by silly names!"
"Call you Minnie like the rest do, shall I?" Kit meant a grin.
Araminta pooled with tears. "God, Kit, I thought never to hear it again."
When she reached, this time, Kit's hand did not stay cold. Minna caught it up and was, for astonishing many minutes, silent.
"What did you say, to make him go at you like that? I was not from the room five minutes. Would I never had gone at all!"
"I meant you gone," Kit answered. No point in sparing truth. "I meant him to fight me. I meant him dead!"
"He is not, and you are nearer the pit than he. Why can you not stick by your scribbling? Are not Malta, and Carthage, and all such, diversion enough?"
"Scribbling pays nothing."
"Not so much as skulking!"
"It does not keep comely sloe-haired girls in livery, out of the nunnery."
It Kit had had her eyes' use, she would swift have lost it. The hand round hers gave a lightning squeeze.
"Minna, Minna --"
"What now, Kit, as you did not kill your man? What now when you are laid too low to run? How long before the queen herself comes down to murder you, the bloody backbiting bi--"
"Love, speak no treason!" She did not trust their lives to the stoutness of the walls of Mother Bull's inn.
"Nay, I speak to reason, if it has not all bled from your skull! Whatever you've done this time, Kate, she'll not forgive."
"Why must you always consider I have done something?" Her left eye, she could open; her right was a coal of fire. Colors swam, then settled: plain furnishings, plainer linen upon the bed, the plum of Araminta's gown and her jet-black hair. Kit saw well enough, after a moment, the slide of Minna's expression from ire to fear.
She jumped out of sight of the narrow casement, stepped false in her haste and landed athwart Kit's legs. "The Queen's man Poley is below," said Araminta, "And Skeres, and Ingram Frazier!"
Kit had scarcely breath to swear.
"Shush, and still." Minna rose and turned so quickly her farthingale swayed opposite. "Hold out your hands to me."
In a widow's wink Araminta had bound Kit's hands up in bandage linen, hiding her ink-blacked second finger and the bruises from her fight. A moment after, Kit was blinded again, bandaged over cheeks and throat, swathed to cover the dark-clotted roan of her hair. Shoes and hose and second-best stockings whisked down and away, and bedcoverings cast over all, and there was time for nothing more.
"Open! Open in the Queen's name!"
Araminta drew the bolt before they could knock. "Come to settle your reckoning? Gentleman sirs, you are out of your way. Mistress Bull is below."
"Come to finish a night's work." That was Frazier. By his reek he had not changed clothes.
"We seek the intelligencer Marley," said Skeres. He would tower half again over Minna, and if he should strike her...Kit chewed her tongue to stop it shouting. She had not thought men did such things in truth.
"Seek him?" Araminta's voice was starched with scorn. "I and all this house marked where you left him! Seek the whoreson fox-kit in Christ Church yard."
"We had word the corpse-cart has not been nigh."
"Do you suppose Mistress Bull would have such doings put about? And this a fine, respectable house!"
"If not Marley, who lies there?"
"This is that Molly Miller, sirs, who a se'nnight past was so badly burned at the spit."
Kit lay still as Moll Miller now lay, though less cold and with less, she hoped, a stink. Araminta spoke on as any lass might, put to nursing a slavey she did not give a cow's piss for.The men were not leaving.
Poley, thin as his namesake, yet made his tread heavy as he came near Araminta, stood beside her, touched her. Within their feebling muffles, Kit's hands strove for a dagger. "I know you."
"Indeed my lord would need be blind not to know me. I have been in Mistress Bull's employ these five years."
"And Kit's Dutch widow long before. Dost not know, wench, that a lie to me is a lie to the Queen?"
"See for yourselves, then," said Minna, and whipped back Kit's garment -- see thou shift, not shirt -- so that three pair of boots and three clashing bucklers backed three feet hard away. The room had cleared before Kit felt a draft.
It was a drowning struggle not to leap up, nor gather Minna to safety, nor search out a sword. That she could not sit without pain to blind her
slid from her thought. Araminta paced a long while before the window, and until Kit could no longer make out boot-steps, she kept mute.
"They have mounted up," came Araminta's whisper. "They are away, by the London road."
Kit shook off the wrappings, and went on shaking. "You ought to tread the boards, Min."
For answer she went white as caul, and cast all up in the slops bucket.