Read Much Ado About Murder for Free Online Page B

yourself a bit too harshly, lad," Fleming said, patting him on the shoulder. "I never knew you to be a coarse, ill-mannered ruffian, like that lot. And even if you once did have some common ground with the likes of those two scalawags, why, you have been out to see the world and you know much better now."
    "Do I?" Dicken said. "I wonder. 'Tis indeed a thing devoutly to be wished, however things may stand. A man can only hope to grow wiser as the years accumulate, though I fear not all men do."
    "And in that observation, there is wisdom, Ben," said Burbage, with a smile, "so 'twould seem that you are on the right path after all."
    "I wish I felt as certain of that as you, old friend," Dickens replied.
    Burbage frowned. "What do mean by that? You mean to say that you have doubts about the course you chose?"
    "I have been giving it much thought of late," said Dickens, nodding. "And especially so on the voyage home with Master Leonardo. He has made his fortune on his voyages and now seeks to settle down to a gentleman's life. He desires to use some of his profits to invest in business. 'Tis possible that his interests and mine may coincide in some degree."
    "So then you plan to give up soldiering and remain in London?" Fleming said.
    "Well, I have, as yet, made no firm decisions," Dickens answered, "but I have found that the adventuring life has lost much of its allure for me. It feels good to be back home in England once again, amongst old friends. And new ones, of course." He smiled at Smythe and Shakespeare and the other players who had joined the company since he left.
    " 'Tis good to have you back, as well, Ben," Burbage said. "And if, by chance, your plans with Master Leonardo do not come to fruition, although we wish you all success, I am sure that we could find a place for you with the Queen's Men once again, at the very least until you should decide upon which path your future lies."
    "I'll drink to that!" said Speed.
    "So shall we all!" said Fleming. "Stackpole, my good man, more ale, if you please!"
    Later that night, as he lay in bed upstairs, Smythe thought about the events of the evening, feeling an unsettling disquiet that he could not account for. It was not simply that Bruce McEnery had tried to draw steel in the Toad and Badger. At least, Smythe did not think that was the reason for his apprehension. Although that sort of thing did not usually happen downstairs in the tavern, it was not entirely unheard of, and it was not the sort of thing that made him feel particularly squeamish. He had seen tavern brawls before and on occasion been involved in them. On at least one of those occasions, that memorable day when he and Will had first arrived in London and met Chris Marlowe and Sir William Worley at the Swan and Maiden, both blades
and
blood were drawn. On that day too, as he recalled, a street riot had preceeded the festivities, setting the tone for the violence to follow. Mob violence always seemed to get people's blood up, even if they were not themselves involved. But there was something else that gnawed at him, maybe something unrelated that he could not quite put his finger on. Something about those two apprentices, perhaps…
    "Well, all right, what
is
it?" Shakespeare said, putting down his quill pen and turning round from his work desk to face him.
    "What? I said nothing," Smythe replied, glancing at him with surprise.
    The gentle glow of candlelight illuminated Shakespeare's face as he sighed and rolled his eyes. "I know," he said. "You
said
nothing, but your restlessness spoke volumes. You grunted and you sighed, time and time again, and as if that were not enough, you keep squirming on that mattress like a nervous virgin on her wedding night. By Heaven, for all the noise you're making, 'tis like trying to work with a bull grazing in one's bedroom!"
    "I am sorry, Will. I did not mean to disturb you at your work."
    "Aye, you never mean to, and yet you always do." He removed his ink-stained writing glove