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you do?”
    “I can look after the horses, sir. I worked at an inn. In Framlingham…”
    “Framlingham?” The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a long way from here. Run away have you? Do you know what happens to the cursed clapperdudgeons who run away from their masters?”
    Tom was too tired to argue. He turned round and was about to leave when the innkeeper grabbed hold of him and yelled out, “Quickly!”
    The door opened and a plump, fair-haired woman dressed in an apron and cap came out. She had a narrow face with a pointed chin and such wide eyes that she seemed to be permanently amazed about everything. “Yes?” she demanded.
    “See for yourself, Mistress Quickly,” the innkeeper replied. “This young apple-squire is asking for work!”
    Quickly – for it seemed that was her name – glanced at Tom with distaste. “He’s more mud than boy,” she remarked. “In fact he’s a muddy disgrace.”
    “Then you deal with him,” the innkeeper exclaimed. “The little moon-man wants to work. So give him work. Hard work and plenty of it.”
    Tom allowed himself to be dragged into the Red Lion, his head spinning. He had never been inside a building quite like it. Pewter plates, piled high with food, flashed in front of his eyes being carried to tables. There were pigeons and pastries, eggs and oysters, lamb, beef, pork, and huge, golden chickens. Hundreds of candles burnt in the inn but they were hardly needed with the glow of not one but three fires, turning everything bright red. And the people! Tom had never seen so many people dressed in the finest clothes, talking and laughing as they ate.
    “Through here!”
    Tom found himself being pushed through a door and suddenly he was in the kitchen – where, of course, he belonged. But, with a heavy heart, Tom knew that he couldn’t work. He could barely stand. And when the woman saw he was good for nothing, he would soon be back out in the rain.
    “All right,” Mistress Quickly exclaimed. “I want you to sit here, child.” She gestured at a seat next to a fire. “Your job is to make sure that the fire doesn’t go out. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.” Tom nodded. “I’m to watch the fire.”
    “You are also to taste
all
the food you are given. I need to know that it’s malicious. I’ll ask you to taste a little wine as well, I think. For the same reason. Do you think you can manage all that? Sitting by the fire? Eating and drinking?”
    Tom nodded, amazed.
    “Good, good, good!” Mistress Quickly beamed. “I’ll snatch up with you later.” And then she was gone.
    Tom couldn’t believe his good fortune. He knew of course that these weren’t really jobs at all, that the innkeeper and the woman had taken pity on him and had saved him from death by cold and starvation. It was the first time anyone had been kind to him in his entire life and when, a short while later, a smiling girl brought him a plate of meat and bread and a cup of wine, he had to fight to keep the tears from his eyes. After that he slept, half leaning against the wall, the flames from the fire warming his hands and face.
    When he awoke something was towering over him. He looked up alarmed, but it was only Mistress Quickly.
    “You feeling better?” she asked.
    “Yes. Thank you…”
    “Please! There’s no need to spank me!” She smiled. “Have you ever seen a play?”
    “No,” Tom replied.
    “Then you’re in luck. We’ve got the players in tonight. Come out and see what you think.”
    The only entertainment Tom had ever seen in Framlingham had been minstrels (usually out of tune) and jugglers. A bear-baiter had once visited the town with an old, half-starved bear. But the sight of the poor animal being stoned and tormented had only made him feel miserable. Another time, a group of players had stayed at The Pig’s Head but they hadn’t performed – the parish didn’t approve of plays. The fact was that Tom had very little idea what a play even was. He doubted he