The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,42

‘and the Pig and Rooster’s had its share of nasty ones. I don’t know what started it, but all of a sudden the whole place was a battlefield. Martha and Arabella and I tried to get away through the kitchen, but we got separated, like, and I was cornered by five blackguards with more than brawling on their minds. Said they was going to carve their initials into my pretty face, they did.’ Her eyes widened as she produced – from where, he knew not, nor cared at the moment – a pig-bladder sheath, which she slipped over his manhood.

‘That’s to keep the brats off, love. A girl can’t be too careful.’

Nor a man, he thought; he had been lucky in his amorous pursuits, never having contracted the pox, but he had witnessed enough of its effects never to enter the lists of love unarmoured. To say nothing of his determination to bring no more bastards into the world.

Clara straddled him and guided him inside her. ‘I had a knife from the kitchen,’ she went on breathlessly, ‘but they had swords. Young noblemen, by the looks of them. Out for a bit of fun.’

‘You’re’ – he gasped as she rocked above him – ‘saying I stopped them somehow?’

‘And Tom, yes. Came to my rescue like knights in shining armour.’ She grunted and ground. ‘He took one through the back before they even knew you were there.’

‘What? Killed him, you mean?’

‘All I know is that the villain went down and didn’t get up again.’

‘The damned fool!’ He squirmed to get out from under Clara, but she redoubled her efforts, perhaps mistaking his panic for passion, or just not caring. Nor did his erection wilt along with his spirits, deciding, not for the first time, to go its own way regardless of his wishes. Quare’s groan had more than just frustration in it. But his mind, walled away from his body, worked with the precision of a timepiece. A commoner drawing a blade against a nobleman was serious business. To wound one, or God forbid kill one, even in self-defence, was a death sentence. The Worshipful Company couldn’t protect them from that. What had Aylesford done?

‘After that, it come fast and furious,’ Clara continued meanwhile, suiting her actions to her words. ‘I wanted to run, but I was terrified. I couldn’t hardly bring myself to look. I thought you and Tom was finished, outnumbered two to one. Then it would be my turn.’ Clara gave a little scream, her breasts smacking against her chest as she climaxed, and he felt his own climax rise up in answer. Clara clung to him. But even then, her stream of words did not slow. ‘Turned out to be the other way round. Your friend mightn’t look like much, but he’s a demon with a sword. Two clockmen plucking those feathered popinjays: it did my heart good to see!’ She laughed, then at last took notice of his struggles. ‘Why, what’s the matter, love? Crushing you, am I?’

‘Nothing personal.’ Quare pushed her away and sat up. He pulled the sheath from his drooping member and let it fall to the dirty floor. He must have been drunk indeed to have drawn his sword against nobility, regardless of the provocation. No doubt the hot-headed Aylesford had acted first, and he’d followed suit, swept up in the excitement. But that wouldn’t save him from punishment. That he remembered none of it only added to his anxiety. He wondered what had happened to Mansfield, Farthingale and Pickens. ‘It was just the two of us, you say? No others?’

‘That’s right.’

He rubbed his throbbing temples and groaned. ‘Then what happened?’

‘Why, you cut down one man, and Tom took care of two.’ Clara, sitting cross-legged beside him, pantomimed two quick sword thrusts to his chest. ‘The last man tried to run, but the two of you got him before he’d taken half a step.’ A third thrust illustrated the man’s fate.

Clammy horror settled over Quare. ‘We killed them all?’

‘Nobody stopped to check the bodies,’ she said with a shrug. ‘The three of us beat it out the back door before the Charleys or the redbreasts could show up.’

Quare groaned again. If any of the men had survived, no doubt they’d already provided descriptions of their attackers. If, on the other hand, he and Aylesford had killed them all, it was possible that the Charleys – the city watch – didn’t have any leads. But that wouldn’t be the case for long. The