“Well, you are most kind. And now it seems you have the advantage of me once again, for I fear that I am not yet familiar with your work, sir. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to become acquainted with it in due time.” He turned to the man in black. “Milord, allow me to present Mr. William Shakespeare and Mr. Symington Smythe. Gentlemen, my esteemed patron, the honorable Sir William Worley.”
The man in black inclined his head slightly and touched the brim of his hat. Smythe met his gaze and, in that instant, struck as if by lightning, he realized he knew this man, although he could scarcely believe it. “I am indebted to you, milord,” he said. “Once again.”
“Again?” said Worley, raising an eyebrow. “Have we met before?”
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” Smythe replied. “It is possible that I took you for someone else, milord. Mayhap some chance resemblance to another gentleman in black.”
“Indeed? Well, I shall have to speak to my tailor, then. He swore to me that no one else had clothes like these. If I find he has been selling copies, I shall have the fellow flogged.”
“In any event, we are both indebted to you, milord,” said Smythe. “Had Mr. Marlowe and yourself not intervened, I fear things would have turned out rather badly for us.”
“Perhaps. Though you seem quite capable with that staff, I suggest you get yourself a more serious weapon, Mr. Smythe. This is London, after all, not some small village in the Midlands. A man needs to look out for himself around here. You know how to use one of these?”
He drew his sword and tossed it to Smythe. Smythe caught it by the hilt. Worley smiled slightly, seeing his quick reaction. Smythe examined it and felt its balance.
“ ‘Tis a good blade, milord.”
“You seem to know the way to hold it. Keep it as a loan. You shall return it to me when you obtain one of your own.” He unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it to Smythe. “And if you do not return it in good time, and in good condition, mind you, then I shall have you found post haste and beaten mercilessly.”
“If I can get access to a forge, milord, then I shall endeavor to make you one still better,” Smythe replied. “And you may have that in trade, if you prefer.”
“Indeed?” Worley raised his eyebrows. “Those are rather bold words, young man. That is a Toledo blade.”
“ ‘Tis a fine blade, milord,” said Smythe, a bit hesitantly. “A good weapon, and very serviceable. But I would place its origin much closer, right here in England rather than in Spain.”
“The devil you say! It so happens I was assured that blade was made by Sebastiani of Toledo. Do you dispute this? Explain yourself, sir.”
Smythe cleared his throat. “Well, milord… ‘tis true there is an S stamped on the ricasso of the blade, but I can assert with confidence that it stands for Somersby, a Sheffield cutler of some small repute. I know his makers’ mark quite well; I have seen it many times at my uncle’s shop, when we had occasion to sharpen or repair his blades for several of our customers. He is an able craftsman, but certainly not up to the standards of the masters of Toledo, something I am quite sure he would readily admit, as I am told he is an honest man. I… uh… would hope that whoever sold the weapon to you asked a price in keeping with its proper origin.”
Worley cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, no. It would appear I have been cheated.”
“Then perhaps you would like to take this back, milord, so that you may seek proper recompense for the effrontery.”
“No, no, you keep it. At least for the present. I shall let it serve as an object lesson to me to seek a more qualified opinion before I make a similar purchase in the future. You intrigue me, Mr. Smythe. For a number of reasons. You shall have your forge. Come to my estate at your convenience. Most anyone of consequence in London can direct you. We shall put your claim to the test. If you make good upon it, I can warrant that I shall have employment for you. If not, then you shall owe me the price of the materials and forging costs. If you lack the funds, then I shall take it out in labor. Fair enough?”
“More than fair, milord,” Smythe said, with a small bow.
“Excellent. Marlowe, be so good as to find a likely lad to have my carriage brought around. The coachman doubtless prudently drove off when that riot began outside, and he’ll be somewhere on a nearby side street, or I’ll know the reason why. Oh, and Mr. Shakespeare, if you are even half as confident in your abilities as your friend seems to be in his, then perhaps there is a chance that you might find employment with the Queen’s Men. They are keen to compete with Marlowe here, and Kyd, and as yet have found no resident poet who can measure up. That morose old stewpot, Greene, is lately drowning his rather mediocre talent in a bottle, and Lyly’s shot his bolt, I think. They could do with some new blood.”
“You will doubtless find the company disporting themselves at The Toad and Badger, in St. Helen’s,” Marlowe added. “Ask for one Dick Burbage and give him my compliments.”
“Thank you,” Shakespeare said. “I shall do that, Mr. Marlowe. I am in your debt.”
“Well, now there’s a switch,” said Marlowe, with a grin. “ ‘Tis usually I who am in debt to others.”
“My carriage, Kit,” said Worley.
“Your word is my command, milord.” Marlowe gave a sweeping bow, winked at Smythe, and left.
“I think he likes you,” Worley said.
“And I like him, milord,” Smythe said. “He seems a most amiable young man.”
Worley raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Amiable? Aye, well, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose. ‘Tis a good thing he has talent, else I should find his company insufferable. But one must make allowances for talent. ‘Tis a rare commodity, and often does not come without some baggage.”
“Your carriage awaits, milord,” said Marlowe, sticking his head inside the door. “ ‘Twas standing by just around the corner.”
“Well, at least my coachman does his job properly,” said Worley. He turned to the tavernkeeper. “You may send me a bill for the damages, but see that you do not inflate it.”