"Why, you are very welcome, to be sure. Come on, then. 'Ere we go…
Feeling himself guided by the grip upon his arm, Smythe felt his way with his foot and then stepped down carefully from the coach. The first thing that he noticed was that the ground beneath his feet was not paved. However, this did not mean that they were out of the city. It merely meant that they were not on a main thoroughfare.
"Tuck?" Will sounded anxious.
"I am here, Will. Steady on. Just do as these men say."
"Oh, we are not so worried about 'im," said their unseen companion. "'E wouldn't be much trouble. You, on the other 'and, look like you might prove an 'andful given 'alf a chance, so we'll be watchin' you right close-like. In other words, mate, be very careful what you do, eh? We understand one another, right?"
"Quite," said Smythe.
"There's a good lad."
Smythe felt himself being patted down.
"'Allo, 'allo… what 'ave we 'erd A bodkin?"
He felt his cloak pulled aside, and then a tug as his uncle's knife came free of its sheath upon his belt.
"You shall not find that of very great value, I assure you," Smythe said. "However, it has some meaning to me, for my uncle made it for me when I was but a lad."
"Your uncle does right good work," the man replied approvingly, from just behind him.
"Make certain that I get it back and I shall make you another just as good," said Smythe.
"Will you, now? Well, that's a right good offer. I shall tell you what I'll do. You promise not to give us any trouble and I shall make certain that you get back your bodkin. And what is more, I shall not only take you up on your kind offer to make me another, but I shall pay you a fair price for it. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said Smythe. "'Tis very generous of you."
"Thank you."
"You are most welcome."
"I cannot believe that I am listening to this," said Shakespeare. "Be silent, Will."
"Do as your friend 'ere says, Will. 'Twill be best for all concerned, eh? Now move along."
Smythe felt a strong hand upon his arm as he was guided forward. They walked a few paces until the man beside him warned him of a step. He stepped up, going up a couple of stairs and apparently over a threshold. He felt a wood floor covered by rushes beneath his feet. There was a smell of tobacco smoke and ale in the air that told him they were almost certainly inside a tavern or an alehouse. He heard conversation going on around him and could make out some snatches of what was being said, though none of it was particularly helpful. There was some laughter, apparently at their expense, judging by the catcalls that ensued, but he felt himself guided on farther. A door was opened and he was ushered through.
"Goin' up some stairs now," he was told. "Move slowly and 'ave a care."
Smythe felt his shoulder brush a wall and used it to help guide his steps. He could hear footsteps coming up behind him, but had no way of knowing if Shakespeare's were among them. No one seemed to be in front.
He ended up taking one step up too many, having no way of telling where the stairs ended, so that he stumbled as he came up onto the second floor. He heard several people laugh. He could hear the sound of many voices all around him, which seemed to indicate that he was in a large and open room. Once again, he smelled ale and the strong odour of tobacco in the air.
He could not determine how long he had been blindfolded, but noticed how much more he was starting to rely upon his other senses, particularly his hearing and his sense of smell. Things that were not ordinarily so noticeable seemed to take on more significance now that he could not see. Curiously, even in his present highly uncertain circumstances, he found himself thinking that it seemed more and more people were taking up the practice of smoking.
He was starting to encounter it nearly everywhere he went. He recalled being told that the plant came from the colonies in America and that its leaves, when dried and cured, produced smoke that was said to have healthful properties. It was usually smoked in long clay pipes, but on occasion the pipes were carved from cherry wood. The smell was not altogether unpleasant, especially when compared to many of the usual noxious smells of London, but the one time he had tried a pipe, Smythe had found himself gagging and coughing on the smoke. It had made his eyes water, and the taste of it had seemed far worse than the smell. He could not understand why people seemed to like it. For that matter, he could not understand what could be so healthful about inhaling the acrid smoke from burning leaves, or why anyone should wish to do so. Yet those who smoked seemed to encourage others to do so. It was a habit, they often said, that one needed to "cultivate." Smythe could not understand that, either. If it did not feel good the first time, he saw no reason to try it a second. But wherever it was that they had brought him, the smell of tobacco nearly overwhelmed the smell of beer and ale.
"I am going to cut your bonds and remove your blindfold now," said the now familiar voice of his abductor at his ear. "You shall find a stool beside you. Sit, and remain seated until you are told otherwise. Right?"
Smythe merely nodded and swallowed nervously. He could hear an undertone of conversation all around him. He felt his bonds being cut, and a moment later his blindfold was removed.
He blinked several times. Even in the dim light, it seemed too bright at first, but his eyes quickly grew accustomed to it. As he rubbed his wrists, which felt a bit sore from the bonds, he glanced around.
Will was seated next to him, on a wooden stool, about four feet away. He was looking frightened. Their stools had been placed out in the centre of the room, and it was a large room, with a wood floor strewn with rushes. All around the perimeter of the room were wooden trestle tables where men sat upon either benches or wooden stools similar to theirs. Smythe saw the one that had been placed beside him and sat down upon it.
The men… no, Smythe now noticed that there were women among them .. were sm