Tower?"
Luke looked at Justin, then at Claudine. "My lady, it would be an honour," he said, at his most courtly, and Justin wanted to hit him.
"It is settled, then." Claudine swept on out of the smithy, without so much as a backward glance. Luke got hastily to his feet and hurried after her. At the door, he paused. Glancing back at Justin, he shrugged, then disappeared out into the night.
After their departure, the silence was smothering, at least to Justin. The taciturn Gunter mercifully refrained from comment, and Ellis was too shy to say anything, although Justin knew he'd waste no time in spreading the story the length and breadth of Gracechurch Street. Justin considered his options, none of which he found appealing, tossed a terse "Goodnight" in Gunter's direction, and plunged through the doorway.
The street outside was quiet, for Gracechurch's denizens were either ensconced before their own hearths or over at Nell's ale-house. Luke and Claudine were almost out of sight already, turning the corner onto Cheapside. Justin stood, irresolute, for several moments, then found himself drawn toward the light spilling from the alehouse's open door. The alehouse was only half full. A game of hasard was in progress, people drifting over to watch the dice being thrown, making desultory side bets and cheering the players on. A prostitute was hovering nearby, hoping for some action of her own. Nell discouraged solicitation in the alehouse, on pragmatic rather than moral grounds; too often it led to brawling. But this was a neighborhood woman, a hard-pressed widow with three children to feed, and so Nell turned a blind eye to her nocturnal hunting. After serving another ale to the priest from St Benet's Church and pausing briefly to banter with several of her regular customers, Nell picked up a flagon and two cups, then headed toward the corner table Justin had staked out for himself and Shadow.
"Here," she said, "have a drink on me. So... what happened?"
For a dismayed moment, Justin thought she'd already heard about his quarrel with Claudine. But even Nell's sources were not that good and he relaxed somewhat with her next question. "Well?" she prodded. "You met the Astons today, did you not? What did you think of them?"
Far from resenting her interrogation, Justin welcomed it; as long as he was talking about the Astons, he need not think about Claudine. "Geoffrey strikes me as a lad with some practice in pleasing people. He is obviously the family pride and joy, unlike his brother, who seems cast as the family scapegoat. An odd thing about roles; people tend to live up to them."
Nell nodded emphatically. "Exactly," she agreed. "Geoffrey can seem a bit glib, saying just what is expected of him. Affability is his shield, his way of surviving in that hellish household. Whereas poor Daniel never learned any survival skills, either lashing out or retreating, like a turtle into its shell." She poured for herself and Justin from the flagon, then grinned. "And what was your opinion of Master Humphrey Aston?"
Justin responded with a pithy, colorful phrase that would not pass muster in polite company, and Nell laughed outright. "He is, isn't he?" she agreed. "If you seek to understand the sons, you need look no further than the father. I suppose the man must have a stray virtue or two, but his vices are so much more noticeable... and not even grand vices, but the low, petty sort."
"Which vices are those?" Justin asked, more to keep the conversation going than for any other reason. By his reckoning, it should take Luke and Claudine about a quarter hour to get to the Tower. Then another quarter hour for Luke to get back. His eyes flicked toward the candle notched to help the alehouse patrons keep track of the time until closing. "Which vices?" he asked again, and Nell gave him a curious look.
"Were you not listening? I said he was a bully and a miser, and pompous in the bargain. But by far
Luke looked at Justin, then at Claudine. "My lady, it would be an honour," he said, at his most courtly, and Justin wanted to hit him.
"It is settled, then." Claudine swept on out of the smithy, without so much as a backward glance. Luke got hastily to his feet and hurried after her. At the door, he paused. Glancing back at Justin, he shrugged, then disappeared out into the night.
After their departure, the silence was smothering, at least to Justin. The taciturn Gunter mercifully refrained from comment, and Ellis was too shy to say anything, although Justin knew he'd waste no time in spreading the story the length and breadth of Gracechurch Street. Justin considered his options, none of which he found appealing, tossed a terse "Goodnight" in Gunter's direction, and plunged through the doorway.
The street outside was quiet, for Gracechurch's denizens were either ensconced before their own hearths or over at Nell's ale-house. Luke and Claudine were almost out of sight already, turning the corner onto Cheapside. Justin stood, irresolute, for several moments, then found himself drawn toward the light spilling from the alehouse's open door. The alehouse was only half full. A game of hasard was in progress, people drifting over to watch the dice being thrown, making desultory side bets and cheering the players on. A prostitute was hovering nearby, hoping for some action of her own. Nell discouraged solicitation in the alehouse, on pragmatic rather than moral grounds; too often it led to brawling. But this was a neighborhood woman, a hard-pressed widow with three children to feed, and so Nell turned a blind eye to her nocturnal hunting. After serving another ale to the priest from St Benet's Church and pausing briefly to banter with several of her regular customers, Nell picked up a flagon and two cups, then headed toward the corner table Justin had staked out for himself and Shadow.
"Here," she said, "have a drink on me. So... what happened?"
For a dismayed moment, Justin thought she'd already heard about his quarrel with Claudine. But even Nell's sources were not that good and he relaxed somewhat with her next question. "Well?" she prodded. "You met the Astons today, did you not? What did you think of them?"
Far from resenting her interrogation, Justin welcomed it; as long as he was talking about the Astons, he need not think about Claudine. "Geoffrey strikes me as a lad with some practice in pleasing people. He is obviously the family pride and joy, unlike his brother, who seems cast as the family scapegoat. An odd thing about roles; people tend to live up to them."
Nell nodded emphatically. "Exactly," she agreed. "Geoffrey can seem a bit glib, saying just what is expected of him. Affability is his shield, his way of surviving in that hellish household. Whereas poor Daniel never learned any survival skills, either lashing out or retreating, like a turtle into its shell." She poured for herself and Justin from the flagon, then grinned. "And what was your opinion of Master Humphrey Aston?"
Justin responded with a pithy, colorful phrase that would not pass muster in polite company, and Nell laughed outright. "He is, isn't he?" she agreed. "If you seek to understand the sons, you need look no further than the father. I suppose the man must have a stray virtue or two, but his vices are so much more noticeable... and not even grand vices, but the low, petty sort."
"Which vices are those?" Justin asked, more to keep the conversation going than for any other reason. By his reckoning, it should take Luke and Claudine about a quarter hour to get to the Tower. Then another quarter hour for Luke to get back. His eyes flicked toward the candle notched to help the alehouse patrons keep track of the time until closing. "Which vices?" he asked again, and Nell gave him a curious look.
"Were you not listening? I said he was a bully and a miser, and pompous in the bargain. But by far
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