the Greek kindly. “And a very shor message. He requires you, Messer Felix, not to do something.”
“What?” said Julius.
“What?” said Felix rather differently.
The Greek smiled. “That is all. He said you would know what he meant. Forgive me.” And smiling again, he turned with care, and made towards the table of Anselm Adorne and the magistrates. Felix remained on his feet.
“Felix?” said Julius.
The Bonkle boy tugged Felix’s tunic and he sat down.
“Felix?” said Julius again, really sharply.
Under his breath, the Sersanders boy said, “I told you.”
“Well,” said Felix angrily.
The Sersanders boy said, “I told you Claes was in trouble enough.”
Julius stared at him, and then at Felix, and then at John Bonkle, who wouldn’t meet his eye. He said, “Oh my God, what has he done now?”
By then, other people could have told him.
In the pleasant little garden of the van Borselens the fountain, playing gently while the family took the air, chatting, suddenly became possessed of Satan and thrust its jets hissing into the air, to fall drenching across my lord’s head and into my lady Katelina’s satin skirts.
In the yard of the Jerusalem Church the well overflowed into the piles of newly-mixed mortar, spreading its white sticky porridge over and into the timber stacks, and the feet of the masons and carpenters who were adding the latest improvement to Anselm Adorne’s splendid church.
In the egg-market, the casing shot off a water-pump and frightened a goat, which broke its tether and demolished three stalls of eggs until someone caught it.
The waterpipe running under Winesack Street sprang a leak under uncommon pressure and the water, rising, found its way into two cellars and the bath-house, where it put out the boilers, injected the bathwater with a stream of noisome brown liquid and nearly choked the proprietor, the porter and the clients with a surfeit of steam.
The barbers’ bloodpit, sharply diluted, overflowed. Joining the rivulet from a parting pump joint, the stream moved into the Grand Market and towards the wheels of the Great Crane. This, powered by two running men, each treading the curve of his wheel, was currently raising a net bearing two tuns of Spanish White, two chests of soap and a small cask of saffron.
By bad luck the water reached the Crane from behind, striking the wheels at a time when they were spinning hard in the opposite direction. The effect was to halt the spin suddenly, pitching each running manseverely forward to the hurt of his features. The twin hooks, almost wound to the height of the Crane, then unwound even more quickly, dropping the Spanish White, the soap and the saffron and breaking every container.
Rivers of gold, rivers of white, rivers of scarlet and a scum of expensive bubbles made their way over the square and began to spread, pervasively, under the double doors of the Inn of the Two Tablets of Moses, while far across the town, at the Waterhuus, an exhausted horse drooped, a wheel of cock-eyed buckets jerked and creaked to a crawl and the level of the town cistern began, blessedly, to lower at last.
They stemmed the flood under the inn door with brooms, and then swept a path outside so that the magistrates could emerge and survey the novel carnival aspect of the market-place. The magistrates were about to emerge when Claes slid hastily in, followed closely by a trail of yellow footprints.
Halfway to Felix he slowed, becoming conscious perhaps of an area of peculiar silence.
Half the inn’s clients, it appeared, were vastly amused, among them Lionetto and his companions. By contrast Julius, Felix and all Felix’s friends stood in a huddle, looking at Claes. Adorne and the magistrates were looking at him as well, and the Greek, standing quietly beside them.
The owner of the Two Tablets, unsure what was happening, rushed to reassure. “As you asked, my lords, a constable has been sent to the Waterhuus. And a sergeant. And the town
“What?” said Julius.
“What?” said Felix rather differently.
The Greek smiled. “That is all. He said you would know what he meant. Forgive me.” And smiling again, he turned with care, and made towards the table of Anselm Adorne and the magistrates. Felix remained on his feet.
“Felix?” said Julius.
The Bonkle boy tugged Felix’s tunic and he sat down.
“Felix?” said Julius again, really sharply.
Under his breath, the Sersanders boy said, “I told you.”
“Well,” said Felix angrily.
The Sersanders boy said, “I told you Claes was in trouble enough.”
Julius stared at him, and then at Felix, and then at John Bonkle, who wouldn’t meet his eye. He said, “Oh my God, what has he done now?”
By then, other people could have told him.
In the pleasant little garden of the van Borselens the fountain, playing gently while the family took the air, chatting, suddenly became possessed of Satan and thrust its jets hissing into the air, to fall drenching across my lord’s head and into my lady Katelina’s satin skirts.
In the yard of the Jerusalem Church the well overflowed into the piles of newly-mixed mortar, spreading its white sticky porridge over and into the timber stacks, and the feet of the masons and carpenters who were adding the latest improvement to Anselm Adorne’s splendid church.
In the egg-market, the casing shot off a water-pump and frightened a goat, which broke its tether and demolished three stalls of eggs until someone caught it.
The waterpipe running under Winesack Street sprang a leak under uncommon pressure and the water, rising, found its way into two cellars and the bath-house, where it put out the boilers, injected the bathwater with a stream of noisome brown liquid and nearly choked the proprietor, the porter and the clients with a surfeit of steam.
The barbers’ bloodpit, sharply diluted, overflowed. Joining the rivulet from a parting pump joint, the stream moved into the Grand Market and towards the wheels of the Great Crane. This, powered by two running men, each treading the curve of his wheel, was currently raising a net bearing two tuns of Spanish White, two chests of soap and a small cask of saffron.
By bad luck the water reached the Crane from behind, striking the wheels at a time when they were spinning hard in the opposite direction. The effect was to halt the spin suddenly, pitching each running manseverely forward to the hurt of his features. The twin hooks, almost wound to the height of the Crane, then unwound even more quickly, dropping the Spanish White, the soap and the saffron and breaking every container.
Rivers of gold, rivers of white, rivers of scarlet and a scum of expensive bubbles made their way over the square and began to spread, pervasively, under the double doors of the Inn of the Two Tablets of Moses, while far across the town, at the Waterhuus, an exhausted horse drooped, a wheel of cock-eyed buckets jerked and creaked to a crawl and the level of the town cistern began, blessedly, to lower at last.
They stemmed the flood under the inn door with brooms, and then swept a path outside so that the magistrates could emerge and survey the novel carnival aspect of the market-place. The magistrates were about to emerge when Claes slid hastily in, followed closely by a trail of yellow footprints.
Halfway to Felix he slowed, becoming conscious perhaps of an area of peculiar silence.
Half the inn’s clients, it appeared, were vastly amused, among them Lionetto and his companions. By contrast Julius, Felix and all Felix’s friends stood in a huddle, looking at Claes. Adorne and the magistrates were looking at him as well, and the Greek, standing quietly beside them.
The owner of the Two Tablets, unsure what was happening, rushed to reassure. “As you asked, my lords, a constable has been sent to the Waterhuus. And a sergeant. And the town
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