night-time before Tom got back to the ship where the Garden Players were housed. It had taken him two hours to get there, partly because he was cold and exhausted, partly because he had been afraid of bumping into Ratsey. Although it was Christmas Day, the night watchmen were still out. Once he glimpsed a figure carrying a lantern and with a staff resting on his shoulder and he heard the familiar cry:
Eight o’clock, look well to your locks, your fire and your light. God give you goodnight.
The night still held one final surprise.
Tom had just got back to Bermondsey and was approaching the ship when he saw a man coming down the gangplank. The man came close to him and although he didn’t see Tom, Tom recognized him by the monk’s hood and robe he was wearing. It was the man with the scar, the one that Dr Mobius had called Sir Richard. The man hurried off into the night. Tom waited until he had gone, then walked over to the gangplank and went up on to the ship.
He had hoped to make it to the cabin without being seen, but he had barely moved before a door opened and Dr Mobius appeared, climbing up from below.
“Tom…?” Dr Mobius had a glass of wine in one hand, a pipe in the other. His cabin was lit by the soft yellow glow of a candle. He stepped out on to the deck.
“I have some good news for you!” Mobius stretched out a hand, his rings glinting in the candlelight. He laid it gently on Tom’s head, stroking his hair. “We are going to perform
The Devil and his Boy
in three days’ time.”
“That’s wonderful,” Tom said.
“It is better than you think, my dear friend. We have been greatly honoured. Yes, indeed, it is an honour. The performance is to take place in the Palace of Whitehall.”
“A palace?” Tom’s mind was beginning to spin, but there was more to come.
“Yes, Tom.” His lips curled in a slow smile and something brighter than candlelight gleamed in his eyes. “In Whitehall Palace. And we’ll be performing in front of the Queen.”
first night nerves
The next three days were a whirlwind of activity. There were still lines to be learned, movements to be discussed, fights to be choreographed and costumes to be sewn. And then there were the props and scenery. Like most plays,
The Devil and his Boy
didn’t need much scenery – the audience was expected to imagine it. But there were a lot of props and it was one of these that led to a strange and unpleasant incident.
The prop was a pitchfork.
Tom was rehearsing on the deck in the cold morning sunlight. The entire cast was there, some of them acting, the rest sewing or painting. Florian, he noticed, was looking very downcast. In fact, the older boy had barely spoken a word to him since the night of the warning. However, he noticed Florian glance upwards sharply as Dr Mobius appeared from his cabin, carrying two pitchforks.
“This is for you, Tom,” Dr Mobius said, handing him one. “When you disguise yourself as a devil, this is what you must carry. Please handle it with great care.”
The pitchfork was about two metres long and taking it, Tom was surprised by its weight. Examining it, he soon knew why it was so heavy. The actual prongs themselves were only wood but the length of the pitchfork was a hollow metal tube – if it hadn’t been for the prongs, glued to the top, Tom would have been able to look right through it. There was one other slightly strange thing. At the end of the tube, on the inside, some sort of line had been cut. Tom ran his thumb over it, feeling the sharp metal edge pressing into his flesh. Obviously the metal tube had been used for something before it had been turned into a fork. But why hadn’t Dr Mobius used a broom handle or even a roll of paper? It would have been lighter and easier to handle.
And it was while they were running around the deck, that Tom dropped his. The pitchfork fell down. The wooden forks snapped off and the metal tube began to roll along the deck.
Everyone froze. The tube was
Eight o’clock, look well to your locks, your fire and your light. God give you goodnight.
The night still held one final surprise.
Tom had just got back to Bermondsey and was approaching the ship when he saw a man coming down the gangplank. The man came close to him and although he didn’t see Tom, Tom recognized him by the monk’s hood and robe he was wearing. It was the man with the scar, the one that Dr Mobius had called Sir Richard. The man hurried off into the night. Tom waited until he had gone, then walked over to the gangplank and went up on to the ship.
He had hoped to make it to the cabin without being seen, but he had barely moved before a door opened and Dr Mobius appeared, climbing up from below.
“Tom…?” Dr Mobius had a glass of wine in one hand, a pipe in the other. His cabin was lit by the soft yellow glow of a candle. He stepped out on to the deck.
“I have some good news for you!” Mobius stretched out a hand, his rings glinting in the candlelight. He laid it gently on Tom’s head, stroking his hair. “We are going to perform
The Devil and his Boy
in three days’ time.”
“That’s wonderful,” Tom said.
“It is better than you think, my dear friend. We have been greatly honoured. Yes, indeed, it is an honour. The performance is to take place in the Palace of Whitehall.”
“A palace?” Tom’s mind was beginning to spin, but there was more to come.
“Yes, Tom.” His lips curled in a slow smile and something brighter than candlelight gleamed in his eyes. “In Whitehall Palace. And we’ll be performing in front of the Queen.”
first night nerves
The next three days were a whirlwind of activity. There were still lines to be learned, movements to be discussed, fights to be choreographed and costumes to be sewn. And then there were the props and scenery. Like most plays,
The Devil and his Boy
didn’t need much scenery – the audience was expected to imagine it. But there were a lot of props and it was one of these that led to a strange and unpleasant incident.
The prop was a pitchfork.
Tom was rehearsing on the deck in the cold morning sunlight. The entire cast was there, some of them acting, the rest sewing or painting. Florian, he noticed, was looking very downcast. In fact, the older boy had barely spoken a word to him since the night of the warning. However, he noticed Florian glance upwards sharply as Dr Mobius appeared from his cabin, carrying two pitchforks.
“This is for you, Tom,” Dr Mobius said, handing him one. “When you disguise yourself as a devil, this is what you must carry. Please handle it with great care.”
The pitchfork was about two metres long and taking it, Tom was surprised by its weight. Examining it, he soon knew why it was so heavy. The actual prongs themselves were only wood but the length of the pitchfork was a hollow metal tube – if it hadn’t been for the prongs, glued to the top, Tom would have been able to look right through it. There was one other slightly strange thing. At the end of the tube, on the inside, some sort of line had been cut. Tom ran his thumb over it, feeling the sharp metal edge pressing into his flesh. Obviously the metal tube had been used for something before it had been turned into a fork. But why hadn’t Dr Mobius used a broom handle or even a roll of paper? It would have been lighter and easier to handle.
And it was while they were running around the deck, that Tom dropped his. The pitchfork fell down. The wooden forks snapped off and the metal tube began to roll along the deck.
Everyone froze. The tube was
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