first draft of the libel.”
On the reverse side was the original draft of the libel posted throughout London. Thomas and Whitgift had dictated the wording to a clerk who had copied it onto the draft. A trusted printmaker had then printed the draft thirty times onto much larger parchment. Even in the dim light of the stairwell, the signature ‘CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE’ stood out easily to the eye. Through connecting the draft to Whitgift’s bond to pay the printer, Thomas had enough evidence to prove that the Archbishop was unquestionably involved with the libels. In contrast, Thomas had made sure nothing linked himself with the crime.
Frizer's cheeks reddened in admiration.
“Wasn't it dangerous?”
“It'd be far more dangerous not to have it.” Thomas slowed and cocked his head. “Remember, the first rule of espionage: never let your guard down.”
Frizer nodded wisely as they turned down the last flight of stairs.
“Should thing's go wrong,” Thomas continued, “good old Whitgift's the Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of all England, second only to the royal family. Where's my protection against that?”
Frizer shrugged. Thomas looked at him searchingly, gave a deep sigh, and waved the parchment below his nose.
“This!”
“Oh...”
“This is my protection, you tickle-brained lout!”
Frizer quickly nodded his head.
Thomas burst forward in annoyance, slipped the bond back into his coat, and walked across the hall of the main building. Frizer quickened his pace to keep up. They pushed out of the exit and into the night.
SCENE TWO
London. Coaching Inn.
I n order to question the Earl of Derby, Kit and Will had to travel the immense distance from London to the county of Cheshire in the northwest of England. Such a journey took the best part of a week and was taxing even for the young and healthy, therefore they decided to take a coach rather than suffer the saddle-sores and weather exposure involved in riding horses.
Surrounded by the clatter, shouts, and passengers of the inn, Kit and Will waited for their carriage to arrive at the inn’s courtyard and pick them up.
“It’s strange,” said Kit wistfully, “I was just thinking… I may never see my next birthday.”
“When is it?” Will replied.
“February.”
“Really? What year?”
“Every year,” Kit said with a tiny smile.
Will rolled his eyes.
“I love sarcasm first thing in the morning.” He crossed his arms. “Anyway, why must our investigation start with Derby? There must be plenty of other people who wish you harm. Indeed, I can’t say I really blame them…”
“It has to be a lord. You said it yourself, remember? No one else is likely to command the power and organization needed to post so many libels. Derby’s not just my suspect. Thomas suggested him, too. And we both know the Earl no longer favors me.”
“So, what's your plan?”
“Plan?” Kit replied dryly.
“The Earl of Derby is an heir to the throne. When we arrive at his castle, you can't just barge in, accusing him of conspiracy.”
“No. I'll knock first.”
“He's always been very cordial to me.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“Just because he canceled your patronage, I don't think–”
“It's one thing to cancel patronage, and quite another to give no reason for it.”
Will shook his head, unconvinced. Kit stood up straighter and turned to him.
“He's up to something. The Earl was a fixture at court. Now he's a recluse. Virtually no one's heard of him for the last five months.” He arched an eyebrow. “That's worth a few questions, don't you think?”
Will gave a dubious nod. They yanked their bags up from the floor as a carriage finally wheeled into the yard towards them.
During the journey, the rocking of the cab often coaxed Will to sleep, but Kit remained awake and tried to write.
On the first day, he laid a few leaves of parchment over his lap and wrote the title ‘Hero and Leander’ at
On the reverse side was the original draft of the libel posted throughout London. Thomas and Whitgift had dictated the wording to a clerk who had copied it onto the draft. A trusted printmaker had then printed the draft thirty times onto much larger parchment. Even in the dim light of the stairwell, the signature ‘CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE’ stood out easily to the eye. Through connecting the draft to Whitgift’s bond to pay the printer, Thomas had enough evidence to prove that the Archbishop was unquestionably involved with the libels. In contrast, Thomas had made sure nothing linked himself with the crime.
Frizer's cheeks reddened in admiration.
“Wasn't it dangerous?”
“It'd be far more dangerous not to have it.” Thomas slowed and cocked his head. “Remember, the first rule of espionage: never let your guard down.”
Frizer nodded wisely as they turned down the last flight of stairs.
“Should thing's go wrong,” Thomas continued, “good old Whitgift's the Archbishop of Canterbury, Primate of all England, second only to the royal family. Where's my protection against that?”
Frizer shrugged. Thomas looked at him searchingly, gave a deep sigh, and waved the parchment below his nose.
“This!”
“Oh...”
“This is my protection, you tickle-brained lout!”
Frizer quickly nodded his head.
Thomas burst forward in annoyance, slipped the bond back into his coat, and walked across the hall of the main building. Frizer quickened his pace to keep up. They pushed out of the exit and into the night.
SCENE TWO
London. Coaching Inn.
I n order to question the Earl of Derby, Kit and Will had to travel the immense distance from London to the county of Cheshire in the northwest of England. Such a journey took the best part of a week and was taxing even for the young and healthy, therefore they decided to take a coach rather than suffer the saddle-sores and weather exposure involved in riding horses.
Surrounded by the clatter, shouts, and passengers of the inn, Kit and Will waited for their carriage to arrive at the inn’s courtyard and pick them up.
“It’s strange,” said Kit wistfully, “I was just thinking… I may never see my next birthday.”
“When is it?” Will replied.
“February.”
“Really? What year?”
“Every year,” Kit said with a tiny smile.
Will rolled his eyes.
“I love sarcasm first thing in the morning.” He crossed his arms. “Anyway, why must our investigation start with Derby? There must be plenty of other people who wish you harm. Indeed, I can’t say I really blame them…”
“It has to be a lord. You said it yourself, remember? No one else is likely to command the power and organization needed to post so many libels. Derby’s not just my suspect. Thomas suggested him, too. And we both know the Earl no longer favors me.”
“So, what's your plan?”
“Plan?” Kit replied dryly.
“The Earl of Derby is an heir to the throne. When we arrive at his castle, you can't just barge in, accusing him of conspiracy.”
“No. I'll knock first.”
“He's always been very cordial to me.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“Just because he canceled your patronage, I don't think–”
“It's one thing to cancel patronage, and quite another to give no reason for it.”
Will shook his head, unconvinced. Kit stood up straighter and turned to him.
“He's up to something. The Earl was a fixture at court. Now he's a recluse. Virtually no one's heard of him for the last five months.” He arched an eyebrow. “That's worth a few questions, don't you think?”
Will gave a dubious nod. They yanked their bags up from the floor as a carriage finally wheeled into the yard towards them.
During the journey, the rocking of the cab often coaxed Will to sleep, but Kit remained awake and tried to write.
On the first day, he laid a few leaves of parchment over his lap and wrote the title ‘Hero and Leander’ at
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