1644
DAY FIVE: THURSDAY
An opportunity has arisen today, hence why you catch me not in the morning and abed, but early in the afternoon. There was some planning involved and I’ve had to go to some places and speak to some people I think you would rather not be seen with. You know how it is? And if you don’t like it, what can I say? We all have our little secrets, now don’t we?
What it is, is this - a meeting has been arranged. I know, that in itself doesn't sound interesting at all - God knows my abhorrence for any kind of situation where I have to be civil to another person. I barely tolerate Flit, but, you know, we each have our crosses to bear, and mine is a tiny rat-like person with habits to match. Little git.
Still, I’m making use of his snivelly motivations today. This meeting, I hear you ask - well, you’re probably asking. I’ve no idea if you are or aren’t, quite frankly, but then it doesn't matter, does it?
Well, first thing this morning, two unsavoury gentlemen wandered into my Church, while I was strategically tallying the collection money. Creative accounting is something I thrived at in school. And when I say school, I mean Mr Greville’s Backstreet Acquiring Business School. Ah, Greville. How he swung in the wind on those gallows! It was almost poetic, except for the bulging eyes and the bulging tongue. Oh, and the blue face. Block those out, and he was like a gentle collection of rags swaying in the breeze. Where was I? Oh, right.
These two men were enquiring on behalf of their superiors if they could use my Church as a place to hold this said meeting. I would have immediately said no, but something about the situation suggested money was involved, money that could line my pockets, no less. So, of course I said yes. Anyway, right now, there in the vestry are Major Nathaniel Fairbrother of the Royalists, and Sir Cecil Bunday of the Parliamentarians. They have decided to use Upper Vaxham as a neutral place in order to hold peace talks - unsanctioned, of course. If Charlie or Crommie catch wind of it, I’m guessing this humble town will become a blood bath. So it’s in my best interests to keep shtum. Which I am. However -
- However, I do have a Flit, down in the old smuggling hole, which comes out into the vestry - listening for anything juicy. Hey, I’m not stupid. Just greedy.
“Psst! Flit! Anything?” Look at that furry head! You’d drown it if you thought it would die.
“Some law stuff, like establishing their positions, you know - the party of the first part recognises the party of the second part. I think they’ve decided on chicken for tea, with wine. Oh, and they said something about the Summer Solstice, but it was all in posh talk, so I didn't get it.” Frankly, Flit, I didn't realise you had that large of a vocabulary! Establishing? Recognises? Something?
“Right, well keep on it. They’re bound to say something interesting eventually. And what is this fascination with the bloody Solstice? That - that was a rhetorical question by the way, Flit - Oh, never mind. Just keep listening, will you?” There goes that disease ridden scalp. Looks like a wart has been shaved and presented in clothes. Well, barely clothes. Rags is a description that’s an insult to rags. Tattered cloth - dirty, filthy - wait, I’m getting off the point again. There’s still plenty more to do on this con, if I remain cautious. Right. Out of the Church, and time for the pub.
Oh, my God. Now I’ve seen everything. Ranker is smiling. Someone hold me up, before I faint!
“Rector! How wonderful it is to see you? Please, come! Want a drink?”
“Erm - yes? Wait, it’s not poisoned, is it?” Was that a laugh, or is he choking?
“On the house!” Christ! I really am going to faint! What’s this? Cake? Why is there cake on the bar? Ah, the Persuaders. They must’ve brought it in with them. Persuaders? Ah, now these are interesting, if largely weaselly types of people.
Who are the Persuaders, you ask? Well, often when these Majors and the like come into neutral towns, like ours, they bring with them Persuaders. These smarmy gits are the ones who schmooze a town and its populace into supporting their side in the war. And sometimes, such as cases like this one, when there are Persuaders from both sides in one town, out comes the coin. The bribes. My money. Soon to be, anyway.
Look at them? Like snakes, twisting in the tall grass, slithering over to their prey, winding up them, until they - crush! - the life out of them. That’s my bloody job. And look at their poor leafleters. They’re usually two young stupid kids who follow the armies around. They just stand there, like statues, handing out the rubbish propaganda each party spews relentlessly, through their devilish forked tongues! Like I said, that’s my bloody job!
Right. I’m going to sit in that corner there, before Ranker comes to his senses. Oh, God, he’s still smiling. What is the world coming to?
“You there! You look like the type of chap who understands the importance of protection?” He isn't talking to me, is he? Sounds like an Insurance Salesman. Ah, he’s talking to that barfly over there. Good. Last thing I need now is a slurry of rubbish about which side is best. In the end it won’t matter a jot to the outcome of my con, anyway. I couldn't care less if they promised us flight, invisibility or riches. Wait a second. If they promised riches, I might need to think again. Yeah. Fat chance. You know the sorts - they promise you the world, and once you accept them, sign on the dotted line, they sweep the carpet from under you, drop you on your saggy arse and laugh as they bleed you dry of everything, bankrupt the town and move on. I’ve heard it happen to a few towns further north.
“Don’t listen to him, sir! He is full of untruths. The Parliamentarians are honourable men, with the desire to look after even people like you. Let the Royalists in, and, whoosh! There goes the neighbourhood! They’ll skin you sooner than look at you!” Ah, tit for tat. Half of that sentence being one of my favourite things. Trust me, they’re pretty much different heads of the same coin. Both will take you for all you’ve got. Hey, so will I, but at least I’m honest about it. Wait - okay, never mind.
“Sir! Take a leaflet! Brian?” That’s the Royalist leafleter. Wipe your nose, you disgusting boy! Or - hang on - is that brain fluid leaking out his nose from disuse? “As you can see, what the Royalists offer you is protection, advantages for the businessman, such as exemption from the Ship Money Tax of 1635 and, if you note here, under the asterisk, that if you - yes right here - if you support the Royalist cause, you will most certainly not - get your - head cut off? See?” He has a point, doesn't he? Wait. Here comes the other one with a counter argument.
“Ah, but sir, take one of our leaflets!” And that’s the other leafleter, Paul. Look at them standing next to each other? Like a pair of rotten teeth that need pulling, or dripping posts after a dog’s been at them, “As you will see, the Parliamentarians promise equal rule, meaning even a man such as yourself plays a part in constructing the country! Not your thing? Fine! How about this? A free horse (one per household, not available to women or children, up to the value of one servant) for every free man! How can you refuse such an offer?” I know I could. Quite easily. What the Hell do I need with a horse? Except to eat it. And I’m not French, thank God. Oh crap. They’re coming over to me! I wonder if I can - bugger.
“Sir! Now let me guess! Are you a man of the cloth?” I don’t know which one this is. They look virtually identical. Only identified by their leafleters, it seems.
“What gave it away?”
“The outfit, sir!” So he says without any sign of irony.
“Yes, the outfit!” Okay, so this is going to get confusing. To my eternal shame, I do know their names, so I’ll insert them here. The Royalist is Lionel Knevett - the Parliamentarian Arnold Sheldrake.
“As it happens, I am Rector of the Church of Upper Vaxham.”
“Then you would know the Town Council?”
“Know it? I’m the Chairman.” Possibly. Who knows what they get up to in my absence? Probably hold orgies and magical ceremonies while I’m not there. Quite frankly with some of the more outside Council Members, I really wouldn't be surprised. There’s got to be at least two or three Pagans amongst them, and you know what Pagans get up to. Personally I don't, and I’m not sure it’s worth knowing. There’s enough blood letting and chanting as it is in the Church, never mind that which is contained inside Paganistic rituals and Devil Worship. Although I hear there is a young man, called Matthew Hopkins, who goes around burning witches. Wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of him. Enough of that for now though. No spoilers for you.
“Could you - could you get me a meeting -“
“- Me too!”
“- Whatever. A meeting with the Council? It would make my job so much easier?”
“Mine too. Stop staring at me like that Knevett.”
“You first, Sheldrake.”
“Hey! I was here first!”
“No, I was! In fact I came yesterday!”
“Pff! I’ve been here two days!”
“Well, I’ve -“
“Okay! Okay! If it’ll shut the pair of you up, then I’ll sort it. You two at the back got nothing to say? No, not the person behind you, I mean you? No you - oh forget it. Come with me, gentlemen?” I’ll take them the quick route. Can’t be bothered with those two wittering on for ever. Right, through here, down here, through this house - excuse me, madam! - out the back, down this alley and - there! “Wait here, if you would? I shall see how the land lies first.” Up these bloody stairs again. Ah, I can hear talking. So I was right, there is a Council Meeting. Good. Just open the door and -
“Oh, not you.”
“Good to see you too, Dash!” And there’s Funnel, Ternby, Wilter, Sosander - some other bods, most of which I haven't bothered to learn their names. No point. They’re irrelevant. Oh wait, there’s Bradshaw. Nearly forgot him.
“What do you want?”
“So brutal, Dash! I presume I still have a seat at the Chairman end?”
“For now. Like I say, what do you want?”
“Well, and greetings gentlemen, I bumped into a couple of young fellows interested in approaching the Council with a proposal -“
“Wait, you only use words like that when you’re up to something. And I’ve still not received a satisfactory answer to the location of His Lordship?” Damn. He knows me too well. But, I like to think, I’ve still got one or two more tricks up my breeches.
“Ah, well, this is potentially of the town’s benefit, you see, so, I thought best to -“
“Whatever. Show them up.” Petulant git, isn't he?
Right. Back down the creaky stairs. Ah they're both still there, the Persuaders. For a minute there I thought they might have killed each other. But like any salesman, they remain genial to a fault. And that’s what I’m relying on, “Alright gentlemen, follow me - and mind that step? And that one. In fact, just walk on the right side of them - except for that one. Sorry. Here we are, the Town Council. Please, enter.” And now I’ll take my Chairman seat and -
“Knevett!” What?
“Dash!” Who? Oh God. Don't tell me -
“Knevett, you old cur! How goes it? Not still pushing that paper, are you?” I think I might be sick.
“Dash, you reprobate! Not still guzzling down the Old Fox Hair? I remember - Oh, right. Mixed company -”
“No, please, go on.” Yes, do. I want to know. I want ammunition against Dash. Spill it, Knevett!
“I’m Arnold Sheldrake, by the way.” You tell ‘em, Shelly!
“Sheldrone, hello. So, Knevett, I see you’re with a new crew? Got tired of the London scene, eh?”
“Oh, you know? One party after another - especially over at Lady Hemperane’s apartment -“
“She’s not still going, is she? God, I remember - when was it?”
“1629.”
“That’s right! Right after old Hofty bit the - well, you know.”
“Yes. We still light a candle for old Hofty.”
“Uhm -“
“Yes, Sheltey?”
“Sheldrip - Sheldrake, I mean. Can we -“
“In a minute, sir. Anyway, Knevett, you rascal, what can I do for you?” Entertaining, isn't it? Now, I leave it up to you to decide whether I am being sarcastic or not. Sod it. I was. Whatever.
“Ah, you see, I represent an interested party intent on the protection of the town of Vaxham -“
“- Upper Vaxham -“ See, thats why I love that kid Bradshaw? A man after my own heart.
“- I do beg your pardon. The protection of Upper Vaxham. My superiors would like to extend this invitation to you and your people - to live under the protection of the Crown, in that you will be protected against the foul stench of oppression from those oppressive Parliamentarians and their vapid, traitorous, dirty ways. Your women and children will be safe, and your servants will be able to walk the streets in sure and certain knowledge that, even at the earliest hour, a Royal Soldier will be ever vigilant and watchful over them while they continue their duty. We have to work together, and make a better England! The businessman will be protected, as will the tax paying individual! No one will go hungry, as long as the King sits upon the throne! God save King Charles!”
“I, on the other hand, think you should choose the Parliamentarians. Sure, we don't have the international pull like the Royalists, but we are all for the people, from the lowly servant to the highest Lord! We vow to protect everyone, when the Royalists spew their propaganda, claiming to support the individual, and the servant, when it is the people who provide them with business and financial support they care for. They just want titles and riches. They don’t care for the Butcher, nor the Baker. No. But we Parliamentarians believe in one man, one vote. And the highest earners? They should share the wealth. They should help the more deprived, the less well off with financial and social support! And we pledge, when we come into power, to maintain the structure we so dearly love today, with the added bonus of lower taxes for the lower income Englishman, and higher living standards for the Puritan man!”
“Right, well -“ Just what I was going to say, Dash. Come on, I’ve only got sixteen days left, you know?
“Sounds like hokum to me.” Wait, was that Ternby? I didn't even know he could speak!
“Yeah. What do we need with protecting? We’re a neutral town, we are.” And - and Wilter? I always thought he was dead! I thought he died three years ago and was propped up in his chair ever since? I mean, have you seen the flies that land on him? And he never bats an eyelid. I’m too shocked to speak.
“Well, I have to agree, Knevett - and you, the other guy. We are a neutral town, I am afraid. We couldn't possibly be persuaded to join either side. It’s against the very nature of our town, you see? We promise our traders and businessmen that we will not affiliate with either side for as long as possible, as this would damage our currency. I hope you understand, Knevett and - whatever your name is? It is our position, our statute and we are not for erring. Nice to see you again though, Knevett. Hopefully I can get a minute away from here and come see you and Mary back in Old London Town. Like the old days, eh?”
“I think we may all be past that now, Dash, old boy. But I understand your position and your town’s position. It had to be done though, you understand?”
“Oh, sure. Business is business, after all.”
“Quite.” Whatever. Get out now, so I can work my magic. Oh, just look at the face on Sheldrake! It’s not his fault, not really. Personally I thought he argued quite well, but then - you know? Mind you, if it had worked, my plan wouldn’t. So ner ner.
“Well, you both spoke eloquently. Gentlemen? See you, erm, whenever the next meeting is. After you two fine men?”
“Posster, we meet daily, and you know it.”
“Ah, so we do. See you tomorrow then!” Like Hell.
Anyway, I’ve got to check up on Flit and make sure he’s still making notes, in case this all turns sour. Always prepare an exit. It’s what Greville taught me. Shame his exit strategy was death. Still, we all have to have one, because one never knows.
I presume those two Persuaders will hang around a little longer? There’s the divide and conquer approach still to come, if I’m not mistaken? You know, the one where they wait for each Member of the Council and badger them until they agree, then they get the vote they want? It’s not beneath either of them, I’m betting. It doesn't matter. By the time I complete my plan, it’ll be all over bar the shouting. And that will be me doing the shouting. I only hope it’s in joy and not in pain from being impaled on something sharp and pointy. That reminds me. Flit. Is he still under there? Good.
“Psst! Flit! Anything?” Oh, God that scared me! You would think I’d have gotten used to that poisonous little face staring up at me, but nope! Still shocks the Hell out of me.
“There’s been more spoken about the Solstice. They’ve been talking about oddness occurring everywhere around this County, but then they also said that Vaxham Cricket Team aren't as good as Weltendrey, and that’s just utter nonsense -“
“Flit, you know my feelings about Cricket.” I abhor it with all the will in my soul. Still, we do have a good bowling team. I’ll give them that.
“Right, well, everything else I writ down -“
“- Wrote -“
“- Wroted -“
“Now now, Flit. This isn't Pantomime -“
“Okay, well, I heard they are doing Soldier’s Pay tomorrow, if that’s any good?”
“Does it sound good? Oh, you mean - plenty of cash lying about for a fine thief like me?” Aw, just look at that wart ridden, dirty, pockmarked, disease affected face of his! Always eager to please! Just - do it from a distance, there’s a boy?
“And they said tea is from eleven now, not ten thirty.”
“Right, well, now you’ve gone and spoiled it. I was going to - whatever, it’s too late now.” Serves him right if he gets some disease from being down there now. Impertinence of the man! I simply won’t accept it from the help. He should feel himself lucky I don’t plant a well aimed boot on his cranium! Calm down, Wilfred. Do your breathing exercises.
“Can I come out now?”
“Are they finished, Flit?”
“No.”
“Then you answered your own question.” I swear. Much more like that from him, and I might consider putting him out to pasture. Apparently there’s a little Farm out a-way from Vaxham, where they let the servants run free. Get all the hay they can eat. A whole three hours of sleep. It’s spoiling them, if you ask me, but, you know? I’m just an old softie at heart. Right. What next? Of course. Money. I mean Persuaders. Then money.
Ah, here comes the lump of shit in the stew of life - Sticks Letty, “Mr Letty.” We’re back on formal terms now.
“Rector! Do you hear the bells of freedom? Do you hear the chimes of debate? Do you hear the alarms of fealty? They ring dull, don’t they?” I think, in fact, Letty, that you are someone from Planet Moron. Granted, one of their more erudite population, but still a Moron.
“Look! They dance on the rope! They dance because they failed! They dance because they could no longer fly!” I hope that’s in metaphor, or I should just bash his head in now and be done with it. I’m sure there’s a logic, a pattern and a meaning to all he says, but frankly I’ve got neither the time, the inclination nor the patience to work it out. If, for instance, he’s instructing me on the finer points of future ventures, or how fate intervenes in the lives of the individual - let me tell you, there are people around to do that for you, and do it all day - like Fenrobaster Maybork.
Not his real name, of course. No. He is, or was - I’ve no sure way of knowing whether he bothered the wrong person once to often - a philosopher, a crank and an illusionist. But principally he considers - considered - whatever - that he was the eminent authority on the future and England’s place within it. No one believes a word he says. I did, once, and missed out on a nice juicy con. Nearly killed him myself for it. If he is still alive, he’ll more than likely be in a hole, in a cave, in water somewhere near Who The Hell Knows.
“Dancing. Rope. Got it.” I do. I do. Actually, no I don’t, but still -
“They gather for you Rector! They gather!” So do the big carrion birds, for your brain, mate. Still, there he goes again, off to - actually I’ve got no idea where he goes or what he does? Probably disappears into a vortex of - something or other. You know what? I think I’m past caring? Oh, good. At least there’s a tiny ray of sunshine on this day. The Persuaders are separated. I’ll grab this one first.
“Ah, there you are! I was looking for you, you know?”
“You were?”
“Yes! Sheldrake, wasn't it? Arnold. Arnie. Arn. ‘A’ Man. It seems the Council has taken a brighter view of your plight. I know, couldn't believe it myself? I think Dash felt sorry for how he treated you. He’s like that. Good man, so he is, but not so subtle on the social cues, if you catch my whatsisname?” Good. It’s got him. The tiniest glint of a smile. I tell you, compliments can drop the breeches of the highest Lord - if that’s your peccadillo. It’s not mine, I hasten to add. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you. Don't they say you’ve got to try everything once? Whatever. It’s working, and that’s the main thing.
“Are you sure? I mean, I know my pitch was strong, just it seemed -“
“Oh, I know what you mean! Oh, goodness, were you eloquent? I nearly shed a tear for the fate of old England with those beautiful words you wove, flowing around the room, like pretty little angels on high!” And a bit of the old religion usually nails it.
“So, it’s certain? I mean, the Council is all for the Parliamentarians?”
“Well, if it was just me - and if it was, trust me, you would be a shoe in - but there’s the odd dissenter, you know, the one or two who are still unsure, erring on the side of caution, as it were?”
“You mean -“
“Grease the wheel, so to speak, affect the outcome through subtle, secret ways? Bring about a satisfactory conclusion, to be sure?”
“Of course! We are given a small amount, in way of - persuasion - if you like?” I like! I like!
“Really? Well, it’s not for me to say, but - ooh! That much? Let me see what I can do! And, between you and me and this wooden fence here? I think we’re on to a winner! Oh, and it goes without saying, don't mention a word of it to that Royalist in there. Don't want him getting the wrong idea, do we?”
“No! No, of course not! Discretion is the better part of valour!” Is it? Well, I’ll go to our Mother’s Outhouse, whoever she is and wherever it’s situated. Right. Stay there, you. While I go inside.
Ranker doesn't look as pleased as before. Oh well. I’ll be in and out in a thrice anyway - if a thrice is a big grin after another bag of cash falls conveniently into my lap.
There he is. End of the bar, “Hello. Knevett is it? Lionel Knevett? Such a shame. Such a shame you didn't get accepted? I was really pulling for you, you know? Those Parliamentarians? Flash in the pan! Just wait until the good King sees these traitors off, eh?”
“Hmm. Thanks.” This one’s going to be a bit tougher, it looks like. Right.
“Yeah. And Dash? Sir Geoffrey? Salt of the Earth, that man! I would jump in front of a musket for him! Oh, I know we look like we’re at loggerheads, but it’s our little way, you know? I’m sure - in fact I know - you’re very well acquainted with that man’s sense of humour!”
“Well, yes, he does have a wicked sense of the absurd.” Does he? He’s never shown it. He has, however, shown his utter gittishness on more than a dozen occasions. Still, it’s working, so -
“Yes! Doesn't he? Shame. Shame about it all really. Still -“
“Yes?” Pulling him in! It’s a big ‘un!
“I just know he would want to agree to the banner of Royal protection. It’s the others, see? They're stubborn. If only - no. Forget it.”
“What? Forget what?”
“No. I couldn't possibly. It’s almost an insult to -“
“No, really? What?”
“Well, if you could see your way to, I don't know, give some motivation to the other Council Members? Then perhaps they can drop their blinkered view and see the real, proper outcome of this whole debacle, and know they're on the winning side?”
“You mean - this?” Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s bigger than the other one! I’m bloody minted!
“Oh! This much? Are you sure?”
“Just to make sure, eh? You know what I mean?”
“Mr Knevett! You are an absolute gent! Oh, you shall be in my prayers tonight! As will all the men of the Royalist Army! And of course, His Majesty, King Charles! God save the King!”
“Yes! God save him!” I think I’m going to piss myself, I’m so happy! I know, too much information, but still -
“You have made me a very happy man, Rector! God Bless You!”
“And you, my son.” Yes! Get in there, my son! “Ah, sadly I have to leave you now. Prayers and my flock - you understand?” And here comes my smuggest smile. There! That’d strip paint that would!
“Oh course! I hope to see you soon!” I bloody hope not! With any luck I’ll be out of this shit hole with this little bundle in the next day or so. Just got to get it to the Roundabouts, and -
“Didn’t I bar you?”
“Sorry, Ranker! No time to stop! Missions of the Church, you know?” That’s it, Wilfred! Scarper, like your bloody life depends on it! And, right now it does! Ow! Never mind, just a twist of the ankle! Right! In the Church and -
“Rector!” It’s all bloody go here, ain’t it?
“Sir Cecil! Major Fairbrother! How goes it?”
“Alas, a stalemate? We certainly gave it our best shot, I can tell you! What do you say, Cecil?”
“Certainly, Nathaniel. Sadly we come to an en passe! Still, there are the North West talks to come!”
“That there are, my friend! So good of you to allow us use of the vestry, Rector!”
“Indeed! Indeed! Luxurious, one might say!”
“Ah, for God’s work, sirs, I lay my Church open to your return! Please, let me see you to the door?”
“Most kind! Wouldn't you say, Nathaniel?”
“I would certainly concur, Sir Cecil!” Good. Now bugger off. There they go! Ah, and here come the Persuaders! Not forgetting Brian and Paul. What’s that idiot doing? No! Don’t wave at me with that leaflet in your hand, you pillock! Oh, God! Now the other one’s seen it! And he’s worked it out! Bugger! Quick, shut the bloody doors!
“Flit! Get the bar for the door! And the brace! And the kitchen sink while you’re at it! Hurry!”
I know. Keep quiet. Pretend we’re out, and they’ll go away eventually -
An opportunity has arisen today, hence why you catch me not in the morning and abed, but early in the afternoon. There was some planning involved and I’ve had to go to some places and speak to some people I think you would rather not be seen with. You know how it is? And if you don’t like it, what can I say? We all have our little secrets, now don’t we?
What it is, is this - a meeting has been arranged. I know, that in itself doesn't sound interesting at all - God knows my abhorrence for any kind of situation where I have to be civil to another person. I barely tolerate Flit, but, you know, we each have our crosses to bear, and mine is a tiny rat-like person with habits to match. Little git.
Still, I’m making use of his snivelly motivations today. This meeting, I hear you ask - well, you’re probably asking. I’ve no idea if you are or aren’t, quite frankly, but then it doesn't matter, does it?
Well, first thing this morning, two unsavoury gentlemen wandered into my Church, while I was strategically tallying the collection money. Creative accounting is something I thrived at in school. And when I say school, I mean Mr Greville’s Backstreet Acquiring Business School. Ah, Greville. How he swung in the wind on those gallows! It was almost poetic, except for the bulging eyes and the bulging tongue. Oh, and the blue face. Block those out, and he was like a gentle collection of rags swaying in the breeze. Where was I? Oh, right.
These two men were enquiring on behalf of their superiors if they could use my Church as a place to hold this said meeting. I would have immediately said no, but something about the situation suggested money was involved, money that could line my pockets, no less. So, of course I said yes. Anyway, right now, there in the vestry are Major Nathaniel Fairbrother of the Royalists, and Sir Cecil Bunday of the Parliamentarians. They have decided to use Upper Vaxham as a neutral place in order to hold peace talks - unsanctioned, of course. If Charlie or Crommie catch wind of it, I’m guessing this humble town will become a blood bath. So it’s in my best interests to keep shtum. Which I am. However -
- However, I do have a Flit, down in the old smuggling hole, which comes out into the vestry - listening for anything juicy. Hey, I’m not stupid. Just greedy.
“Psst! Flit! Anything?” Look at that furry head! You’d drown it if you thought it would die.
“Some law stuff, like establishing their positions, you know - the party of the first part recognises the party of the second part. I think they’ve decided on chicken for tea, with wine. Oh, and they said something about the Summer Solstice, but it was all in posh talk, so I didn't get it.” Frankly, Flit, I didn't realise you had that large of a vocabulary! Establishing? Recognises? Something?
“Right, well keep on it. They’re bound to say something interesting eventually. And what is this fascination with the bloody Solstice? That - that was a rhetorical question by the way, Flit - Oh, never mind. Just keep listening, will you?” There goes that disease ridden scalp. Looks like a wart has been shaved and presented in clothes. Well, barely clothes. Rags is a description that’s an insult to rags. Tattered cloth - dirty, filthy - wait, I’m getting off the point again. There’s still plenty more to do on this con, if I remain cautious. Right. Out of the Church, and time for the pub.
Oh, my God. Now I’ve seen everything. Ranker is smiling. Someone hold me up, before I faint!
“Rector! How wonderful it is to see you? Please, come! Want a drink?”
“Erm - yes? Wait, it’s not poisoned, is it?” Was that a laugh, or is he choking?
“On the house!” Christ! I really am going to faint! What’s this? Cake? Why is there cake on the bar? Ah, the Persuaders. They must’ve brought it in with them. Persuaders? Ah, now these are interesting, if largely weaselly types of people.
Who are the Persuaders, you ask? Well, often when these Majors and the like come into neutral towns, like ours, they bring with them Persuaders. These smarmy gits are the ones who schmooze a town and its populace into supporting their side in the war. And sometimes, such as cases like this one, when there are Persuaders from both sides in one town, out comes the coin. The bribes. My money. Soon to be, anyway.
Look at them? Like snakes, twisting in the tall grass, slithering over to their prey, winding up them, until they - crush! - the life out of them. That’s my bloody job. And look at their poor leafleters. They’re usually two young stupid kids who follow the armies around. They just stand there, like statues, handing out the rubbish propaganda each party spews relentlessly, through their devilish forked tongues! Like I said, that’s my bloody job!
Right. I’m going to sit in that corner there, before Ranker comes to his senses. Oh, God, he’s still smiling. What is the world coming to?
“You there! You look like the type of chap who understands the importance of protection?” He isn't talking to me, is he? Sounds like an Insurance Salesman. Ah, he’s talking to that barfly over there. Good. Last thing I need now is a slurry of rubbish about which side is best. In the end it won’t matter a jot to the outcome of my con, anyway. I couldn't care less if they promised us flight, invisibility or riches. Wait a second. If they promised riches, I might need to think again. Yeah. Fat chance. You know the sorts - they promise you the world, and once you accept them, sign on the dotted line, they sweep the carpet from under you, drop you on your saggy arse and laugh as they bleed you dry of everything, bankrupt the town and move on. I’ve heard it happen to a few towns further north.
“Don’t listen to him, sir! He is full of untruths. The Parliamentarians are honourable men, with the desire to look after even people like you. Let the Royalists in, and, whoosh! There goes the neighbourhood! They’ll skin you sooner than look at you!” Ah, tit for tat. Half of that sentence being one of my favourite things. Trust me, they’re pretty much different heads of the same coin. Both will take you for all you’ve got. Hey, so will I, but at least I’m honest about it. Wait - okay, never mind.
“Sir! Take a leaflet! Brian?” That’s the Royalist leafleter. Wipe your nose, you disgusting boy! Or - hang on - is that brain fluid leaking out his nose from disuse? “As you can see, what the Royalists offer you is protection, advantages for the businessman, such as exemption from the Ship Money Tax of 1635 and, if you note here, under the asterisk, that if you - yes right here - if you support the Royalist cause, you will most certainly not - get your - head cut off? See?” He has a point, doesn't he? Wait. Here comes the other one with a counter argument.
“Ah, but sir, take one of our leaflets!” And that’s the other leafleter, Paul. Look at them standing next to each other? Like a pair of rotten teeth that need pulling, or dripping posts after a dog’s been at them, “As you will see, the Parliamentarians promise equal rule, meaning even a man such as yourself plays a part in constructing the country! Not your thing? Fine! How about this? A free horse (one per household, not available to women or children, up to the value of one servant) for every free man! How can you refuse such an offer?” I know I could. Quite easily. What the Hell do I need with a horse? Except to eat it. And I’m not French, thank God. Oh crap. They’re coming over to me! I wonder if I can - bugger.
“Sir! Now let me guess! Are you a man of the cloth?” I don’t know which one this is. They look virtually identical. Only identified by their leafleters, it seems.
“What gave it away?”
“The outfit, sir!” So he says without any sign of irony.
“Yes, the outfit!” Okay, so this is going to get confusing. To my eternal shame, I do know their names, so I’ll insert them here. The Royalist is Lionel Knevett - the Parliamentarian Arnold Sheldrake.
“As it happens, I am Rector of the Church of Upper Vaxham.”
“Then you would know the Town Council?”
“Know it? I’m the Chairman.” Possibly. Who knows what they get up to in my absence? Probably hold orgies and magical ceremonies while I’m not there. Quite frankly with some of the more outside Council Members, I really wouldn't be surprised. There’s got to be at least two or three Pagans amongst them, and you know what Pagans get up to. Personally I don't, and I’m not sure it’s worth knowing. There’s enough blood letting and chanting as it is in the Church, never mind that which is contained inside Paganistic rituals and Devil Worship. Although I hear there is a young man, called Matthew Hopkins, who goes around burning witches. Wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of him. Enough of that for now though. No spoilers for you.
“Could you - could you get me a meeting -“
“- Me too!”
“- Whatever. A meeting with the Council? It would make my job so much easier?”
“Mine too. Stop staring at me like that Knevett.”
“You first, Sheldrake.”
“Hey! I was here first!”
“No, I was! In fact I came yesterday!”
“Pff! I’ve been here two days!”
“Well, I’ve -“
“Okay! Okay! If it’ll shut the pair of you up, then I’ll sort it. You two at the back got nothing to say? No, not the person behind you, I mean you? No you - oh forget it. Come with me, gentlemen?” I’ll take them the quick route. Can’t be bothered with those two wittering on for ever. Right, through here, down here, through this house - excuse me, madam! - out the back, down this alley and - there! “Wait here, if you would? I shall see how the land lies first.” Up these bloody stairs again. Ah, I can hear talking. So I was right, there is a Council Meeting. Good. Just open the door and -
“Oh, not you.”
“Good to see you too, Dash!” And there’s Funnel, Ternby, Wilter, Sosander - some other bods, most of which I haven't bothered to learn their names. No point. They’re irrelevant. Oh wait, there’s Bradshaw. Nearly forgot him.
“What do you want?”
“So brutal, Dash! I presume I still have a seat at the Chairman end?”
“For now. Like I say, what do you want?”
“Well, and greetings gentlemen, I bumped into a couple of young fellows interested in approaching the Council with a proposal -“
“Wait, you only use words like that when you’re up to something. And I’ve still not received a satisfactory answer to the location of His Lordship?” Damn. He knows me too well. But, I like to think, I’ve still got one or two more tricks up my breeches.
“Ah, well, this is potentially of the town’s benefit, you see, so, I thought best to -“
“Whatever. Show them up.” Petulant git, isn't he?
Right. Back down the creaky stairs. Ah they're both still there, the Persuaders. For a minute there I thought they might have killed each other. But like any salesman, they remain genial to a fault. And that’s what I’m relying on, “Alright gentlemen, follow me - and mind that step? And that one. In fact, just walk on the right side of them - except for that one. Sorry. Here we are, the Town Council. Please, enter.” And now I’ll take my Chairman seat and -
“Knevett!” What?
“Dash!” Who? Oh God. Don't tell me -
“Knevett, you old cur! How goes it? Not still pushing that paper, are you?” I think I might be sick.
“Dash, you reprobate! Not still guzzling down the Old Fox Hair? I remember - Oh, right. Mixed company -”
“No, please, go on.” Yes, do. I want to know. I want ammunition against Dash. Spill it, Knevett!
“I’m Arnold Sheldrake, by the way.” You tell ‘em, Shelly!
“Sheldrone, hello. So, Knevett, I see you’re with a new crew? Got tired of the London scene, eh?”
“Oh, you know? One party after another - especially over at Lady Hemperane’s apartment -“
“She’s not still going, is she? God, I remember - when was it?”
“1629.”
“That’s right! Right after old Hofty bit the - well, you know.”
“Yes. We still light a candle for old Hofty.”
“Uhm -“
“Yes, Sheltey?”
“Sheldrip - Sheldrake, I mean. Can we -“
“In a minute, sir. Anyway, Knevett, you rascal, what can I do for you?” Entertaining, isn't it? Now, I leave it up to you to decide whether I am being sarcastic or not. Sod it. I was. Whatever.
“Ah, you see, I represent an interested party intent on the protection of the town of Vaxham -“
“- Upper Vaxham -“ See, thats why I love that kid Bradshaw? A man after my own heart.
“- I do beg your pardon. The protection of Upper Vaxham. My superiors would like to extend this invitation to you and your people - to live under the protection of the Crown, in that you will be protected against the foul stench of oppression from those oppressive Parliamentarians and their vapid, traitorous, dirty ways. Your women and children will be safe, and your servants will be able to walk the streets in sure and certain knowledge that, even at the earliest hour, a Royal Soldier will be ever vigilant and watchful over them while they continue their duty. We have to work together, and make a better England! The businessman will be protected, as will the tax paying individual! No one will go hungry, as long as the King sits upon the throne! God save King Charles!”
“I, on the other hand, think you should choose the Parliamentarians. Sure, we don't have the international pull like the Royalists, but we are all for the people, from the lowly servant to the highest Lord! We vow to protect everyone, when the Royalists spew their propaganda, claiming to support the individual, and the servant, when it is the people who provide them with business and financial support they care for. They just want titles and riches. They don’t care for the Butcher, nor the Baker. No. But we Parliamentarians believe in one man, one vote. And the highest earners? They should share the wealth. They should help the more deprived, the less well off with financial and social support! And we pledge, when we come into power, to maintain the structure we so dearly love today, with the added bonus of lower taxes for the lower income Englishman, and higher living standards for the Puritan man!”
“Right, well -“ Just what I was going to say, Dash. Come on, I’ve only got sixteen days left, you know?
“Sounds like hokum to me.” Wait, was that Ternby? I didn't even know he could speak!
“Yeah. What do we need with protecting? We’re a neutral town, we are.” And - and Wilter? I always thought he was dead! I thought he died three years ago and was propped up in his chair ever since? I mean, have you seen the flies that land on him? And he never bats an eyelid. I’m too shocked to speak.
“Well, I have to agree, Knevett - and you, the other guy. We are a neutral town, I am afraid. We couldn't possibly be persuaded to join either side. It’s against the very nature of our town, you see? We promise our traders and businessmen that we will not affiliate with either side for as long as possible, as this would damage our currency. I hope you understand, Knevett and - whatever your name is? It is our position, our statute and we are not for erring. Nice to see you again though, Knevett. Hopefully I can get a minute away from here and come see you and Mary back in Old London Town. Like the old days, eh?”
“I think we may all be past that now, Dash, old boy. But I understand your position and your town’s position. It had to be done though, you understand?”
“Oh, sure. Business is business, after all.”
“Quite.” Whatever. Get out now, so I can work my magic. Oh, just look at the face on Sheldrake! It’s not his fault, not really. Personally I thought he argued quite well, but then - you know? Mind you, if it had worked, my plan wouldn’t. So ner ner.
“Well, you both spoke eloquently. Gentlemen? See you, erm, whenever the next meeting is. After you two fine men?”
“Posster, we meet daily, and you know it.”
“Ah, so we do. See you tomorrow then!” Like Hell.
Anyway, I’ve got to check up on Flit and make sure he’s still making notes, in case this all turns sour. Always prepare an exit. It’s what Greville taught me. Shame his exit strategy was death. Still, we all have to have one, because one never knows.
I presume those two Persuaders will hang around a little longer? There’s the divide and conquer approach still to come, if I’m not mistaken? You know, the one where they wait for each Member of the Council and badger them until they agree, then they get the vote they want? It’s not beneath either of them, I’m betting. It doesn't matter. By the time I complete my plan, it’ll be all over bar the shouting. And that will be me doing the shouting. I only hope it’s in joy and not in pain from being impaled on something sharp and pointy. That reminds me. Flit. Is he still under there? Good.
“Psst! Flit! Anything?” Oh, God that scared me! You would think I’d have gotten used to that poisonous little face staring up at me, but nope! Still shocks the Hell out of me.
“There’s been more spoken about the Solstice. They’ve been talking about oddness occurring everywhere around this County, but then they also said that Vaxham Cricket Team aren't as good as Weltendrey, and that’s just utter nonsense -“
“Flit, you know my feelings about Cricket.” I abhor it with all the will in my soul. Still, we do have a good bowling team. I’ll give them that.
“Right, well, everything else I writ down -“
“- Wrote -“
“- Wroted -“
“Now now, Flit. This isn't Pantomime -“
“Okay, well, I heard they are doing Soldier’s Pay tomorrow, if that’s any good?”
“Does it sound good? Oh, you mean - plenty of cash lying about for a fine thief like me?” Aw, just look at that wart ridden, dirty, pockmarked, disease affected face of his! Always eager to please! Just - do it from a distance, there’s a boy?
“And they said tea is from eleven now, not ten thirty.”
“Right, well, now you’ve gone and spoiled it. I was going to - whatever, it’s too late now.” Serves him right if he gets some disease from being down there now. Impertinence of the man! I simply won’t accept it from the help. He should feel himself lucky I don’t plant a well aimed boot on his cranium! Calm down, Wilfred. Do your breathing exercises.
“Can I come out now?”
“Are they finished, Flit?”
“No.”
“Then you answered your own question.” I swear. Much more like that from him, and I might consider putting him out to pasture. Apparently there’s a little Farm out a-way from Vaxham, where they let the servants run free. Get all the hay they can eat. A whole three hours of sleep. It’s spoiling them, if you ask me, but, you know? I’m just an old softie at heart. Right. What next? Of course. Money. I mean Persuaders. Then money.
Ah, here comes the lump of shit in the stew of life - Sticks Letty, “Mr Letty.” We’re back on formal terms now.
“Rector! Do you hear the bells of freedom? Do you hear the chimes of debate? Do you hear the alarms of fealty? They ring dull, don’t they?” I think, in fact, Letty, that you are someone from Planet Moron. Granted, one of their more erudite population, but still a Moron.
“Look! They dance on the rope! They dance because they failed! They dance because they could no longer fly!” I hope that’s in metaphor, or I should just bash his head in now and be done with it. I’m sure there’s a logic, a pattern and a meaning to all he says, but frankly I’ve got neither the time, the inclination nor the patience to work it out. If, for instance, he’s instructing me on the finer points of future ventures, or how fate intervenes in the lives of the individual - let me tell you, there are people around to do that for you, and do it all day - like Fenrobaster Maybork.
Not his real name, of course. No. He is, or was - I’ve no sure way of knowing whether he bothered the wrong person once to often - a philosopher, a crank and an illusionist. But principally he considers - considered - whatever - that he was the eminent authority on the future and England’s place within it. No one believes a word he says. I did, once, and missed out on a nice juicy con. Nearly killed him myself for it. If he is still alive, he’ll more than likely be in a hole, in a cave, in water somewhere near Who The Hell Knows.
“Dancing. Rope. Got it.” I do. I do. Actually, no I don’t, but still -
“They gather for you Rector! They gather!” So do the big carrion birds, for your brain, mate. Still, there he goes again, off to - actually I’ve got no idea where he goes or what he does? Probably disappears into a vortex of - something or other. You know what? I think I’m past caring? Oh, good. At least there’s a tiny ray of sunshine on this day. The Persuaders are separated. I’ll grab this one first.
“Ah, there you are! I was looking for you, you know?”
“You were?”
“Yes! Sheldrake, wasn't it? Arnold. Arnie. Arn. ‘A’ Man. It seems the Council has taken a brighter view of your plight. I know, couldn't believe it myself? I think Dash felt sorry for how he treated you. He’s like that. Good man, so he is, but not so subtle on the social cues, if you catch my whatsisname?” Good. It’s got him. The tiniest glint of a smile. I tell you, compliments can drop the breeches of the highest Lord - if that’s your peccadillo. It’s not mine, I hasten to add. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you. Don't they say you’ve got to try everything once? Whatever. It’s working, and that’s the main thing.
“Are you sure? I mean, I know my pitch was strong, just it seemed -“
“Oh, I know what you mean! Oh, goodness, were you eloquent? I nearly shed a tear for the fate of old England with those beautiful words you wove, flowing around the room, like pretty little angels on high!” And a bit of the old religion usually nails it.
“So, it’s certain? I mean, the Council is all for the Parliamentarians?”
“Well, if it was just me - and if it was, trust me, you would be a shoe in - but there’s the odd dissenter, you know, the one or two who are still unsure, erring on the side of caution, as it were?”
“You mean -“
“Grease the wheel, so to speak, affect the outcome through subtle, secret ways? Bring about a satisfactory conclusion, to be sure?”
“Of course! We are given a small amount, in way of - persuasion - if you like?” I like! I like!
“Really? Well, it’s not for me to say, but - ooh! That much? Let me see what I can do! And, between you and me and this wooden fence here? I think we’re on to a winner! Oh, and it goes without saying, don't mention a word of it to that Royalist in there. Don't want him getting the wrong idea, do we?”
“No! No, of course not! Discretion is the better part of valour!” Is it? Well, I’ll go to our Mother’s Outhouse, whoever she is and wherever it’s situated. Right. Stay there, you. While I go inside.
Ranker doesn't look as pleased as before. Oh well. I’ll be in and out in a thrice anyway - if a thrice is a big grin after another bag of cash falls conveniently into my lap.
There he is. End of the bar, “Hello. Knevett is it? Lionel Knevett? Such a shame. Such a shame you didn't get accepted? I was really pulling for you, you know? Those Parliamentarians? Flash in the pan! Just wait until the good King sees these traitors off, eh?”
“Hmm. Thanks.” This one’s going to be a bit tougher, it looks like. Right.
“Yeah. And Dash? Sir Geoffrey? Salt of the Earth, that man! I would jump in front of a musket for him! Oh, I know we look like we’re at loggerheads, but it’s our little way, you know? I’m sure - in fact I know - you’re very well acquainted with that man’s sense of humour!”
“Well, yes, he does have a wicked sense of the absurd.” Does he? He’s never shown it. He has, however, shown his utter gittishness on more than a dozen occasions. Still, it’s working, so -
“Yes! Doesn't he? Shame. Shame about it all really. Still -“
“Yes?” Pulling him in! It’s a big ‘un!
“I just know he would want to agree to the banner of Royal protection. It’s the others, see? They're stubborn. If only - no. Forget it.”
“What? Forget what?”
“No. I couldn't possibly. It’s almost an insult to -“
“No, really? What?”
“Well, if you could see your way to, I don't know, give some motivation to the other Council Members? Then perhaps they can drop their blinkered view and see the real, proper outcome of this whole debacle, and know they're on the winning side?”
“You mean - this?” Yes! Yes! Yes! It’s bigger than the other one! I’m bloody minted!
“Oh! This much? Are you sure?”
“Just to make sure, eh? You know what I mean?”
“Mr Knevett! You are an absolute gent! Oh, you shall be in my prayers tonight! As will all the men of the Royalist Army! And of course, His Majesty, King Charles! God save the King!”
“Yes! God save him!” I think I’m going to piss myself, I’m so happy! I know, too much information, but still -
“You have made me a very happy man, Rector! God Bless You!”
“And you, my son.” Yes! Get in there, my son! “Ah, sadly I have to leave you now. Prayers and my flock - you understand?” And here comes my smuggest smile. There! That’d strip paint that would!
“Oh course! I hope to see you soon!” I bloody hope not! With any luck I’ll be out of this shit hole with this little bundle in the next day or so. Just got to get it to the Roundabouts, and -
“Didn’t I bar you?”
“Sorry, Ranker! No time to stop! Missions of the Church, you know?” That’s it, Wilfred! Scarper, like your bloody life depends on it! And, right now it does! Ow! Never mind, just a twist of the ankle! Right! In the Church and -
“Rector!” It’s all bloody go here, ain’t it?
“Sir Cecil! Major Fairbrother! How goes it?”
“Alas, a stalemate? We certainly gave it our best shot, I can tell you! What do you say, Cecil?”
“Certainly, Nathaniel. Sadly we come to an en passe! Still, there are the North West talks to come!”
“That there are, my friend! So good of you to allow us use of the vestry, Rector!”
“Indeed! Indeed! Luxurious, one might say!”
“Ah, for God’s work, sirs, I lay my Church open to your return! Please, let me see you to the door?”
“Most kind! Wouldn't you say, Nathaniel?”
“I would certainly concur, Sir Cecil!” Good. Now bugger off. There they go! Ah, and here come the Persuaders! Not forgetting Brian and Paul. What’s that idiot doing? No! Don’t wave at me with that leaflet in your hand, you pillock! Oh, God! Now the other one’s seen it! And he’s worked it out! Bugger! Quick, shut the bloody doors!
“Flit! Get the bar for the door! And the brace! And the kitchen sink while you’re at it! Hurry!”
I know. Keep quiet. Pretend we’re out, and they’ll go away eventually -
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