Tamburlaine Must Die

Tamburlaine Must Die by Louise Welsh Read Free Book Online

Book: Tamburlaine Must Die by Louise Welsh Read Free Book Online
Authors: Louise Welsh
Tags: Fiction, General
eye and signalled deftly for three refills. A toast to
theatre.'

    Blaize
drained his draft in one long gulp, hiding his expression behind his
cup. He set the empty vessel back on the bar, then wiped his mouth on
the back of his hand. When he spoke, his voice was laced with perfect
patience.

    `So,
you know each other well?? 'Tolerably.'

    'I
thought back to the little Dutch town of Flushing where we had shared
a room until Baynes, unnerved by the business in hand or hoping for
preferment, I was never sure which, accused me of coining and
blasphemy. I'd counter charged and we'd been dragged back, under
guard, to London, both of us guilty and unwilling to hang. Though it
should have, made me cautious, the memory was reassuring. I'd faced
disaster before and lived to meet it over again. I might yet survive
to hang another day and this faithless spy, who'd played the priest
for both sides, who slid and slipped through the darksome edges of
several cities, might be the key to unlock Tamburlaine.

    Baynes
gave me a wink designed to exile differences to the past and raised
his cup toasting our friendship, unsure of Blaize and ready to slip
with espionage ease into any role assigned. I lifted my own drink,
returning the salute. The rims of our cups touched and our eyes met.
I smiled that I could think him Lucifer; he was at worst a minor
Devil, inclined to wickedness but without the wit to execute it
unaided.

    `Master
Baynes is an habitue of the theatre.' `I visit as often as I can.'
The little man beamed at Blaize.

    `He
likes its twists and turns, though sometimes it can frighten.'

    Aye,
I have been frightened near to death on more than one occasion.'

    Blaize
knew we spoke in riddles but could not fathom our purpose.

    `Sometimes
I wonder that we call them plays,' he ventured.

    Baynes
spluttered on his drink.

    `True
enough, it often seems no game.' I gave Richard Baynes a warning
look, not wanting Blaize tangled in the kind of affairs with which
this imp concerned himself. He caught my meaning and changed tack,
asking Blaize, `And you, Sir, are you also a writer??

    'I'm
better known for treading the boards.' `It's a wonder I have never
seen you. But no mind, we have met now and that calls for further
libation.'

    I
stepped in to retrieve my friend's reputation. `This man is one of
the finest players in London.' .

    Blaize
scowled at my speech. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped back more
ale. Baynes appeared immune to his distress. He laughed and clapped
the finest player in London on the back better to stir the pot of his
hubris.

    `Then
I have most definitely seen you. It's just that I don't remember!'

    Blaize's
darkening looks, bitter as an abandoned bride's, should have warned
me, but when Baynes dismissed Blaize and returned to me demanding,
`Now what about your poor damned Faustus?, I found myself laughing at
his attentions and the actor's distress.

    Baynes
slammed the surface of the table. Our drinks trembled in their cups,
miniature oceans on the edge of a storm.

    `Could
he not be saved? Zounds! Surely God would be merciful to such a
learned man?

    In
these times when men turn the talk to religion, it is safer to draw
it to something else, like their mother's whoring, their father's
cupidity, children's stupidity. Better to compare his sister's
breasts and holiest parts with his wife's, than discuss Christ or the
apostles. I knew to be beware of Baynes and his like. He and I had
fished for traitors in our younger days using blasphemies for bait.
We were the same kind of men. And that should have been warning
enough. Yet, who understands you like your twin? The room swam and I
was at one with the tavern dwellers, the prostitutes and sinners. I
was with my own kind and this low place suited me better than all of
Walsingham's luxury and Ralegh's philosophising.

    Baynes
swore on Christ's wounds and I answered, `God abandoned his own son.
Why should he be more merciful to Faustus? They weren't even

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