Then for the final test Ned rolled up his shirt sleeve and dove his hand deep into the bottom quarter of the barrel. It may have looked undignified but his friend had assured him that it was essential. Oh well another good shirt probably ruined. He felt around and pulled up a good hand full.
It was at this point that the powder merchant Somersby became visibly upset. “Upon my soul Mistress, this is the best powder available in the city. I absolutely guarantee it with my sworn and solemn bond!”
Ned poured the clutched handful into his open palm, allowing most to cascade back into the barrel. He slowly nodded and pursed his lips. Yes, that pretty much proved his concerns and matched Rob’s suspicions. The heavy coating of black dust left on his hand was powdered charcoal, the other main constituent of the dangerous mixture, and in this case in far greater proportions than was required. Once more he shoved his arm into the barrel until his fingers could touch the bottom and scooped up one more handful. Slowly, before them all, he allowed it to cascade from his opened palm. Rough textured, weighty, some what gritty, and perhaps too sandy for black powder? Ned dusted his hands and gave a brief signal to their retinue.
Two of Gryne’s men stepped forward and firmly grasped Somersby. The powder merchant immediately began gabbling about the problems of transport, still loudly proclaiming the quality of his goods. Ned finished wiping his black hand on the fellow’s wide expanse of velvet brocade. After all it was only fair that someone else have a share of the cleaning expenses.
Meg Black swung a threatening glare in the direction of the quivering merchant who it appeared was suddenly alone. His minions had scarpered out the back door. Ned considered sounding the horn, but with the gibbering collapse of Somersby there seemed no point. The man was almost a puddle on the floor, moaning about the quality of goods these days and that he wasn’t to blame.
Meg strode across the aisle and bent over the prostrate victualler menacingly. “Master Somersby, it would appear that you intended to deceive us. That insult could only merit a suitable recompense!”
That was almost a purr with just a touch of whip. The merchant reacted appropriately and bent lower with hands clasped in supplication. “No, no, merciful Mistress…it isn’t so! Tis been so difficult to get top grade powder of late. This is all I could find!”
Here was a very interesting claim, thought Ned as he lent closer and put his mouth by the merchant’s ear. “Now, now Master Somersby, I am sure you didn’t mean to cheat us with adulterated powder. Surely it was Master Lyttlefield who supplied this reworked mixture?”
“What? Why, why yes, it’s just so! I was cheated, swindled by that cozener. Please believe me! I’ll drop the price to ninety pounds a barrel, as…as a sign of my good faith!”
Considering how loose and light the powder felt at the middle of the barrel as well as the four inches or so of sand at the base, Ned doubted that each held more than forty pounds value at best, and even that would need to be sifted and re milled. He recovered his blade from one of Gryne’s men and buckled it on. “I think it is still over priced, Master Somersby, but you could be of help in another matter and maybe Mistress Black will forgive this error.”
The cony-caught merchant twitched and trembled while a host of further excuses crowded his lips. Ned casually drew his poniard and placed the blade at the base of the fellow’s ear. “I believe the penalty for fraud is clipping, Master Somersby.”
It was the only kind of cony trick that was really possible with the Gonne powder-cut it down with charcoal remix, and up the weight with sand. Cheap, effective and only discovered by a thorough check. Silently he sent a pray of thanks for the advice of Rob Black and the Doutch Gonne artificers. He wouldn’t have known any different. Then betwixt one word and the next the situation changed.
“What ‘as we ‘ere? I sees all this to-ing an fro-ing at Morgan’s Lane by m’ friend, Somersby’s place, an’ I asks m’self, what’s all the rustle an’ bustle, an’ why’s m’ good friend Capt’n Gryne nay seen fit to tells me of ‘is doings?”
The call echoed in the open space of the warehouse, not overly loud, but clear and penetrating with a slurred hiss to the words, a practised voice that overly hinted of menace and anticipation. You wouldn’t think the gentleman sauntering in had need of such a skill, since he called the bear and bull baiting every week. Volume and invective ruled there rather than the timbre of possessed poise and command. Ned shivered in apprehension. It was not a voice he particularly wanted to hear, certainly not in this part of Southwark. Straightening up, Ned carefully sheathed the blade.
“Sirrah be gone from here. This is a private matter!” Mistress Black’s accusing finger had swung around to take in the newcomer.
Ordinarily her commanding tone would have subdued any common riff-raff, not Canting Michael though. He controlled the eastern half of the Southwark Liberties and prudent men paid him black rent for protection and safety, or else they awoke in the middle of the night blanched with terror at a visitation. It was said that Canting had bitten the fingers off one man who had refused, and fed others to his bears and dogs according to some rumours. No matter whether they were true or distortions, Canting Michael was a man to beware of, and when his tall cadaverous shadow darkened your path, it was usually best to pay up and move on fast.
Twisting up his courage Ned spoke. “Canting, the lady is right. It’s private. We’ve asked Somersby a few questions and will leave in peace. We’re not trespassing on your domain.”
The intruder ignored the warning and took a few more steps towards them, followed by a dozen men. Canting was technically still outnumbered, though Ned knew the Southwark chieftain’s reputation in a brawl. His palms felt suddenly damp and sweaty. Canting was one of those men who held a grudge a very, very long time even where one didn’t exist. As the man’s piercing gaze pinned him down, Ned regretted his outburst. Silence may have been better. He swallowed a stubborn lump of air. Nevertheless he walked forward until he was in front of Meg Black, hand on sword and stood in that half forward crouch recommended by Master Sylver.
Canting stopped and smiled, at least with his mouth. His eyes stayed that cold, icy blue without warmth or animation. “Why’s bless me, tis m’ old friend, Red Ned. Tis bin a long while since we met. Still haven’t forgotten the last time, ‘ave we lads?”
So friendly and persuasive, Ned felt the chill hand of terror grip his spine. Canting obviously hadn’t forgiven or forgotten. “Canting, it was a bet fairly won. We’re square on it!” Fairly maybe, but a stupid one none the less, and too dangerous either way, his better angel primly remarked.
“Ahh Ned, twas indeed, but I’s lost two hundred angels on that bout an’ I’s not a forgiving man. I feels tis time to settle the wager, the way it shoulda bin.” He gave a lazy wave and his escort moved forward, loosening knives and cudgels.
Their own contingent did the same, while the suddenly ignored Somersby crawled as fast as possible towards the concealing shadows. Ned could see no way out of this short of blood, preferably not his, and was about to call the reinforcements when a thunderous clap stilled all the preparations for mayhem.
What in all the blessed saints had happened? All eyes swivelled towards Mistress Black. She held one of those new pistols in her hand, a good deal smaller than the pair that Ned still had. The weapon was pointed towards the roof and a long plume of smoke coiled through a shaft of mellowed light. Having got the attention of the gathering, she held the smoking pistol down over the open barrel of powder and rewound the spring. Ned wasn’t the only one to gasp in shock. What in all the saints was she thinking! One spark and adulterated or not, they’d go to meet the Final Judgement. “Canting Michael back off! If you want Red Ned, you’ll have to wait another day. For now he’s mine. All I want from Somersby is to answer three questions, then we all leave, alive and unharmed!”