, I thought
. There’s nothing left for you to take.At last I stumbled upon the Garden – the reassuring feel of cobbles beneath my feet; the neat, solid silhouette of St Paul’s church and the glow of lights burning even now in the bagnios, shrill cries of false passion spilling from their windows. Out in the piazza, market traders set up their stalls by torchlight, calling and laughing to one another as they worked. An old woman in a red cape sat huddled on the steps of the Shakespeare Tavern selling hot rice milk and barley broth. I stumbled past them all, feeling like an old soldier returned from a war no one knew we were fighting. A nightwatchman held up his lantern and I shrank away – in my tattered, filthy state he might decide to sling me in the lock-up on suspicion of something… anything… and then discover there was a warrant out for my arrest with a nice plump fee attached.
Moll’s coffeehouse was open – always open – but empty save for Betty, sweeping softly around an old lawyer lying dead drunk beneath a table. She took one look at me then ran and fetched Moll, who was sleeping in the shack next door – maybe with her husband and maybe not. I collapsed on a chair by the fire, my head in my hands, and started to shake. Relief that I was safe. Terror that I was not. As soon as the sun rose my creditors would call the alarm. How long before a warrant officer found me here, my favourite haunt? I had to run – but I was so battered and exhausted I could barely think, never mind move.
Moll was still lacing up her dress as she arrived. ‘Well, now, Tom. What’s all this?’ Then she saw the state of me and gave a low curse of surprise. She prodded Betty towards the door. ‘Hot water, fresh clothes.’ She sat down beside me, touched her fingers to a scrape on my cheek. ‘What happened?’
‘They took my purse, Moll. They took everything.’
There was only one thing for it, Moll decided. I must leave town at once. ‘Run to the Mint, before dawn.’
I sighed bitterly. A few short hours ago I had succeeded in turning my fortunes around. Now my only hope was to flee to the old debtors’ sanctuary across the river. The Mint’s tight maze of streets was so violent, so riddled with disease, that bailiffs refused to set foot across its borders. One tried it, a few weeks back. They beat him bloody and pushed his face down into the thick, stinking river of filth that ran through the streets. He died a few days later.
