Page 117 of The King's Man
Kit looked up at Thamsine. ‘Did you hear that, Thamsine? I have the Secretary’s word that this is the last time.’
Thamsine took Kit’s hand and looked at Thurloe. ‘Then we are free?’
Thurloe nodded. He looked at Kit. ‘When Debigné is caught, we will settle our final account, Lovell.’
Chapter 37
Asmall crowd had gathered outside the little chapel in the Palace of Whitehall. They pushed against the barriers for a view of the Lord Protector, who would be leaving the building within the next few minutes.
Kit scanned the crowd looking for the narrow face of the Frenchman.
‘Where do I look? There’s any number of places he could be concealed,’ Thamsine whispered
‘That will depend on the accuracy of his weapon,’ Kit murmured.
Jostled by the crowd, Kit winced as a large man brushed his hand.
‘Are you all right?’ Thamsine slid her arm around his waist as he caught his breath.
‘I’m just fine! Stop fussing, Tham!’
‘Well?’ A quiet voice behind them made them both turn. Thurloe, soberly dressed in black with a hat pulled down wellover his brow, surveyed the crowd with nervous eyes. ‘Can you see him?’
‘No,’ Kit shook his head.
‘He must be here somewhere.’ Thurloe’s lips tightened.
‘And what do we do if I see him?’ Kit said. ‘Yell? Because I am damned if I can do anything else.’
Thurloe looked at him. ‘I don’t care what you do. I’ve men scattered through the crowd, so you’re not alone.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘His Highness will be leaving presently.’
Hearing the upstart Cromwell referred to asHis Highness, always provoked anger in Kit. Oliver Cromwell was a farmer from the fens pretending to be king in all but name.
‘Might it help if you told us what he looks like?’ Thamsine asked, the impossibility of the task weighing on her.
Kit shook his head. ‘Nondescript. Slight, dark hair, clean-shaven but he could have grown a beard since I last saw him.’
There were plenty of faces in the crowd that fitted that description, but none registered as familiar. The movement of the soldiers at the door to the chapel indicated that the service had ended. Cromwell would be leaving any moment.
Thamsine tensed in desperation. The crowd was not so large that Debigné could remain hidden much longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a woman carrying a wrapped bundle detach herself from the crowd, taking up a position in the shadows.
‘Kit.’ She touched his arm. ‘We’ve been looking for a man. Could that be him? There in that doorway, dressed as a woman.’
She was correct. There was no mistaking the narrow face beneath a goodwife’s broad-brimmed hat. Debigné had picked his spot well. He had a clear view of the doors of the chapel, but he was at least fifty yards away from Kit and Thamsine with a crowd between them.
Kit looked around. ‘Where’s Thurloe?’
Thurloe had melted back into the crowd and Kit swore as the chapel doors opened. As they watched Debigné, the assassin raised the cloth-covered weapon.
‘It’s a crossbow,’ Kit said. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the man would employ such an antique weapon but it was an ideal killing machine, deadly and silent.
Thamsine gathered up her skirts and pushed through the crowd. Kit swore and took off after her, every step sending shards of pain through his body. He caught her and grabbed her elbow.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m going to stop him.’
‘You’ll get yourself killed,’ he said.
