Page 78 of The Phoenix Bride
Sam says, “Oh.” When I look at him, he is crying.
My own eyes prickle, and I swallow wetly. Once I resented this city, but seeing its ruin fills me with a hollow sort of dread. It meant so much to so many. Now, it is ashes.
We continue the journey in silence. Eventually, the gray-and-white stone of the Tower comes into view. We spend a good while trying to find a spot to dock; when we do manage it, we are crowded by other boats on every side, each filled with people trying to leave, clutching bags to their chests and cramming shoulder-to-shoulder on the seats. One barge almost tips sideways, overweighed with people, and there is a great cacophony of shrieking.
Sam and I clamber onto the dock. On my suggestion, he instructs the bargeman to take the boat to the center of the river, as there are a number of people here who might attempt torequisition it for themselves. Meanwhile, we make our way into the streets.
“Do you know how to get to Aldgate?” I ask Sam.
“Yes, it’s only minutes from here. But I couldn’t say where Master Mendes might be.”
“We’ll find him eventually, even amid this chaos.” I take his arm. “Let’s go.”
Chaos is too mild a word for London this evening. It is utter anarchy. Although the flames haven’t yet reached this area, many have still taken it upon themselves to loot storefronts and smash windows; the cobbles seethe with people and carts, boot soles and wagon wheels crunching against shattered glass. Sam and I navigate as best we can, but several times we are forced into a different direction by the crowd, like grains of sand in a tide. By the time we reach some of the quieter residential streets, I feel battered and bruised.
Sam looks as shocked as I am. His wig has almost fallen off. He adjusts it, pulls fretfully at his cravat, and says, “Where do we begin?”
“I don’t know.”
“We must go back and forth, I suppose, and hope we see something. But if he is inside a building—”
“Cecilia!” someone shouts.
I turn around. It is Johannes van Essen, loping down the street toward us on a pair of crutches, waving frantically. I wave back, overjoyed.
“What are you doing here?” Jan demands, once he reaches us. “You are in terrible danger!”
“I came to find David.”
His face softens. “Of course you did.”
“Are you all right? Do you know where he is?”
“My ankle was wounded in a crush, but otherwise I am fine.And yes, I know where he is. I have been helping him pack. I left briefly to make another attempt at finding a cart, but…”
“Sam has a barge.”
“Who?” he asks, mystified. Then he notices Sam behind me. “Oh.”
Smiling, Sam gives him a small bow. “Hello. You must be a friend of Master Mendes. I am Sir Samuel Grey, of the Kent Greys.”
“Johannes van Essen.”
Sam extends his hand for him to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Master van Essen. A Dutchman, I presume? You know, my father led a contingent at Dole—” Jan takes his hand and kisses it. “Goodness.”
Jan grins at him with such charisma that even I feel a little flustered. “I am enchanted, Sir Grey,” he says. “Please, call me Johannes. Or Jan, if you are willing.”
“Goodness,” Sam says again.
“If I may ask—why is it, Cecilia, that you are wearing a garland? And such an extraordinary gown…”
“We were going to get married today,” Sam says brightly. “But we came here instead.”
Jan drops Sam’s hand, eyes widening. “Right. Well, then, I suppose…if you have a barge, I must take you to David—both of you.” His mouth sets grimly. “This way.”
We follow him through the streets until we arrive at a narrow road crowded with latticed, white-plaster houses. One house has its door open; a dark-haired woman with an apron and a dour expression is dragging bags out onto the road.
Jan goes to help her. As we approach, David emerges from the same door.
