Page 10 of The Swordmaster's Daughter

Leaving the riverbank garden far behind them, Moll wove her way through a series of narrow laneways, finally coming to a stop outside a tavern near the now rarely used Rose Theatre. It was a slowly decaying victim of The Globe’s great success. Swinging from a chain above the door of the tavern was a sign decorated with two telling items: a Bishop’s miter and a well-rounded cupid painted a bright red. Every misgiving Lucinda had been suppressing burst into fulsome bloom. Moll’s ‘quiet place’ was none other than the infamous Cardinal’s Cap.

“I cannot go in there. It is a stew house.”

Moll opened the door and wiped her feet paying no heed to the horror in Lucinda’s voice. “Only a small part of it is dedicated to fornicating. Stop being such a Puritan. You must go in. You promised me a lesson. Besides, tis better than being soaked.” Moll nudged her into the doorway with a less than delicate push just as the sky unleashed a deluge of Noah’s Ark proportions. Moll pulled the door shut behind them leaving a puddle at their feet. If anyone should see her here Grandma Jones would have her guts for garters, so Lucinda kept her head down, at least for a short time. It was not long before curiosity set her eyes drifting upward and her gaze darting wildly around the room.

“Wait until you see the space,” Moll said. “It is perfect.”

“Perfect for what purpose?”

“A bit of poking and thrusting.” Moll’s grin was back, wicked and teasing.

Lucinda lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Please do not jest. I need to know if this space is where certain things happen?”

“Things happen everywhere. They are simply more open about it here.”

“How open exactly, pray tell?”

“This open.” Moll pointed at her knees and parted them widely, laughing out loud as the color blanched from Lucinda’s face. “Oh my prudish friend, your virtue will not be tainted by merely passing through. Wear this if you are concerned someone might see you.” Moll threw Lucinda her cloak which was of a suspiciously high quality in its fabric and stitching.

“Where did you say you acquired your new clothes?”

“I told you, I won them in a wager. That is all you need to know,” Moll said with a wink and a tap on her nose while continuing to show Lucinda around as if she had come to enquire about renting a room. “The tavern is here on the ground level. Rooms where things happen are up above. We are going below.”

With Moll’s acquired cloak pulled up around her ears, Lucinda followed her down a set of narrow stairs. Imagine if she spied one of her father’s students or patrons? Even worse, imagine if one of them saw her here? At the bottom of the stairwell the room opened out into a high-ceilinged chamber filled with vats and other brewing equipment. “They make their own beer and ale right here,” Moll explained. “I can recommend the beer. Very tasty. You might be surprised to know some come here for the drink as much as the rutting, though one does often lead to the other. Or so I hear.” She stuck a hand up to her ear as if pretending to listen to sounds from above, which Lucinda ignored for the tease it was.

“How do you know of this place?”

“A friend of mine works here and before you get back on your high and mighty horse, not everyone can choose their line of work. People will do all manner of things when they are desperate.”

“Yourself included?”

“I am not desperate. I choose the way I live quite willingly,” Moll said with a challenge in her eyes. “My parents brought me up to be respectable. They had delusions of marriage and grandchildren, but with looks like mine, the chances of finding a half decent man are assuredly remote. Besides, I do not want to be tied or beholden to a man. I desire to be in charge of my own fate. Some women choose to sell their bodies. I choose to work in the line of wealth redistribution.”

“You mean stealing?”

“There is much more to it than that. For instance my friends who work here might receive gifts for services rendered, jewelry, clothing and such like. If they have no need of the item, or, shall we say, they do not wish to share the proceeds with the establishment, then I find a buyer for them and take a cut. I am setting myself up as a go-between. Good money to be made in that. So what do you think?” She held her arms aloft and spun a slow circle like a speaker trying to garner attention.

The space between the vats of ale mash and the casks of ale was not wide, but it was a goodly length. Lucinda found herself nodding in approval. “Enough length for a piste, and the ceilings are not too low. Are you sure no one will see us here?”

“The brewers finish early and fill the casks in the tavern before they go, so no one should come down here. Can we start now?”

“Are you ready to fight?”

“With a passion,” Moll said bringing her rapier into guard.

“Passion is a wasted sentiment when holding a sword,” Lucinda warned.

“Some might argue differently around here,” Moll said with a wink, baiting her with another bawdy comeback.

“We shall go straight to the sparring but remember not to put your full force into a thrust since we are not wearing leathers or gloves.”

“What else must I keep in mind?”

“Simply try and hit me and do not let me hit you. I shall stop you if you make a foolish error.”

“Which I won’t,” Moll shot back.

“We shall see about that.”

---