From a second-story window overlooking the crook in Crooked Lane, Roger Ruffneck was keeping watch. He was a member of Davy and Peter’s gang, which included the smooth-talking Tom Treadwell and a thirteen-year-old boy, son of the old curber Nick Grabwill. Roger noticed a tall young man and a shorter, bearded one pass by. Their furtive manner aroused his suspicion and he summoned Davy. While Davy watched them, Roger tied on his ruff lest the occasion call for him to go out.
“Foh!” exclaimed Davy. “They’ve got that ragged kinchin.”
“I tried to catch it once but it was too quick,” said Roger.
“If they were at the sign of the cock they must be looking for us,” said Davy. He started. “Why, that looks like the cuffin we robbed at the Boar’s Head!” There was something familiar about the taller man as well.
Roger peered at him and growled. “I’ll be sworn he has my sword!” He thundered down the stairs with Davy at his heels and seized a heavy walking staff.
“Don’t hurt me, Master Roger. I’ll do whatever you say!” Grabwill Junior cowered with his hands over his ears.
“Hold, you oaf!” Davy blocked the door. “Take off that vile ruff; it betrays you. We need a third man. Hie, Peter! Come anon! We must not lose them.”
Davy thrust a pistol into Grabwill Junior’s hand. “Wait here, toadlet. If they return, hold them until we get back.”
Young Grabwill’s father had placed him with Davy as an apprentice, that he might learn all the criminal arts. But he lacked ruthlessness and Roger tried to beat it into him. He knew he mustn’t anger his elders. So he took the pistol; it was so heavy he needed both hands to hold it.
Moments later the trio of hounds were tracking their prey through the crowds of fairgoers, to the hospital, and from tavern to tavern.
“They don’t even suspect we are following them!” said Davy, grinning. “Pudding-for-brains!”
“What was he called, the one we robbed?” Peter flicked his thumb against his fingers, trying to shake the name from his feeble mind. “He kept his money in his boot.”
“Along his shank. His name was Shanks-board!” said Davy. “Or was it Shake-spire?”
Roger scratched his head. “How did he come by my sword?”
“Let’s take them now,” said Peter. “We are three cuffins against two.”
“Well counted, Flick! But we are only spying in order to see where they lead us,” said Davy.
“You are! I aim to get my sword back if I have to kill him,” said Roger.
“Look at them now, as merry as playfellows,” said Davy. “What is their purpose?”
“They’re parting ways,” announced Peter.
Davy seized Roger’s bare neck. “Go after Shanksboard if you will. But if you kill him I don’t know you from Cain. You’ll hang, and I’ll confiscate all your goods and sell every one of your precious ruffs.”
“Unhand me, huff-snuff!” Roger said, shaking off Davy.
By now Davy and Peter had to run to catch up with the tall companion, who was climbing into a wherry. They jumped into another boat to follow him.
“I swear I know that fellow,” said Davy.
“I heard Shanksbird call him ‘Farewell Mack,’ ” said Peter.
“Was there not a boy named Mack with us once? His parents died in a fire,” said Davy. “He set up our marks. He could outrun us both.”
Peter scratched the dent in his head. He could not remember how he came by it.
“This cuffin somewhat resembles that Mack,” said Davy.
“Which Mack?” asked Peter.
“The boy we left behind in the innyard, you clotpoll!” He shook Peter, causing the wherry to rock from side to side.
The shaking improved Peter’s memory. “He was caught that day. I hope they cut off his ear. Did you see if Farewell Mack had both ears?”
“What would that prove, dolt?”
The wherry in front of them had landed. Now theirs touched the wharf. They followed their mark up Tower Hill.
“I can still see the look on the pippin’s face as he begged for help.” Davy laughed. “As if we would risk being captured.”
“Why do you speak of him now? That happened long ago,” said Peter.
“Because I think he is the same Mack.”
Davy hit Peter with the back of his hand. “Since your head was staved in, you have become unbearably irksome. Look, he’s passing through Aldgate.”
“Oh, that Mack. We went to an inn together,” said Peter.
“He’s gone into the Boar’s Head,” announced Davy. “What if this Mack is the same one we left here two years ago?”
Peter shook his head. “Can’t be. He was a pippin and this one is a giant.”
“And you, Peter, are an ass.”
Davy and Peter returned to their lair. Roger Ruffneck was still out, so Davy related their discovery to Tom Treadwell, who agreed that the connection to the Boar’s Head was more than a coincidence.
“I remember now. Shankspit took us there to see a play,” Peter said. “I robbed his boot. And that maypole threw us out.”
Davy frowned, deep in thought. Long Meg—like Mack—surpassed the height of ordinary men. And her strength was greater than a woman’s. He snapped his fingers. “Zounds, I have it! Long Meg is none other than our old companion Mack grown up. Disguised as a woman he enforces the peace at the Boar’s Head.”
“But why would he pretend to be a woman?” asked Tom.
“Maybe Mack is a girl,” ventured Grabwill Junior. “Once a fellow forced my father to steal women’s clothes, and when he put them on my father saw he really was a girl. It addled his mind.”
“Stow it, toadlet,” said Tom. “We are thinking.” He shook his head. “It shows unmanly cowardice for Mack to hide in such a manner.”
“Worse, ’tis an abomination for a man to go about dressed as a woman,” said Davy, his mouth twisted in disgust.
“Where have you been to church?” asked Tom.
“At St. Paul’s. With you!” said Davy. He was out of all patience. “Do you pay no heed to the preacher as you fleece his congregation?”
“Long Meg threw us out of the Boar’s Head. Let’s go back and roast her ribs,” said Peter.
“Him, you lackbrain. We’ll roast his ribs and gripe his guts. Punish his ungodly transgression,” growled Davy. “Now where the devil is Ruffneck?”