Another sell-out performance of The Jew of Malta was drawing to a close and Kit Marlowe sat on the wall of Master Sackerson’s pit, having a word with the bear. The more he saw of humans, the more he was drawn to the animal kingdom. Except dogs. He didn’t think he would ever come to love dogs. He threw apples down to the moth-eaten creature and listened with a smile to his grateful grumblings, the soft, winter-stored fruit not giving even the bear’s toothless old jaws any trouble. The juice dripped on to his paws and he licked them greedily.
‘That’s all,’ he told the animal as he threw the last one and the bear mumbled in reply.
‘Looking for some intelligent conversation, Kit?’ a voice asked, right in his ear.
He spun round. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that when I’m leaning over!’ he protested. ‘I could have fallen in.’
Nicholas Faunt looked over the wall. ‘It isn’t far to fall,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think a toothless bear would do you much damage.’
Marlowe smiled. ‘And we are good friends,’ he said. ‘But, what are you doing here, Nicholas? The Queen is at Placentia. You are well within the verge, here.’
‘Come now, Kit,’ Faunt said. ‘You know how slowly the wheels of government grind. I doubt that Cecil has even written the order yet, let alone let anyone know to look out for me. In fact,’ he looked at him, his head on one side, ‘as far as I know, only you and Ralegh know about my banishment.’
‘And I won’t tell,’ Marlowe said, managing to make it sound almost like a question.
‘No, Kit. You won’t tell. Are you going to work for Cecil?’ Faunt asked, suddenly serious.
‘I don’t know. I’m thinking of giving up the spying game. Get myself a little cottage in the country somewhere. Roses around the door.’
‘A little wife, baking bread? A tribe of children?’ Faunt cocked an eyebrow.
‘Perhaps not that,’ Marlowe conceded. ‘But, why are you here, Nicholas? Have you just come to say goodbye?’
‘I wondered if you had time for a chat,’ Faunt said, a little wistfully. ‘Where I’m going, there will be nobody to remember the old days.’
‘Nicholas, I would love to,’ Marlowe said. ‘But I have promised a couple of the walking gentlemen I will dine with them. I could put them off, but … I feel rather guilty. I feel sure I know them from somewhere, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
‘We meet a lot of people, in our line of work,’ Faunt remarked.
‘That’s true, but … Nicholas, let me put them off. Some other time will suit them just as well, whereas you …’
‘I have places to go, Kit, people to see. Don’t let me keep you.’
Marlowe was stricken. It was true that every moment Faunt stayed in the verge he was in danger, but … and Marlowe would have to check on this, but he thought he may be his oldest friend. ‘Why don’t you join us?’ It would keep him longer in the verge, longer in danger of his life but, in for a penny, in for a pound.
‘No. It’s tempting, but I really can’t stay. The papers I left for you. The ones I … unfortunately … misread. The ones that put you on to Carter.’
‘What of them?’
‘You know how it is, dear boy.’ Faunt became confidential, even catching Master Sackerson’s eye for a moment. ‘Nothing incriminating. No hard evidence … but paper can hang a man.’ And he heard Marlowe delivering that last line in perfect choral speech alongside him.
‘They’re in the Rose somewhere, Nicholas,’ Marlowe told him, ‘along with the plays the hopefuls keep longing for me to read. Will you trust me to find them and burn them? I can guarantee that the pile is high and they are buried deep; no one ever reads so much as a page, I promise.’
Faunt hesitated, then made his decision. ‘Of course, Kit. I’d trust you with my life.’
‘Gratifying,’ Marlowe smiled.
Faunt shook his hand and turned to go. Suddenly, he turned back. ‘Tell me something, Kit,’ he said. ‘Do you miss Sir Francis? I do. He was … if you will forgive the cliché for a moment, he was like a father to me.’
‘Well …’ Marlowe cast his mind back. He had never had a father to whom he could really look up to. As he recalled it, he was about four when he realized that the angry, volatile presence in the house would never love his mercurial son, or indeed any of his children. ‘I didn’t know him as well as you did, of course, but … yes, I do miss him. I wish I’d had time to say goodbye.’
Faunt looked down and, if it had been any other man, Marlowe would have suspected that there was a tear in his eye. After a moment, the ex-spy looked up and smiled. ‘He looked peaceful,’ he said, ‘when I got there. Although it may surprise you, I don’t think he had any regrets at the end.’
Marlowe thought of Carter and his hatred, nurtured over the years against the man who was only doing his best. ‘I’m glad,’ he said, patting Faunt’s shoulder. ‘But now, Nicholas, I worry …’ He looked up and down Maiden Lane, always expecting the unexpected.
Faunt raised a hand. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I must go. Go and dine with your walking gentlemen. There will be another day for us, I know, Kit. Going somewhere nice?’