Doctor Who: Virgin Missing Adventures [028] - The Plotters by Gareth Roberts

Author:Gareth Roberts
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426204886
Publisher: Doctor Who Books
Published: 1996-12-13T23:00:00+00:00

Part Three

The Plot Thickens

7

Intrigue Down Below

Regularly Firking looked across at Ian, his gateway to renown and heroism, who sat hunched in a dark corner of the yard, his head bowed over his scrap of paper. He had been turning it over and over wistfully all day, staring with such ferocious vigour at its meaningless lines that by rights he should have worn it out. Would that it were a doting letter from his lady-love and not a grim barrier to their ardour.

Hodge broke into these romantic daydreams. ‘Here is an end to my day’s toil,’ he said proudly, holding up a new pair of lady’s boots. A typical piece of Hodge’s work, they were in all particulars stitched and seamed with painstaking precision.

At such bold, creative moments Firking always felt mildly envious of Hodge, whose hands could turn themselves to the manufacture of such dainty products. His own skill lay in the cutting of strips from sheets of hide, keeping waste to the minimum, together with an occasional spot of darning and minor patch repairs. He had neither the craftsman’s instincts nor the delicacy required of a true shoemaker. He was in it for the brotherly feeling, really.

Hodge set the boots down and made a show of dusting his hands. ‘Gramercy, I’m now fit to rest, for sure.’

Firking picked up one of the boots. He said teasingly, ‘It’s a fine job you’ve done here, Ralph. You must have a stool, and a bucket in which to soothe your own poor feet, which must be weak for want of sitting. And a pie to recover your strength, and broth to revive your brain.’

‘Ah,’ Hodge sighed lustily, ‘and I would find a can of ale, and all, to wash them down, and tickle my loins, i’faith.’

A stentorian bellow cut across their conversation. ‘Ah, if you would, I would send you to trip out of my workshop!’

Firking looked up to see their master, red-faced as usual, bearing towards them across the yard. ‘Sops and dolts that laze find no favour in the market, here or elsewhere!’

Hurriedly Firking returned to work. ‘As I am hard in my graft your words are not false,’ he said ingratiatingly.

The master stopped in front of Hodge and picked up the new pair of boots. ‘If you are so eager with your fingerings as these would give evidence, have at a new task, and a most pressing and important one.’ His tone was more serious than usual, an indication that he did not exaggerate. Curious, Firking strained his ears to hear the details, brushing the hair back from his ears. The master had another item of footwear in his hand which he now passed to Hodge. ‘A commission from the King’s tailors. Against Wednesday for Parliament’s opening, we are to make up a right splendid pair of boy’s shoes, taking the measurements from this sandal.’

Hodge turned the sandal over in his hands. ‘Strange. Not like any I’ve seen before. Too cold to be leather yet bends in my hand.’

The master waved a disparaging hand.

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