(You young men, take note, whenever you are captured by the enemy, none of this stiff upper lip business. For goodness' sake, talk and talk fast. The longer you talk, the more hope there is and, where there's hope, there's life!)
'Now, here's a clever boy' Charon tapped me on the head.
'And you want to take it all back with you?'
'No! No!' I gabbled. 'But the Orb of Charlemagne, the relic you stole
'Stole?'
And, throwing his head back, Charon laughed. The rest of his coven guffawed in ghastly chorus.
I stammered, thinking of the replica that Kempe still held, 'I ... I... I can get you the real Orb of Charlemagne.'
Charon started to laugh again, until the tears rolled down his cheeks.
He waggled a finger at me. 'We are not going to kill you just yet.' He sighed. 'Lord, I have never laughed so much since the Lady Isabella begged for her life.' He glanced round at his lieutenants and edged a little closer. 'Now, let me understand you, Shallot. On the one hand you think I stole the Orb, which I didn't. On the other—' One finger scratched at his blue, pockmarked face. 'You say you can get it for me: that means you stole it! And you know what happens to thieves,' he whispered. "They hang.'
'No, no, you misunderstand me!'
'No, no, you misunderstand me!' The entire devilish crew chorused back.
Oh, pity me, I was in a nightmare: Charon's ugly, stained face; his cutthroat coven chanting my line like a chorus in one of Marlow's plays. And what about poor old Shallot? I just prayed that one of Kempe's men had seen me. Yet where was I? How would they rescue me? I started to cry. (Another of Shallot's rules; if you can't babble, blurt. Crying wastes time.) Charon dragged back my head.
'Didn't you ever think,' he hissed, 'that I knew about the Orb of Charlemagne? Do you really think I would have attacked a manor full of armed men? Do you really think I'm stupid enough not to realise how many strangers have appeared in the alleyways around that tavern? You are bait, aren't you, Shallot? A lure to catch old Charon? And that is very, very foolish of you!'
He was now talking like a schoolmaster confronting one of his dimmer scholars.
'I don't need the Orb of Charlemagne,' he whispered. 'I have taken it and I have sold it.' He saw the surprise in my eyes. 'And for you, Roger, I have a special gift. Do you remember the rats?'
I moaned with fear.
After that Charon beat me around the head. The others joined in with kicks and blows before I was dragged out along the sewer side to another cavern, sealed by an iron grille. The small door was opened and I was thrown inside. I sat there wondering how in heaven's name I was to escape. I knelt and prayed. I vowed to become a monk but realised I was lying so I just crawled into a corner and listened to Charon and his henchmen carousing a few yards away. I didn't know whether it was night or day, but, a few hours later, they returned carrying torches. I was dragged out, back to Lord Charon's cave. The table was littered with food, goblets of wine, pieces of meat strewn on the floor. One of the villains had been killed in some drunken brawl, and now leaned against the table, his throat slashed from ear to ear. No, I don't lie! They just left him propped there, eyes popping, mouth gaping. I was laid out on the floor and ropes attached to my wrists and ankles. Charon, much the worse for drink, came and knelt beside me.
'You are going to die, Roger, in a way you can never imagine. Cerberus, show him our friend.'
Dogface knelt on the other side. In his hand he held a cage. Inside was the longest and most ferocious-looking rat I have ever seen. This turd of iniquity was at least a yard long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail; yellowing teeth jutted out, his belly sagged and his ribs showed through. He dashed himself against the cage and those eyes, pin-pricks of hell fire, glowered at me. I fainted.
I was roused by a bucket of filthy water.
'Now, this is what's going to happen.' Charon talked like some gentle priest. He pulled back my doublet and tapped my side. 'We are going to attach a pipe here, the rat scuttles down and we light a small fire at the open end. The rat is hungry, ravenous. There is only one way out, dear Roger, and that's through you. Now, what do you think of that?'
I screamed and yelled, begging for mercy. I might as well have whistled across a graveyard. The pipe was attached, the rat went in. I could hear it rustling about, its sharp claws and teeth scrabbling against my clammy skin. I screamed, sobbing for mercy. The bastards were so drunk they could not light the fire at the other end. As they fumbled with the tinder, I heard a sound which, to my ears, was like an angel singing. A deep throated bark. Castor had arrived! Confusion broke out, and there was a scramble for arms as Castor burst into the cavern like a hell hound. Intelligent beast, noble heart, Shallot's saviour! He took one look at Charon and lunged. The cavern became full of a confusion of figures. I heard the roar of an arquebus, the clash of steel. The pipe was kicked away from me, the rat fled. Benjamin, a bloody sword in his hands, crouched down and cut my bonds. I jumped to my feet. Archers, bullyboys, Kempe's men, as well as those of Egremont and the Noctales were now locked in a fierce life and death struggle with the outlaws. Charon was screaming, his body one bloody wound: he stabbed at Castor with a dagger but the hound refused to let go. I rushed towards them but stumbled over a corpse. I heard a splash and both the Lord of the Underworld and my noble hound disappeared beneath the surface of the sewer.