“We’re not entirely sure,” Muffet said. “See, Your Grace, they’ve barricaded Sator Street. And they’re still working on the blockade.”
Sure enough, entry to the street was barred by a growing wall of furniture, beer barrels, and debris. People milled about cheerfully, handing up a stuffed armchair, ducking out of the way as a barrel came free and bounced around the street. There were a couple of small fires burning to the side, and what looked like a lively trade in baked potatoes.
“Anyone in charge?” Elijah asked.
“Not that I can see,” Muffet said. “And Your Grace, it’s going to be a proper mess getting ourselves out of here.” He jerked his thumb, and Elijah realized that their carriage was merely the first of a tangled mess of carriages streaming in from outside London, now caught inside the city gate. Some people appeared to be backing their carriages, or trying to, but they were hampered by others who had apparently decided to scold their way to the front of the line.
Elijah glanced down at himself. He was dressed in full court attire, as befitted an event held on the king’s yacht. His coat was a deep yellow-gold, embroidered with mustard flowers. His buttons were gilded. He would stand out in the crowd like a damned marigold.
He strode toward the flickering but bright light cast from the fires at the foot of the barricade.
The moment he came into the light, the cheerful calls and shouts died. A young man with lank black hair and a mouth like a trout’s froze in the very act of hoisting a wardrobe to the top of the barricade. The sturdy fellow hauling it up recovered faster. “Evening!” he shouted down.
“Good evening!” Elijah shouted back. “May I ask for the reason for the barricade?”
“Riots in the city tonight,” the man shouted back. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Limehouse ain’t never been rioted in, and it ain’t going to happen tonight either. We’re not letting any of those hellhounds into our houses, nor yet into the square neither.”
Elijah eyed the barricade. “It looks remarkably sturdy.”
The man beamed. “Like I said, we’ve never been rioted in yet. I learned me barricading from me pa. We can put it up in under twenty minutes and we does it whenever we thinks it needful. The Watch knows,” he added a bit defensively. “They’re all back there behind the barricades.”
“Is the rioting sure to happen tonight?” Elijah shouted.
“We’ve never been wrong yet. You’d best get your carriage out of sight. There’s many a bastard in these parts would love to snatch those matched grays of yers, yer lordship.” He started to haul on the wardrobe again.
“You put that up in twenty minutes?” Elijah bellowed.
“That’s right,” the man shouted back. He had the wardrobe now, precariously balanced on top of the armchair.
It was going to fall. Elijah moved back. It fell, with a great, splintering crash. Luckily the fish-lipped boy scrambled out of the way.
Elijah cast a glance behind them. The narrow street was entirely blocked by vehicles. Aldgate would be jammed for hours, if not all night.
If there was a riot, he would lose his horses. Unless…he eyed the blockade. Minus the wardrobe, it wasn’t as high as it might have been. Six feet perhaps. He could smell the riot coming, smell it in the excitement of the men, in the frenzy with which they were piling up furniture, and in the utter absence of children.
“You!” he shouted up at the stout man, who was staring down at the wardrobe and cursing in an extremely creative manner.
“Got no time for chatter matter!” the man bellowed back.
“Get off the blockade. I’m bringing my horses over and my men as well. Clear space on the other side!”
Muffet appeared at his shoulder. “Your Grace, a carriage tried to back through Aldgate and the fool hit the wall and shattered his undercarriage. The way out is entirely blocked. You’ll have to climb the barricade. You’ll be safe on the other side, and the grooms and I will defend the coach and horses.”
“Absolutely not,” Elijah said. “I won’t leave my men or horses behind. Given the situation on the street behind us, there’s likely to be a riot started by this very blockade, if for no other reason. There’ll be blood at some point.”
“They’ll never take down that blockade to let us in,” Muffet said.
“They won’t—and they can’t,” Elijah said, examining the complicated maze. It held everything from chairs to dining room tables, all bound together with rope in a haphazard way that looked as if it would take days to untangle.
“Take the horses out of the leads. I’ll be damned if I allow them to be lost in whatever riot is about to happen. Pull the carriage over against that building. It’ll probably burn, but I don’t mind that so much. How many grooms do we have? Two? Send them together. Tell them to climb over that barricade and wait for the horses.”