The Prince and the Pauper Page #5

- I'm gratified, Your Majesty.

Come to think of it,

I'm under obligation to you in many ways.

- Your service demands rich reward.

- A mere nothing, Your Majesty.

You may have any reward you wish.

Name it.

The privilege of sitting

in your Majesty's presence.

Advance, fellow, and give me your sword.

- Is it that you find the mutton tough, sire?

- Kneel.

While England remains

and the Crown continues...

you and your heirs forever may sit

in the presence of the Majesty of England.

Arise, Sir Miles Hendon.

For pity's sake, sit down.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

Beginning to ache

from the hammering they gave you?

Why do you ask?

You seem to be batting away

at a few tears.

I'm not the man to snivel at a few bruises.

In fact, we Tudors never cry.

- What's the matter?

- My dad's dead.

Good morning, Your Majesty.

I hope Your Majesty slept well.

Yes, sir.

- Playing follow-the-leader?

- No, sire. We've come to dress you.

Have I enough clothes to go around?

Indeed, sire,

everything has been assigned.

Are you ready to perform your ablutions?

His Majesty's towel and bowl.

His Grace the Lord High Protector,

awaits your pleasure...

and asks that you be informed that

a note on the treasury has to be signed.

The household account being depleted.

- There's no money to pay for the palace?

- No, Your Majesty.

I suppose we'll just have to

move to a smaller house.

I remember quite a nice one right

next to the fish market in Billingsgate.

The rose water, milord.

It has a nice flavor.

Please, sir, how much longer

must I do this?

This is the last, sire.

"Authorizes an increased tax

on windows."

Do you mean to say

we have a tax on windows?

May I suggest that Your Majesty

cease troubling himself about...

I'm head of the government. It's my job

to be troubled about these things.

And I think

a tax on windows is cruel, unjust.

The royal treasury is empty, sire.

Every means of replenishing it

must be taken.

Yes, but windows?

When poor people are sick,

windows are the only outside they have.

They wouldn't have anything nice

to look at if it weren't for windows.

And besides,

that's taxing sunshine and light...

which don't belong to us at all, but to God.

His Majesty's made a point there.

We will discuss this privately

at some later time.

Have we Your Majesty's

permission to withdraw?

Yes.

I'll try to think of some better way

to raise money.

Did you see an urchin slide out of here?

He left, but sliding wasn't the way

he done it.

He says to me,

"Out of my way, fellow," and stalked.

- Where'd he go?

- Good morning, Pam.

- How are the little ones?

- Where did he go?

It wasn't a he, it was a they.

A slimy looking fella come after the lad.

I heard him telling him you'd sent for him.

- I thought it was a bit fishy, but...

- Cut it short. Which way did he go?

Across the street and

to the Thieves Booth, and got dragged off.

By whom?

By a foul old croak with a face

that looked as if...

it had been suckled on the handle

of an headman's ax.

- Never mind the face.

- I didn't. I daresay he did.

He sold a candlestick to the receiver.

- I saw him.

- Who sold a candlestick?

The bloke with the face.

- Good day to you, sir.

- The good sir is looking for a bargain?

Yes, I have a skin I'd like to trade

in exchange for a little information.

- A skin? Ermine or sable?

- Neither.

- Rodent.

- A rat skin isn't worth anything.

No? Except to the rat, of course.

You see, the skin happens to be yours.

If you want to save it,

tell me who that man was...

- who dragged off the beggar boy.

- What man?

The man from whom

you bought the candlestick.

- I don't know.

- No? Too bad.

Wait! Mercy.

I daren't tell you. He'd have every thief

in London out to slit my throat.

Then I'll save him some trouble.

I'll tell you.

His name is John Canty.

He lives in Offal Court.

The boy is his son, Tom,

a little daft on the subject of royalty.

A thousand thanks, sir. Good day, sir.

You must know I'm not Tom because you

couldn't be this mean to your own boy!

You dare strike me?

Smash your own father, will you?

I'll show you!

What's the meaning of this?

I'm his father,

and you don't happen to be mine.

So keep your holy nose out of it.

- Lf you strike that boy again, I'II...

- You'll do what?

I'll forget that the laying on of hands

should be done gently.

I warned you, you meddling old fool!

- Is he dead?

- Shut up.

Come on!

He just sits there and says nothing.

The boy's potty.

And it's because of that Father Andrew

always teaching him...

Be quiet about Father Andrew, can't you?

- Were you seen doing anything?

- Shut up.

- What's the pack?

- Father Andrew.

- What about him?

- Dead as a salted herring.

And it's gossip you done him in.

How do you suppose that got about?

From you bashing him over the head

and him not getting up again.

You best take to the road.

Blowing hot, is it?

It'll be scorching your heels soon

if you don't make to the Roost.

I'm on the run to see the Ruffler.

Don't open your mouth to no one

who ain't in on the know.

- We'll head to the river dike.

- Ain't you taking him?

- What for?

- He seen it, didn't he?

That's right, he did.

He'd be a hindrance,

but it's better than having him a witness.

He might come in handy, too.

He's the size that can be lifted

through a window easy and quiet.

That's right.

It's time I was breaking him for a retriever.

Come here!

If you see such a beggar boy,

you'll get five pounds.

Five pounds for a beggar boy?

What'd he do?

Steal the Throne Room out of Windsor?

Another of His Majesty's whims.

He's a bit addlepated, you know.

Remember, look sharp.

Sharp, at five pounds!

A glance from me will nail him to the wall.

Is John about?

I have a bit of business with him.

It wouldn't have to do

with the law, would it?

It might have if I don't see him.

You see, he and I...

Just who are you?

His mother.

And for all the drink it gets me,

I might better have begat an empty bottle.

Well, then...

perhaps you can use his share

of a candlestick we lifted together.

This is once I get my share.

I'm beholden to you, indeed.

Not at all. Where can I find John?

Him and that crazed brat of his

had to take to the road.

- Making for the Roost, they are.

- The Roost?

An empty barn near Stullington.

They all holes up there with the Ruffler

when it gets hot for 'em.

Yes, of course. The Ruffler.

You say his son is a little unhinged?

Like a gate, he is. Thinks he's a king.

- Has he been this way long?

- No.

John fetched him home

like that just today.

Probably gave him one over the head...

and cracked it like a nut.

I need money to maintain the palaces,

courts, and royal establishments...

that His Majesty's dignity be upheld.

May I remark, milord,

that it might be more important...

to uphold the dignity of England

upon the sea?

Let me remind you,

England still has ships afloat.

Barely afloat.

Some of them we daren't fire a cannon

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