Shakespeare's Scribe

Shakespeare's Scribe Read Free Page B

Book: Shakespeare's Scribe Read Free
Author: Gary Blackwood
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jabs had struck.
    A few days later, as we were dressing for a performance of
What You Will
, Sam rushed in, wide-eyed and breathless. “You’ll not believe what I just learned!”
    Had I been wearing hose and not a dress, my heart would have sunk into them, for I expected him to reveal that there had been an outbreak of the contagion in the city. Instead, he said, “I’ve just been at the Swan playhouse, talking with a prentice from the Earl of Pembroke’s Men. It seems they lately took Nick on as hired man.”
    â€œWhat,
our
Nick?” Sander said.
    â€œThe very same. But that’s not the news. He says that Nick had a falling-out with one of the other members of the company, and the man challenged him to a duel.”
    â€œGog’s blood,” I muttered. “It’s just as I said.”
    â€œThis prentice, he served as a second in the duel, and the weapon of choice was not swords but pistols.”
    â€œI doubt that Nick has ever fired a pistol before,” said Sander.
    â€œApparently not,” said Sam, “for it was loaded wrong—they put in too much powder, perhaps—and blew up in his face.”
    Sander drew in a sharp, sympathetic breath. “He’s all right, though?” he said hopefully.
    Sam shook his head. “This fellow says not. He and his man made a hasty departure to avoid arrest, but he seemed to think Nick was a gone goose.”
    Sander and I glanced guiltily at one another. “It’s as if we wished it upon him,” Sander said softly.
    â€œNay, don’t think that,” I protested. “Though I’m sorry for him, it was none of our doing. ‘A brought it upon himself.”
    â€œWidge is right,” said Sam. “You know as well as I what a hothead Nick was.”
    â€œI know. But he wasn’t a bad fellow. He didn’t deserve to die.”
    We relayed the sad news to the sharers. They made inquiries but could learn nothing more of the matter. This was no surprise. Though dueling was a common enough practice in London, it was also against the law. Pembroke’s Men would naturally make every effort to protect the player who had been involved, as any company worth the name would do. We could only hope that poor Nick had been delivered into the hands of the church or the coroner’s office and given a proper burial.

3
    A s the second act of a play follows without intermission upon the heels of the first, the warm, wet spring gave way without a break to a sultry summer. We at the Globe were, as usual, too busy to notice. Though our company was smaller than normal, the size of our audience was, the sharers said, at an all-time high. A portion of the profits went toward having the roof rethatched, purchasing properties and costumes, and buying new plays for our repertoire. But much of the money was paid to the temporary players.
    It was hard for us prentices, always having to work with someone new. But I made no complaint; I had no wish to be but a temporary player myself. It could not have been easy for the sharers, either, constantly having to seek competent actors. If a player was not already attached to some company, there was usually a reason. Perhaps he drank too much, or was a thief, or was at that awkward age when his voice could not decide between treble and bass. The situation put a strain on Mr. Shakespeare especially. He could hardly tailor a play to suit the players when the players changed from week to week or day to day.
    The only member of the company I heard complain, though, was Sam, and he was not being quarrelous so much as just speaking his mind—something that, as with the lines he spoke on the stage, he did with little or no prompting. Though he lodged with Mr. Phillips, Sam often dined at Mr. Pope’s, where Sander and I lived, along with a small troupe of young orphans Mr. Pope had generously taken in. Over dinner one evening, Sam said, “I hope we never hire

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