The Butcher of Smithfield Read Free Page B

with his dashing companion. ‘So, you admit you have no control
     over what is published in your newsbooks, do you? That explains a good deal – such as why they contain all manner of dross
     about the Swiss ambassador’s dinner in Paris, but nothing about the dealings of our own government.’
    The coffee-boy grinned conspiratorially, and nudged Chaloner with his elbow. ‘They have been at it all morning,’ he whispered.
    ‘At what?’
    ‘Squabbling. L’Estrange edits the newsbooks – although
they
hold little to interest the educated man, except their lists of recently stolen horses; the rest is given over to L’Estrange’s
     tirades against phanatiques. The fat fellow with the yellow wig is Henry Muddiman.’
    ‘Who is Muddiman?’ asked Chaloner, aware, even as he spoke, that this was a question which exposed him as an outsider. Unfortunately,
     it was true. His postings to spy overseas, first for Cromwell and then for the King, meant the time he had spent in London
     was limited to a few weeks. He was a stranger in his own land, which was sometimes a serious impediment to his work. He knew
     he could rectify the situation – but only if his masters would stop sending him abroad.
    ‘Muddiman was L’Estrange’s predecessor at the newsbooks,’ explained the coffee-boy, looking at him askance. ‘Everyone knows
     that.’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ said Chaloner, frowning as vague memories of the man’s name and the nature of his business began to surface. Muddiman
     had produced newsbooks during the Commonwealth, and the King had kept him on after the Restoration. ‘I remember now.’
    ‘Muddiman was ousted for political reasons, and the pair now hate each other with a passion. These days, Muddiman produces
     news
letters
, which are different to news
books
, as you will know.’ The lad shot Chaloner another odd glance, not sure if he was assuming too much.
    ‘Newsbooks are printed,’ supplied Chaloner, to showhe was not totally clueless. ‘Newsletters are handwritten. Printed material is subject to government censorship; handwritten
     material is not.’
    ‘Precisely – which means the news
letters
are a lot more interesting to read. Of course, Muddiman’s epistles are expensive – more than five pounds a year! – but they
     contain real information for the discerning gentleman.’
    From the way he spoke, Chaloner surmised that the boy considered himself familiar with ‘real information’. He was probably
     right: coffee houses were hubs of news and gossip, and working in one doubtless meant the youth was one of the best informed
     people in the city. Chaloner edged deeper into the shadows when L’Estrange drew his sword.
    ‘L’Estrange should learn to control his temper,’ the boy went on, his tone disapproving. ‘One does not debate with
weapons
, not at the Rainbow. We deplore that sort of loutishness, which is why he has been asked to leave. And Muddiman should not
     have followed him outside, either, because now L’Estrange will try to skewer him. You just watch and see if I am right.’
    ‘You speak as much rubbish as you print,’ said Muddiman, addressing his rival disdainfully. Chaloner was not sure he would
     have adopted such an attitude towards a man with a drawn sword, especially one who was clearly longing to put it to use. ‘You
     are nothing but wind.’
    ‘You insolent—’ L’Estrange’s wild lunge was blocked by Muddiman’s companion, and their two blades slid up each other in a
     squeal of protesting metal. The Rainbow’s patrons had seen what was happening through the windows, and friends hurried out
     to separate the combatants.
    The coffee-boy tutted. ‘There is not enough room in London for
two
greedy, ambitious newsmongers. One of them will be dead before the year is out, you mark my words.’
    Bells were ringing all over the city, from the great bass toll of St Paul’s Cathedral to the musical jangle of St Clement
     Danes, as Chaloner resumed his walk to White