Dark Labyrinth 1 Read Online Free Page A

his face firm and expressionless, but he felt cold.
    “This . . . could ruin us. A murder! At the Globe Theatre!” He looked quickly at the boy. “You have told no one?”
    “No, sir! I thought it wisest to speak only to you!”
    “Good! You are intelligent, boy. I have a gold piece for you if you tell no one. Not one word. If you do speak of this, I will find it very easy to destroy your acting career for the rest of your life.”
    “Oh, not one word, sir. Please don’t feel you need to use threats, Mister Burbage.”
    “No . . . no. I know. I have to think of what to do. Keep quiet and be sure no one else comes down here. Calm. I must be calm. We must remain calm.” He sighed. “I’d best be back to the Lady Dalton before she says anything. Until I can talk to Richard.” He heaved a long breath, then muttered, “Oh, deathbeds for the entire royal family! How are we ever going to patch this up?”
    They walked up the stairs. “But, Mister Burbage—if Thomas Radclyffe is dead down here . . . then who is on the stage?”
    Burbage paused, gripping the rail. “I don’t know . . . and I am afraid to know.”
    He walked slowly back and seated himself beside Lady Dalton as Scene IV was just beginning. He gripped the arms of the chair to stop his hands from trembling. Burbage was surprised to find her watching the play.
    She pointed to the action on the stage. “What are they having a party for, Cuthbert?”
    Burbage tried to get his mind back on the play, to focus on something other than his cold fear. “Uh . . . the Cardinal Wolsey, my brother Richard, is having a great dinner at his palace, with many lords and ladies. See . . . they’re all sitting around having idle dinner conversation, until—” He waited: it would have been glee and childlike anticipation in other circumstances. Trumpets sounded; drums rolled; and the cannons blasted, thundering in his ears.
    And as his ears rung, Burbage thought he heard Thomas Radclyffe’s voice, somehow—the real voice, not the false acting voice on the stage, this was different, a whisper running through his head, though not intended for his own ears.
    “ Now, we fight on equal terms. ”
    Unseen, some of the burning paper wadding settled on the thatched roof, smoldering, kindling itself, setting fire to the roof.
    The Lady Dalton squealed in terror at the cannon sound, then in delight. The audience, half-deafened, murmured in confusion.
    On the stage, a company of cloaked and hooded strangers entered, hiding their faces. Burbage continued to explain. “The Cardinal’s guests think these are some foreign ambassadors—but they are really the King and his party in disguise. There . . . that one is the King.” Or is it something that I will never understand?—he thought to himself. There are more things in heaven and earth, Cuthbert Burbage, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
    “How do you know that’s the King?” Lady Dalton asked.
    “From the cannons —we wouldn’t blast cannons for anyone but the royal presence, now would we?”
    “Oh.”
    They watched as the hooded company made its slow procession across the stage.
    “There, now Cardinal Wolsey suspects that one of the masquers is the King . . . he says as much . . . and he decides to unmask him . . . .”
    Burbage watched his brother walk on the stage toward one of the hooded figures, reaching up tentatively—more tentative than he actually should have been. He gripped the folds of the hood and began to draw it back.
    “FIRE!” someone shouted.
    Suddenly all hands were pointed toward the thatched roof which was in flames. Others took up the cry; tumult erupted. People fled toward the single narrow entrance.
    On the stage, Richard Burbage cried out wildly; his face was white as a sculpture. The hooded figure was gone, the false Thomas Radclyffe, vanished. Unnoticed in the uproar.
    And flames began to devour the Globe.

    “ . . . some of the Paper or other stuff wherewith (the cannons) were