This is the third chapter of my historical fiction "The War of a Hundred Years". I had to study a bunch maps to make this one. Hope you enjoy it!
Recap (incase you forgot)- Huey had just met Jazmine and after she went inside he saw a man running across her roof, heading west.
I had been following this mysterious figure across the roofs of London for about a half hour and I was getting exhausted.
"This guy certainly knows what he's doing" I thought.
He was incredibly quick and didn't even appear to be getting tired yet. Not to say I wasn't doing well, though. It was times like these that I really appreciated all the training I did back in Africa, running and jumping through the branches of the trees. But still, this was a completely new and unfamiliar environment, what with all the buildings and such.
"Where is he going" I thought, "We will probably be arriving upon Newgate soon at this rate (a gate in the west of the London Wall that surrounds London between Ludgate and Aldersgate). Is he trying to leave the city?"
Apparently not, for just as the gate was coming into view, the mysterious figure stopped dead in his tracks, as did I.
"Hey! What's the rush?" I shouted at him, catching my breath.
Instead of words, the shrouded man answered me with a mysterious hand gesture. In the next instance, a streetlight reflected off something shiny between us.
"Wait!" I realized just in time throw myself onto the rooftop surface while the dagger flew over me and cut a gash into my back.
"Ahh!" I shouted in pain. But there was no time to recuperate; the mystery man was already rushing towards me.
As he came closer, I could see him pull back his cloak to reveal two shortswords strapped to the sides of his black leather tunic. In the next second, when he had finally reached me, he quickly crossed his arms over his torso, grabbing a sword in each hand and unsheathing it, and uncrossed his arms by swinging the swords out in front of him which would almost assuredly cut off my head. I wasn't about to let that happen though.
While his wrists were together I quickly hit them both with a downward swing from my fist, which successfully threw of his attack leaving me a window to make my move.
I kicked at his crotch and when he went down to guard his precious cargo, I took the opportunity to hit him hard with both of my open palms to hopefully knock him off balance.
Alas, my tactic failed. When he looked like he was going to fall flat on his back he instead placed his hands on the ground and did a quick back flip, kicking me in the face in the process. That was really painful. I could feel the blood starting to pour out of my nose. When I opened my eyes I could see the man in black doing a sweeper kick which successfully knocked me off my feet. I didn't do any fancy back flips to avoid this; I fell flat on my back.
I was too dazed by all that had just occurred to even attempt to get up. It didn't matter anyway, however. The man was leaning over me, shortswords in hand, ready to cut of my head once again. But as he continued to lean closer to me, he apparently noticed something about me that made him say "Oh dear", sheath his swords, and offer his hand to help me up. I cautiously accepted the offer, more than a little suspicious I might add.
"Why you're just a boy; a foreign boy by the looks of it" said the man who had obviously noticed my dissimilar skin color.
"Well, if I'm just a foreign boy, why were you just trying to dispatch me?" I asked, startled by his sudden change of character.
"You will have to understand, young sir, that it is not easy to distinguish every little detail of a gentlemen standing a couple hundred paces off on a distant rooftop while the night's dark concealment still lingers in the sky"
"Yes," I admitted, "But I am quite a bit shorter than the average man!"
"Good point, but spies do come in different shapes and sizes"
"Well with that logic, how do you know now I'm not a spy?"
"Once again, good point," he said and I could see him smiling beneath his cloak hood, "I guess I'm just going to have to trust you"
I winced, for the pain of that kick and the gash on my back had just resurfaced in full force.
"Oh my, I seem to have done a number on you, haven't I?"
"No, I'm alright, really". I tried to walk around the rooftop to prove my point, but it just ended up costing me my balance again.
"Really?". This man was clearly aware of the level of pain I was in, no matter how hard I tried to hide it.
"Here, let me give you a hand". He suddenly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
"Hey!" I yelled. I was not in the mood to be carried, "Put me down right now!"
"As you wish" He promptly set me down on the rooftop, although I seemed to have found myself collapsing again. I was in fairly bad shape. To postpone the "Are you sure you're alrights" that were sure to follow, I decided now was a good time to ask a question that had been itching at me since I first saw this mysterious figure:
"Who are you?"
"That is neither yours nor anyone else's concern"
"Well, you were just trying to kill me, so I believe I have a right to know the reason why" I explained.
"And you think me telling you my name will allow you that knowledge?"
"I don't mean just you're name, obviously"
"Are you sure you're alright" he asked.
"Don't change the subject. Who are you and what do you do?"
"Well, I guess you do deserve some reward"
"For what" I asked, a bit surprised, "Not that I'm complaining"
"You performed well during our little in between we just had. If you hadn't of held your own during that fight, you'd probably be dead right now"
"Not to completely dismiss that theory," I began, "But the real reason I'm not dead is because you finally realized I was just a kid"
"Yes, but if you hadn't defended yourself, I would have killed you before I had the chance to recognize your child-like qualities" he explained.
"Good point" I repeated him, "So go on, who are you and what do you do?"
"Not so fast; even if you do deserve some information, so do I"
"What?! Why"
"Like you said" stated the man, "How do I know now you're not a spy?"
"What do you want to know?" I said reluctantly, complying.
"Where did you come from? Because it's quite obvious you're not from around these parts"
"Geez, how am I the one being questioned now?"
"I come from the continent of Africa"
"They speak English in Africa?"
"No, but I do"
"How?"
"I learned it from a man in Hastings, the town we arrived in when we first came to England, who gave me a book they use to teach English children to read"
"We?"
"I came here with my brother and grandfather"
"Do they know English?"
"No, they found it unnecessary to learn English"
"In England?"
"They're lazy"
"Oh"
"I do, however, still have the book the Hastings man gave me if they ever find it necessary, which they most likely will regardless of how lazy they are"
"But you seem to have a far greater grasp on this language than most people who have been speaking it their whole life. How is it possible that you speak so well?"
"I just thought that if I'm going to learn the language, I might as well learn it right"
"Hard to argue with you there"
"Okay enough of your questions". I was beginning to get angry, "It's my turn now"
"All in good time" he responded, "I must be off". The man began to walk away towards the side of the rooftop.
"Oh, come on! At least tell me your name!"
The man turned around, "I thought my name would fail to give you the information you required"
Seeing my annoyed expression the man said, "Tell you what, if you really want to know more about me, why don't you come along?"
"Where?"
"You'll see when we get there" he said with a grin.
"Fine". I got up and I was finding it easier to walk, but I was still in no shape to run and leap from rooftops. Reading my mind, once again, the strange man who's name I still didn't know suggested we climb down to the street and walk from there to wherever we were going.
And so we made our way down to Watling street (the street below us) past all of the various food markets and, much to my confusion, actually did walk out of Newgate, and in turn, the City of London.
We continued down Watling, which ran out of the city and into the country surrounding it. We walked down that same road for almost an hour; I was getting very restless despite the late hours of the night.
"Where the hell are we going?" I asked abruptly.
"You want to ruin the surprise?" he asked.
"Yes"
I hate surprises.
"Hey, I have another question for you" he said.
"Great" I said sarcastically. It really wasn't fair that a guy I just met was asking me all these questions and he wouldn't even answer one of mine.
"If you just arrived in London a short time ago, how is it that you have had enough time and money to afford those nice clothes?"
It was true; I was wearing rather nice clothes for a recent immigrant to England.
"Oh that" I began reluctantly, "Well, I'm not especially proud of it, but…"
And so I told him the story of how my family and I had found the cart filled with treasure on our way to London.
"There was a paper amidst all the gold and everything that stated the cart was on it's way to deliver all of it to a private ship in Dover which belonged to a one John of Gaunt. He sounded like a rather rich and important individual, so I just assumed we needed it more than he did…"
The man had stopped in his tracks a while back.
"Did you say 'John of Gaunt'?" he asked, his voice suddenly falling flat.
"Yeah. Is there a problem?" I asked suspiciously.
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see" his voice slowly regaining it's usual jovial and mysterious quality.
At the time I didn't really think much about any of this 'John of Gaunt' nonsense. This was soon to change.
We walked past every turn and every bridge we came across and kept on going straight. After an hour or so I was beginning to feel a little better regarding my injuries, and if I really wanted to I was actually in a shape to run, but we had been walking for so long and I was so exhausted that I had no intention of going any faster than I already was, thus I couldn't bring myself to tell the man of how I had healed.
After what seemed like ages we finally turned right when we reached a four way intersection. So we continued walking that way for almost as long as we had just been walking. We walked passed another intersection (this time a three way one) called Charing Cross, passed a building called Scotland Yard, and passed another building called Whitehall.
Finally, we reached our destination.
"The Palace of Westminster?" I questioned, "What could you possibly need to do here?"
The Palace of Westminster was where the King of England resided and it seemed odd to me that this guy dragged me god knows how far just to see a palace we probably wouldn't even be able to get in to.
"I have a little business with Richard"
He was of course referring to King Richard II.
"Well how long will you be?" I asked, "I have to be getting home soon"
"Oh, I won't be long at all"
He bent down and grabbed a dagger that he had apparently strapped to his thigh, walked over to the unguarded side of the palace until he was about 100 feet from it, and threw the blade with precise aim right through the second floor window.
Horns began to sound all around us and the man began sprinting back in my direction followed by several armed guards.
"Now is the time to run" he said as he picked me up, continuing his escape, arrows zipping by on both sides of us.
Well I'm off. I hope you all have a nice day. Cheers!