Page 12 of The Two Wills

“Our” company? Burbage, a member of the same company? My head began to scream: No!

“He shows great promise,” the Poet continued, “and will be perfect to replace poor Dickie Soames.”

“Soames hasn’t recovered, eh?” Burbage asked.

“Alas, no.” The Poet gestured for me to shake the miscreant’s hand. “Hughes, are you not familiar with our most renowned leading player? You might remember him from that production of Tamburlaine you can’t stop talking about.”

I squinched my brow and puzzled my lips, acting as if I hadn’t a clue. “I’m afraid I don’t remember, sir.”

“By my troth, of course you’d remember, young scoundrel,” Burbage bristled. “He might be pretty, but it’s clear he’s got the intelligence of a bottle fly.”

The comment stung, and all my anger at the money he stole began to heave up once more. I pleaded with my heart to be still and not ruin the opportunity, but, alas, holding my tongue was never my best skill. “Marry, sir,” I said with sweet poison in my voice. “Now that I think of it, it couldn’t a been you. For sure, it were a much more handsome and younger man I saw if I remember right. But then again, I weren’t this close to the actors.”

Burbage grimaced at my stab. He stroked his chin and hmmm’d and grumbled. “Are you sure about this one, Will?” he said. “He’s a bit rough.”

“He is,” the Poet said. “But I think with just a little training, he has great potential.”

Burbage then grabbed my face roughly and looked me over again. “For some reason he’s starting to look familiar.”

Again, panic filled my breast. Why did I not keep my pie-hole quiet?

“Have I seen you somewhere, boy?” Burbage asked. “You don’t hang around Maud’s or The Cardinal’s Cap, do you?”

He dared name two of the more popular whorehouses in Shoreditch. And while I did not ply my trade at such establishments, he was circling the target of our acquaintance. I needed to take my distance, and quickly.

“No, sir,” I pulled my head roughly from his hands, and stepped three paces from him and turned my back. “I don’t think I go to such filthy and disreputable places.”

He mumbled a hmm and appeared to cease his inquisition. “I guess not.” He then circled me three times, thoughtfully rubbing his chin, like I was a small piglet he was considering purchasing. “I suppose I understand the appeal,” he finally said. “Given a good wig and the right costumes, I can certainly see him in the female roles. The question is, can he act?”

“He can,” the Poet said firmly. “His skills at mimicry are good, and there’s a charming bees buzz to his voice. And that face …” The Poet gestured and sighed. “See how his brows are shaped—they make him look both happy and heartbroken at once. And that golden hair. Grow it longer and he may not even need a wig. I’m thinking of binding him to you as an apprentice, Richard. You’d be able to whip him into shape if anyone can.”

Once more my self-control abandoned me. “Apprentice to him?” burst from my lips with far too much disgust. “But, Will, I thought I’d be bonded to you?”

“I see,” the Poet said. “In truth, I’m a mediocre actor at best, and I’ve not much time to train you in all the things you’ll need to learn. I’m already overwhelmed, what with writing, acting, and running this company. Burbage here is the far better actor. He can teach you the tricks to rouse the audience to their feet.”

I stepped up close and lowered my voice. “But the other day you said—”

“I won’t bite, for God’s sake,” Burbage blurted with great annoyance, and then took my arm roughly. “Come here, I shall be the judge of whether I take you on or not. Now let me test you on some dance moves.”

A beastly annoyance flooded my bones, and before I could stop myself, I mumbled under my breath—or what I thought was under my breath—“Test me, will he? Knavish turd.”

“What did you just mutter, imp?” Burbage growled.

“I ain’t said nothing, sir,” I begged.

“A liar too!” Burbage swatted the back of my head with his hand. It sounded more painful than it was, but still I recoiled as if I’d been mortally wounded.

“Ow!” I yelped. “That hurt!”

“I’ll show you what hurts.” Burbage drew his foot back.

“Wait, Richard.” The Poet grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me out of range of Burbage’s boot.

“He’s wild, Will!” Burbage shouted. “I fear you won’t be able to tame his sort. Best be rid of him.”

I cursed myself, believing I had foolishly lost two opportunities of a lifetime. But then the Poet pointed to the side of the stage and demanded, “Hughes, stand over there and do not move!”

He approached Burbage and lowered his voice, thinking I could not hear. “I’m telling you, Richard, the lad’s worth keeping. Certainly, he is too full of himself and must be taught to respect his betters. But with Dickie Soames on his deathbed, and Alexander the only apprentice left with talent enough to play my leading ladies, we’re in dire need of an apprentice of great beauty who might woo our audiences. He’s the one I’ve been searching for.”