Page 21

“He’s not as bad as Will Kemp,” Little Goat offered. “The comedians are always the worst.”

“God’s teeth, there’s a darkness to them most certainly,” Sam added.

“True,” said Little Goat. “But none blusters like Burbage.”

“Not to mention hogs the candle lamps downstage,” said Sam.

“Every time!” Little Goat laughed, and both Sam and I laughed with him.

“Even when it isn’t even his soliloquy,” Sam continued. “He’ll knock you on your arse if you dare to block his light and then box your ears in the tiring house after the scene.”

“But you really mustn’t speak against him out loud,” Little Goat said, turning serious. “Besides being a sharer in the company, his father owns nearly all the playhouses. If Burbage says just one word against you, then you can’t work anywhere.”

“I care not,” I said, then lowered my voice to engage in some more brazen talk just between the three of us. “But I still say fie on that knave Burbage. I shall make myself heaps more the actor than he. I will become so famous that it shall be me who decides whether that poxy ruffian shall be tossed out of the company or not.”

Sam and Little Goat burst into laughter. I laughed too, knowing my arrogance had gone a step too far.

“Have it your way, Hughes,” Sam said. “I’ve changed my mind about you. I’ve decided we shall be friends after all.” With that, Sam the Hedgehog took my hand and shook it.

“And so we shall, Sam,” I said. “So we shall.”

“Oi, Hughes!” another voice called out, startling the three of us. It was Edward Knight, the keeper of the book. “Your master, Augustine Phillips, is back. His hog, unfortunately, remains in the well. However, he’s ready to see you at his cart immediately. Look sharp! He’s not looking in a happy mood.”

My blood turned to ice. I looked to my new companions.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Sam the Hedgehog said. “When Augustine’s upset, I’ve heard that boys bleed.”

“What do I do?” I asked.

“Well, for one, don’t just stand there,” Little Goat said. “Run!”

And so, I did.

NineMaster Augustine Phillips

Wherein Willy Hughes first meets the great teacher.

My love is thine to teach. Teach it but how,

And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn

Any hard lesson that may do thee good.

—Much Ado About Nothing, Act 1 Scene 1

Augustine Phillips was a stern-faced man of five and fifty, one of the company’s oldest sharers. While a boy, he had apprenticed as a grocer but spent the majority of his life as an actor, first in the miracle plays that toured the parishes, and later in the first playing companies that made acting into a profession. Grizzled in head and beard, Augustine’s sour visage was capable of fermenting grapes. When I first met him in his quarters at the encampment, I quaked from foot to head.

“So, you’re the lad who Will says has potential.” His tone was mocking as he looked me over, shaking his head in what I assumed was disapproval. “One needs to be more than pretty to become a player, you know? Can you act?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Well then … show me.”

“What, sir?”

He bristled. “A scene—a speech, ninny.”

“I don’t have any memorized except the Queen Anne speech wot I tried out with …”