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Chapter Eight
Dressed in a threadbare grey jacket, Baldwin walked down the narrow and muddy street with his usual confident stride, despite feeling nearly every cobblestone beneath him. The boots he had selected to wear for the evening had thin soles and small holes along the top. His ill-fitting trousers were held up by twine, and his waistcoat was a faded black with tattered edges.
Leaving no room for chance, Baldwin had spent his day preparing for the meeting with the radical group. He was aware that he might be searched so he had left his overcoat pistols at home but retained a muff pistol in his right boot.
Baldwin stopped outside of the dirty building, ignoring the filthy odors in the air. He could hear riotous noise coming through the open windows. No sign hung above the door to identify it as the Blue Boar, but he knew he was at the right place. He opened the door and stepped inside of the hall. Lighted sconces hung on the wall and candles sat on the mantel above the fireplace.
Long tables ran the length of the hall and serving wenches hurried around to bring tankards to the patrons. He walked further into the room and caught the eye of a tall woman wearing a gown that had a scandalously low neckline.
She wiped her hands on her gown. “Welcome, stranger,” she greeted. “Can I get ye something to drink?”
“I am looking for the back room.”
The woman bobbed her head knowingly. “’Tis straight back,” she said, gesturing towards the back wall with a closed door.
“Thank you…”
Baldwin had barely uttered the words when the woman turned away from him. He walked the short distance towards the back room and reached for the handle. He turned it, but it was locked. Balling his hand into a fist, he pounded on the door.
It opened slightly, and a man stuck his head out. “What is it that ye want exactly?”
“I’m here for the meeting.”
“Go away,” he ordered gruffly, pulling his head in and closing the door.
Baldwin waited for a moment before he pounded on the door again. This time, the door opened a little wider.
“I said ‘go away’,” the man repeated, brandishing a pistol in his hand.
“I spoke to Sam, Edgar, and Paul last night at Floyd’s Coffeehouse and they invited me to the meeting,” Baldwin explained.
“Oh, ye did, did ye?” the man asked in disbelief. “And I’m the king’s brother.”
A man’s deep voice spoke up from behind the guard. “Let him enter.”
The guard opened the door wide and put his hand out. “After ye, sir,” he mocked as he bowed.
Stepping inside of the small, rectangular room, Baldwin saw two crowded tables and men standing along the wall. They all stopped talking and watched him enter the room, their eyes full of distrust.
A brawny man with long dark hair tied at his neck approached him. His eyes were cold and restless. “What business do you have with us?” he asked.
“I heard that you are free thinkers.”
“We might be,” the man replied, “but we don’t know who you are.”
Baldwin offered him a smile, hoping to disarm him. “My name is Baldwin Sparrow, and I want to join the fight against tyranny.”
“How do we know you are who you claim?”
His smile faltered. “Meaning?”
The man took a step closer to him. “How do we know you are not a Runner after blood money for turning us in?”
“I can assure you that I am no Runner,” Baldwin replied. “I have a rather unfavorable view of them myself.”
A man in the back of the room shouted, “Search him!”
The brawny man nodded in agreement, his eyes not leaving Baldwin’s. “A Runner would be carrying weapons on his person,” he said. “You don’t by chance have any on you?”
