"You are Thomas Cromwell, the detective?" She said. She had the face of a clock about to run out of time. "I'm Anne. Anne Boleyn."
"What's it to me, Toots?" I said. She shimmied over. She was from that lot of Wolf Hall and everyone knew that lot was trouble.
"What's it to me, Toots?" I said. She shimmied over. She was from that lot of Wolf Hall and everyone knew that lot was trouble.
"I can make it worth your while, " she said. "They say you're tight with the king."
"You're always tight with the king," I told her. "Until he's had enough and chops off your head or locks you in the Tower. Which one are you after?"
"You're always tight with the king," I told her. "Until he's had enough and chops off your head or locks you in the Tower. Which one are you after?"
She smiled and shook her head. She didn't listen to a word I said. Come to that, I didn't either. I should have listened to my own advice.
...
I stared at Cardinal Wolsey's face. He was deader than the king's hopes for a male heir, and that was saying something. His stupid floppy hat flopped, stupidly. It was a nice hat. It was purple.
I stared at Cardinal Wolsey's face. He was deader than the king's hopes for a male heir, and that was saying something. His stupid floppy hat flopped, stupidly. It was a nice hat. It was purple.
That summer there was a plague and the king went to Richmond. The king always went to Richmond. It was a nice kinda place. The Boleyn girl kept popping up, too. But I had my own problems just then.
There were so many unanswered questions. Who really killed the cardinal? What was the Boleyn girl up to? And what WAS the price of cloth per yard in Antwerp in 1534, The Year of Our Lord?
I needed answers, and I needed them fast.
I needed to buy time. It took me 200 pages but I made it to the Pope in Rome. He wasn't happy with Henry. Truth be told, neither was I. The only thing the man liked more than horses were women.
And women around Henry VIII most often turned up dead.
I needed another 500 pages.
"That fucker's going to start his own church, isn't he?" The Pope said. He had the kinda face that could squeeze grapes into wine.
"Listrn to me, Cromwell. I want this sorted out. You savvy?"
His goons advanced on me then. You didn't fuck with the Pope. I'd realised it too late. I just hoped Henry would, too.
His goons advanced on me then. You didn't fuck with the Pope. I'd realised it too late. I just hoped Henry would, too.
But of course, he never listened.
By the time I got back to Hampton Court most of the scars from the beatings had healed, and Catherine was in exile.
"You have to help me," Boleyn said. She was desperate. "For old times, Cromwell."
"Listen, Toots," I said. "You'd made your bed."
"My own grave," she said, and laughed. It was a terrible sound. "He'll do for you, too, in the end, you do know that, don't you?"
"Listen, Toots," I said. "You'd made your bed."
"My own grave," she said, and laughed. It was a terrible sound. "He'll do for you, too, in the end, you do know that, don't you?"
I nodded gently. It was the last time I saw the Boleyn girl alive.
"I know, " I told her, as gently as I could. "But not for another two giant volumes."
