by C. J. Sansom
I handed it over. Barak darted outside and I saw him talking with the constable, their heads bent close. At one point the constable turned and stared at me for a moment, then he walked on down Thames Street. Barak returned to the tavern.
‘Right,’ he said, taking his stool. ‘I’ve squared him.’
‘I didn’t see money pass.’
‘He’s good at passing coins unseen. So am I. I told him we’re on official business about some stolen jewellery, and we’re meeting an informant at the house two doors down at nine. Asked him to be ready to come to the house with anyone else he can muster, if I shout.’
‘Well done.’ I knew nobody better at such tasks; Barak’s instincts were always extraordinary.
‘I asked him if he knew who lived there. He said one or two men go there occasionally, but mostly it’s empty. He thinks it might be where some gentleman takes a girl, though if so he hasn’t seen her. You’re four shillings poorer, but it’s worth it.’ He paused. ‘It could well be a house belonging to some courtier, where people meet for unauthorized business. Lord Cromwell had such places; I expect the Queen’s people are keeping that gaoler from the Tower in one.’ He fell silent as a young boy set a candle on our table; outside it was getting dark. Barak took a draught of beer, then stood again. ‘I’m going to take a quick walk up and down the street. See if there are any lights on in that house.’ He left again, returning a few minutes later. ‘The shutters are green, like the note said. They’re closed but I could see a glimmer of light between the slats on the ground floor.’ He raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Nothing to do now but wait till the church clocks strike curfew.’ Then he took a long gulp of beer.
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly. ‘I would not have thought of any of that.’
He nodded. ‘I quite enjoyed persuading the constable to back us up, spying out that house. And even that sword fight in the inn, if truth be told, for all it hurt my hand. Old habits die hard.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘But I’ve not the speed and energy I once had. I’ve a good wife, a good job, a child and another on the way.’ He stared into space a moment, then said, ‘Lord Cromwell pulled me out of the gutter when I was a boy. I enjoyed the work I did for him, too, the need for sharp wits and sometimes a sharp knife. But that’s a job for the young, and those with little to lose.’
I quoted a biblical verse that came to my mind: ‘When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.’
‘Never had much chance for childish things.’ Barak took another swig of beer, and looked at me hard. ‘The old ways – I still love that excitement of having to move, think, watch, quickly, on your feet. I’ve realized that again tonight.’ He sat thinking, then looked at me and spoke quietly. ‘I passed my mother in the street, you know, a few months back.’
I stared at him. I knew that after the death of his father, Barak’s mother had quickly married another man, whom he detested; he had been out on the streets alone by the age of twelve. He said, ‘She was old, bent, carrying a pile of twigs for the fire. I don’t know what happened to him, maybe he’s dead, with luck.’
‘Did you speak to her?’
He shook his head. ‘She was coming towards me, I recognized her at once. I stopped, I wasn’t sure whether to speak to her or not. I felt sorry for her. But she walked straight past, didn’t recognize me. So that was that. It’s for the best.’
‘How could you expect her to recognize you? You hadn’t seen her in over twenty years.’
‘A decent mother would know her own child,’ he answered stubbornly.
‘Did you tell Tamasin?’
He shook his head firmly. ‘She’d press me to look for her. And I won’t.’ His jaw set hard.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What’s done is done.’ He changed the subject. ‘You realize Nick may not be at that house, if he’s even still alive. These people want you, to find out what you know, and they won’t be gentle. After that, they’ll have no use for either of you.’
I met his gaze. ‘I know. But if they are going to interrogate me, it will take time. That’s why I need you to watch. If I don’t come out in twenty minutes, call your new friend the constable. I was going to tell you to go to Whitehall, but this way’s better and faster.’
‘All right.’ He fixed me with his hard brown eyes, and spoke seriously. ‘You have to separate yourself from the Queen. Every time you go near that cesspit they call the Royal Court you end up in danger.’
‘She is in danger.’
‘Her own fault, by the sound of it.’
I lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘The King is dying.’
‘I’ve heard that rumour.’
‘It’s more than rumour. I’ve caught glimpses of him, twice. The state he is in – I don’t see how he can last more than a few months.’
‘And then?’
‘Then, if the reformers are in the ascendant, the Queen may be one of those who governs for Prince Edward. She may even be made Regent, as she was when the King led his army to France two years ago. But that book in the wrong hands could kill her.’
Barak inclined his head. ‘Even if she survives, and the reformers win, the Seymours will want to take over. And they’re Prince Edward’s blood relatives, after all. If they do, perhaps the Queen may marry again.’ He looked at me narrowly. ‘Another political marriage, probably, to someone powerful at Court.’
I smiled wryly. ‘Jack, I have never had the remotest hopes for myself, if that’s what is in your mind. Catherine Parr was far above me in status even before she married the King. I have always known that.’
‘Then let this be the last time,’ Barak said, with sudden fierceness.
AT NINE THE CHURCH BELL sounding through the deepening dusk signalled curfew, and the tavern emptied. We went outside. I saw the constable on the corner, his lamp lit. A large, younger man stood beside him. ‘Just about to start my patrol, sir,’ he said meaningfully to Barak, who nodded. We left them and walked down Needlepin Lane as far as the Sign of the Flag, where again patrons were dispersing for the night. They were a younger, rougher crowd, several apprentices among them. Barak nodded at a doorway just beyond. ‘I’ll wait there,’ he said. ‘Just out of sight.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Twenty minutes.’
‘I’ll count them off. Good luck.’
‘Thank you.’ I walked on, my legs trembling slightly. I passed a house where a ragged family could be seen through open shutters, eating a late supper by the light of a cheap candle; the next house was the one with the green shutters. Like Barak, I could see a light through the closed slats. Looking up at the upper storey, I glimpsed a faint light there too; someone was watching the street. But they could not have seen Barak from that angle.
I knocked at the wooden door. Immediately I heard heavy footsteps within. The door opened and a short, heavyset man in a stained shirt stared at me. He had a candle in one hand, the other held over the dagger at his waist. Elias’s descriptions of the men who had made the first attempt to break into Greening’s shop had been vague, but this could have been one of them. He was in his late twenties and under bushy black hair his face was square, craggy, with an angry expression that spoke of temper.
‘I am Master Shardlake,’ I said. ‘I received the note.’
He nodded curtly and stepped aside. I entered a room with rushes on the floor, the only furniture a trestle table bearing a large sconce of candles, with stools around. A rickety staircase led to the upper floor. On one of the stools sat Nicholas, his hands bound behind him and a gag in his mouth. He had a black eye, crusted blood on the gag and in his matted red hair. Behind him stood another young man; tall, in gentlemanly clothing – a good green doublet, with embroidery at the sleeves and neck of his shirt. He had keen, foxy features and a neatly trimmed fair beard. The outer half of his left ear was missing; at some point it had been sliced clean off, leaving only shiny scar tissue. He held a sword to Nichola
s’s throat; the boy stared at me with frantic eyes.
The man who had let me in closed the door. ‘No sign of anyone else, Gower?’ his companion with the damaged ear asked in cultivated tones.
‘No, Master Stice. And he’s watching above.’ He cocked his head towards the staircase.
The other man nodded, his sword still held to Nicholas’s throat. I thought, they’ve let me know both their names; that doesn’t bode well for us. Stice looked at me then; his grey eyes were cool, appraising. He took the sword slowly away from Nicholas’s throat and smiled.
‘So, Master Shardlake, you came. We didn’t think you would, but our master disagreed. He says you have courage and loyalty both.’
Gower stepped over, looking at me with his angry eyes. ‘Perhaps you like the boy, eh, hunchback? Someone like you won’t have much luck with women. Would have thought you could have done better than this beanpole, though.’
‘Leave him alone, Gower,’ Stice snapped impatiently. ‘We’ve business to conduct, no time for jests.’
I looked at Stice contemptuously. ‘What have you done to Nicholas?’
‘We had to knock him out to get him here. And he wasn’t very cooperative when he woke up. Gower had to give him a lesson in manners.’
‘I have come as you asked. Release him.’
Stice nodded. ‘You can have him, though Leonard here would have relished preparing his head to send you.’ He glanced at Gower. ‘Full of funny ideas is Leonard. He thinks you’re a sodomite.’ I would not have dared to mock the man like that, but he took it from Stice, who reached behind Nicholas and untied the gag, then used his sword to slice through his bonds. Gower went and stood beside Nicholas, hand held meaningfully on his knife, as the boy pulled the gag from his mouth. Eventually he spoke in a dry, hoarse voice. ‘I’m so sorry, sir.’
‘It is my fault,’ I said quietly. ‘I led you into danger.’
‘I’d been to a tavern last night,’ he croaked.’ I was walking home when I was knocked out from behind. When I woke up I was here. Where are we?’
‘A house near the river.’ I turned to Stice. ‘Well, are you going to let him go?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. There’s someone wants to talk to you, then if he’s happy we’ll let you both go. Leonard will take Nicky boy out back in the meantime.’ Stice, sword still in hand, leaned against the wall, waiting.
Nicholas still sat. ‘For mercy’s sake,’ he cried. ‘May I have some water?’ He swallowed uncomfortably and grimaced with pain.
‘Poor baby,’ Stice replied with a mocking laugh. ‘Not much forbearance for a gentleman. Oh, get him some water from the barrel, Leonard.’
As Gower went through a door to the back of the house, Nicholas stood, shakily. I heard a creak from the floorboards above, and remembered there was another man in the house. Well, we had been here for five minutes; fifteen more and Barak and the constable would come with his men. In the meantime I would have to dissimulate well. Nicholas stood, stretching, and feeling his bruises. Stice still leaned against the wall, hand on his sword hilt, watching him with amusement.
Suddenly Nicholas launched himself at Stice, clearing the few feet between them with one leap, a hand closing on Stice’s wrist before he could grasp his sword. Caught off guard, Stice let out a yell of anger as Nicholas grasped his other wrist and pinned him to the wall, then kneed him hard in the crotch. He cried out and bent over.
‘Stop, Nicholas!’ I shouted. A fight now was the last thing I wanted, and it was one we could not win. At that moment Gower came back with a pitcher of water. With a shout he dropped it on the floor and reached for his dagger, raising it high to bury it in Nicholas’s back. I threw myself at him and knocked him off balance, but he did not fall, and turned on me with the dagger just as Stice managed to push Nicholas away from the wall and raised his sword. His face was white with anger.
Then rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs and a voice called out, ‘Cease this mad brawling!’ Not a loud voice, but sharp as a file; one I recognized. It was enough to stop Gower in his tracks, and make Stice pause, too. Confident footsteps walked into the room. I turned and beheld, dressed in sober black robe and cap, his thin face frowning mightily, his majesty’s Privy Councillor, Sir Richard Rich.
Chapter Twenty-nine
RICH STRODE IN, SCROWLING. He was the smallest man in the room, but instantly commanded it. He pulled off his black cap and smacked Stice round the face with it. The young man’s eyes flashed for a moment, but he lowered his sword. Rich snapped: ‘I told you they were not to be harmed. You’ve already dealt with that boy more roughly than I wanted – ’
‘He went for me when he woke up—’ Gower ventured.
‘Quiet, churl!’ Rich then turned to me, his voice quiet and serious. ‘Shardlake, I want no violence. I took the boy because I knew it would bring you here, and I need to talk to you. I knew that if I made contact with you any other way you would go yowling straight to the Queen’s people, and what I have to say needs to be kept secret. It may even be that this time we can be of use to each other.’
I stared at him. This was the anxious Richard Rich I had seen at Anne Askew’s burning. His long grey hair was awry, the thin face with its neat little features stern, new lines around the mouth, and his normally cold, still grey eyes roamed around the room.
I said nothing, for the moment lost for words. Nicholas stared in astonishment at the Privy Councillor who had suddenly appeared in our midst. Rich’s two men watched us closely. Then there was a knock at the door, making everyone jump except Rich, whose expression changed to a more characteristic, sly smile. ‘Answer it, Gower,’ he said. ‘Our party is not yet quite complete.’
Gower opened the door. Outside stood the constable with his assistant. Between them, looking furious, was Barak. I saw the dagger was gone from his belt. They pushed him in. Rich nodded at Barak and addressed Stice and Gower. ‘Watch that one, he’s trouble. Master Barak, let me tell you that violence will not help you or your master.’ Rich then walked over to the constable, who bowed deeply. ‘There’s no one else?’ Rich asked.
‘No, sir, only this one.’
‘Good. You and your man will be rewarded. And remember, keep your mouths shut.’
‘Yes, Sir Richard.’
The constable bowed again, and waved his assistant back outside. Rich shut the door on them and turned back to us. He shook his head, the sardonic smile on his face showing his straight little teeth. ‘Barak, I would have expected better from you. Did you not consider that if I used a house I would bribe the local constable first? They can be bought, as you know, and I pay well.’
Barak did not answer. Rich shrugged. ‘Sit at the table. You too, boy. I want a word with your master, and if it concludes well I will let you all go. Understood?’
Barak and Nicholas did not reply, but at a nod from me they allowed Stice and Gower to lead them to the table. They all sat. ‘Watch Barak carefully,’ Rich said. ‘He’s as full of tricks as a monkey.’ He crossed to the staircase, crooking an imperious finger to indicate I should follow. ‘Come up, Master Shardlake.’
I had no alternative. Once upstairs, Rich led me to a room which was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house, containing only a desk with a sconce of lit candles, and a couple of chairs. He motioned me to sit, then regarded me silently, his expression serious again. In the candlelight it seemed to me his thin face had more lines and hollows now. His grey eyes were little points of light. I said nothing, waiting. He had said we might be of use to each other; let him say how. I wondered, did he know of the missing Lamentation? At all costs I must not be the first to mention that.
He said, ‘You are working for the Queen again.’ It was a statement, not a question. But it had been clear from his note that he knew that.
I said, ‘Yes. And there will be more trouble for you if I disappear. Remember the things her majesty knows about you.’ The ‘more trouble’ had been a guess, but Rich’s eyes narrowed. ‘She will not be plea
sed, for example, to learn that your man Stice once tried to suborn one of her pages – as I know for a fact.’ Rich frowned at that. Then I asked, ‘Is it really true, as you said in your note, that you have a spy in her household?’
Rich shrugged. ‘No. But I spotted you at Whitehall a few days ago, in the Guard Chamber.’
‘I did not think you saw me,’ I replied, truly alarmed now.
He leaned forward. ‘There is very little that I miss.’ His tone was both threatening and vain. ‘You would hardly be coming to see the King. I thought then, so he is working for her once more, after all this time; I wonder why. And then right afterwards you began your enquiries into the murder of a certain Armistead Greening, printer.’
‘On behalf of his parents only.’
‘Do not take me for a fool, Shardlake,’ Rich said impatiently. ‘You are acting for the Queen on this.’ I did not reply. He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Let me guess what you have found. Greening was part of a little group of religious fanatics, probably Anabaptists. One of their members, Vandersteyn, is a Dutch merchant, and we know that Anabaptism still festers over there. And another is Curdy, a merchant from an old Lollard family – and we know how many of them have been seduced by the Anabaptists in the past.’ He raised a slim hand and ticked off a series of names on the fingers of the other – ‘Vandersteyn, Curdy, Elias Rooke, apprentice, McKendrick, a Scotch soldier turned preacher, and – ’ he leaned forward – ‘Leeman, a member of the Queen’s guard, no less. And finally – ’ he took a deep breath – ‘it seems, a gaoler from the Tower, called Myldmore. Six of them, all vanished into thin air.’
