The Thief Taker

by C. S. Quinn

  Charlie realised he had underestimated Malvern. He had believed him a crazed man of spells and enchantments.

  This strategy showed him to be far colder and more ruthless. Malvern was willing to see his entire country fall to take his revenge on the King.

  Charlie stared up at the dark walls of the church. He knew he needed to stop Malvern’s plans. But first he must rescue Maria.

  Praying Maria was inside the church, he sized up the dark walls, his mind racing with his discovery. Several trees grew alongside the belfry. If he could climb up and clamber onto the roof then he might be able to get inside.

  Before climbing back out of the grave pit Charlie took a long last look at the rabbit gun. He couldn’t bring it, he decided. The long muzzle would only slow him down, and he had already nearly discharged it accidentally. Besides, it wasn’t powerful enough to kill a man. He decided to leave it lying with Malvern’s loot.

  A shriek pierced the air, then a chorus of cries broke out in accompaniment.

  As Charlie wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tallest tree and started to climb he made out a huddle of dark heads around the entrance to the church.

  More of them were on their feet now and close against the locked door, petitioning to be let inside.

  Charlie climbed along the thickest branch and over towards the top of the church.

  Hauling himself onto the slate roof Charlie sat for a moment to get his breath back. Up ahead was the steeple and suddenly, as if timing his arrival, a light winked on inside the church.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Tip-toeing along the side of the roof Charlie made it to the bottom of the belfry. A little door was set into the side of tower.

  It must have been built to allow people up to repair the roof, Charlie decided. And holding his breath he turned the handle. It opened, revealing a tiny set of dark stone steps.

  Squeezing into the confines he paused to listen. The sounds of the plague victims outside seemed to be echoing into the nave of the church below. But as far as he could tell there were no noises from inside.

  As quietly as possible he eased himself down the steps, hoping the cacophony outside would drown out any sounds he was making.

  At the bottom of the steps he saw someone had hung a lantern in the centre of the church. It had been placed there so recently that it still swung back and forth, in and out of view of the window.

  Charlie froze, scanning for any evidence of whoever had left the lantern. Then his eyes grew wide as he took in the contents of the large nave.

  Food was everywhere. But all was rotten and bad. The smell was appalling.

  Then his eyes settled on the cache of weapons. Rifles and swords were piled up. Enough for an army.

  So this is where Malvern keeps his armoury.

  There was a knocking sound. A slow steady tapping.

  He waited for a moment, trying to match the sound with the source. And then he realised. It was the plague people outside, petitioning for entry to the church.

  Turning away from the sound and into the light of the lantern Charlie saw it.

  The crown and loop of knots.

  It had been fashioned from shining nail-heads hammered into the side of a huge sea-chest. Hewn of a dense teak, it sat squat and impenetrable. Thick bands of black steel encased an intricate-looking locking system.

  Charlie’s eyes travelled up to where elaborate metalwork hinged the mighty trunk. It was a Dutch design.

  A Dutch chest.

  Slowly Charlie’s hand went to the symbol at his neck. The keyhole of the strong-box stared back at him like a single challenging eye.

  It had been loaded in amongst a pile of domestic-looking possessions and Charlie took a moment to consider the context. He recognised a rolled up rug and then an elaborate table-leg. The objects were so familiar he thought for a moment he must be dreaming. They were the furnishings from the great house of his childhood.

  Malvern must have packed away his household safe from plague robbers. And here was this chest in with them.

  Was it possible the trunk had lain sealed all these years, with Charlie carrying the only key?

  Holding his breath he walked closer. From around his neck he silently drew off the key.

  Malvern is coming.

  Something whispered at the edge of his hearing, and he stopped, thinking for a moment that someone had spoken. Then he moved forward again. The chance to discover what his mother had wanted him to find was suddenly in front of him, and he felt his legs propel him towards it.

  At the chest, he took out his key, knelt, and twisted it slowly in the lock. The tumblers turned. The great mechanism of interconnecting bolts rolled away. And Charlie lifted the lid. It was designed to be self-locking with an ingenious system he had never seen before. A spring-loaded device inside worked to seal the lock automatically once it was closed. He had heard of similar inventions in jewellery cases, but never in a trunk of this size. This chest had been designed to transport a great deal of money by sea.

  Inside was a pile of papers. He caught a glimpse of a royal seal and some Dutch writing. His eyes scanned it, knowing he could not risk taking the time necessary to translate the text. He frowned, trying to work out the connection.

  The Royal Crest. And Holland.

  His mother had hidden these papers. What reason could she have had?

  There was another page written in English. Shivering in the chill of Cripplegate he lifted it out.

  Charlie looked over to the enormous oak door where a slow splinter crack was forming. He turned his attention back to the single paper in his hand.

  There was so much tiny writing on the page, it made his head hurt. Charlie’s reading was adequate but slow. The paper seemed to swirl in a maelstrom of words.

  He frowned, scanning down the document for immediate clues.

  There was a royal seal at the bottom. And a signature Charlie recognised. Thomas Blackstone’s looping scrawl. With Teresa Blackstone’s name signed underneath it.

  Charlie’s gaze tracked to the top of the paper. Two large words formed a title, and he ran a finger under them.

  Marriage Licence.

  So this was Thomas Blackstone’s wedding certificate.

  Charlie let the paper hang limply in his hand, pondering, trying to ignore the heightening thudding of the plague sufferers at the church door.

  Why would Sally Oakley hide Thomas’s marriage licence?

  Charlie squinted back at the crabbed script, trying to make out further particulars. No church name seemed to be listed. So the document was for a Fleet wedding – the kind made by disreputable priests who touted for business. A rather vulgar choice, for a wealthy man.

  Charlie concentrated on finding the name of the person who had sanctified the marriage, but the sea of text was impenetrable for fast reading.

  He needed time to study it carefully. But time was something Charlie didn’t have.

  Blackstone had Maria.

  A great banging echoed around the church suddenly as one of the plague people attacked the door with particular gusto. Charlie’s hand jerked in alarm, letting the lid of the chest fall back down and dropping the paper as he pulled his hand quickly away. The heavy sound boomed ominously through the church. Then there was a click as the chest sealed itself again.

  Charlie was about to reopen the chest and draw out the papers. And then he heard it again, more clearly this time.

  ‘Malvern is coming!’

  It was Maria’s voice.

  Spinning around in the deserted nave he could see nothing.

  ‘Maria?’

  He could investigate later, he decided. First he would find Maria.

  Outside the church the infected people had worked themselves to a fever pitch. They pounded anew, fists hammering desperately.

  Charlie looked over to the enormous oak door. It surely couldn’t hold for long.

  ‘Charlie?’

  It was Maria’s voice.

  Spinning around
in the deserted nave he could see nothing.

  ‘Maria?’

  ‘Charlie!’ The voice was muffled. ‘Do not come close!’

  He raced towards the voice and found her lying bound behind a tomb. She had been gagged, but had managed to work half of it away. Enough to croak out a warning.

  Charlie tugged it off and began working to loosen her bindings.

  ‘Do not Charlie,’ she begged. ‘You must go. It is not safe. He will hear the people knocking and know someone has come inside.’

  The pounding sounded louder than ever.

  Charlie turned his head a quick left and right, but seeing nothing carried on untying the ropes.

  ‘He will come,’ she insisted. ‘He will be here any minute. You must go and raise the alarm.’

  ‘I will not leave you here Maria,’ said Charlie.

  The knocking was mixed with a cracking of wood giving way. It sounded bodily against the door as though the people outside were hurling themselves against it.

  ‘You must go Charlie,’ Maria’s hands broke free and she pushed him away from her. He fell back onto the stone floor. As he righted himself again in bemusement she held up a warning hand.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ he said, thinking she might be trying to hide some injury from him. Maria shook her head.

  ‘He meant to,’ she said. ‘And then he saw the marks.’

  She drew up her skirt to reveal white legs.

  At first he thought she had revealed a little birth mark. A wine-coloured thumbprint partway up her inner thigh. And then he saw another. And another.

  ‘You cannot save me Charlie,’ she said, her eyes staring into his. ‘I am already dead.’

  The tokens peppered her legs, fanning out into a mash of blood-coloured bruises and raised veins as they stretched upwards.

  ‘I cannot come with you,’ she said.

  Charlie fell back on his haunches, his mouth open.

  ‘Maria, I . . . .’

  ‘You must go. There is a chance you can stop Malvern’s plans. He means to send a message. Did you see the cage of pigeons outside?’

  Charlie shook his head. Then he remembered the sound of the wood pigeons cooing just before he leapt into the pit.

  ‘I heard them I think. In the graveyard.’

  ‘It was a cage of messenger pigeons you heard,’ she said. ‘I saw him use them. The birds are to be used to signal the infection to begin. But he has not done it yet. He wanted first to acquire better plague protection, so he might be safe. From me.’

  Charlie moved towards her but she pushed him back roughly.

  ‘If you can get to the birds you may prevent the message being sent. All you need do is open the cage and free them.’

  But Charlie wasn’t listening. ‘We can find a doctor. There is some potion or tincture.’ He leaned forward and grabbed at her hand. ‘Come. Get up. We will get you to a warm bed and you may sweat it all out.’

  ‘His plans might still be stopped,’ repeated Maria. ‘But you must go now.’

  ‘There is Venice Treacle,’ stammered Charlie in desperation. ‘That has worked for some.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Maria. ‘Who has it worked for Charlie? None survive the plague. Stop Malvern’s plans. That is all you can do for me.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I will not leave you.’

  ‘Then Malvern will have won. And I will die for nothing and . . . .’

  She was interrupted by the sound of a door. Her eyes widened in fright.

  ‘He is here,’ she whispered. ‘Get out now.’

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  ‘I know someone is in here,’ Malvern’s voice rumbled through the nave. At the low sound of it the thudding at the door seemed to grow more urgent, echoing around the church. ‘I heard you both talking.’

  The voice stopped and for a moment only the knocking could he heard. ‘And he is in here still,’ said Malvern.

  Still crouched on the floor Charlie felt a blow from Maria’s foot and moved away from her back towards the front of the church. He was still concealed by the tomb, but it wouldn’t take Malvern long to find him.

  He had been right about Malvern’s identity, he realised. The familiar voice had confirmed it.

  Heavy footsteps and the rustle of a canvas cloak sounded.

  Charlie’s gaze fell on the heavy oak door. It was still vibrating under the assault from outside. The middle was splintering, and before he knew what this meant, it happened.

  The door smashed away and a torrent of people lurched into the church. Shattered veins at their necks and faces gave them an undead colouring as if they had crawled up from the nearby graves.

  They limped on gangrenous feet with writhing black fingers. But there was hope on their faces. They had come for a holy man to bring them comfort, and they staggered forward in vain search of him.

  In the confusion Charlie rose to his feet, covered his mouth and ran for the entrance. He brushed against stiff buboils and ulcerated limbs as he ran, but the crowd hardly seemed to notice him in their desperation to find sanctuary in the church.

  Charlie turned to see Malvern in his plague-doctor outfit, wheeling around in shock as the diseased ran towards him. And then he vanished behind the tumult. Maria was nowhere to be seen.

  Bursting out into the moonlit graveyard Charlie made for the open grave. He heard the pigeons before he saw them. Maria must have ducked back down behind the tomb, he decided, and he could only hope she would stay safe long enough for him to somehow get the better of Malvern. Then he would take her for treatment. There must be something. They would comb the city for it and find a cure.

  The cooing birds guided him to the cage. His fingers closed on the door, seeking out the catch.

  A voice came from behind.

  ‘You look a great deal like your mother.’

  Charlie turned.

  ‘I have hunted for years for what she stole from me,’ continued Malvern. ‘And now I have finally found you out. For I know she must have hid my secret with one of her sons.’

  He had brought out the struggling Maria and threw her to the ground as he spoke.

  Charlie moved towards her but Malvern drew his sword in warning.

  The mask cocked to the side. ‘She concealed you both so cleverly that I never found you or your brother. Though I searched the London slums daily.’

  Malvern’s eyes settled on the key around Charlie’s neck.

  A low laugh came from under his mask.

  ‘So that is where she hides it. In my own chest. Very clever. But all is done now. Give me the key.’

  Charlie’s hand closed on the key.

  ‘Give it to me. And I shall tell you where your mother is.’

  ‘My mother is dead.’ It was a wrench to say the words.

  ‘Know you that for certain? Would you not know for sure? I will not lie to you boy. I will tell you exactly where she is.’

  A deep yearning surged through Charlie.

  ‘You must have wanted to know all your life,’ said Malvern. ‘You must always have wondered. Now is your chance to find out the truth, once and for all.’

  ‘She is dead,’ said Charlie. ‘If my mother were living she would have come back for us.’

  ‘Your faith is very touching boy. What if you are wrong? What if this is your last and only chance to discover her?’

  ‘I . . . I do not believe it that she still lives.’

  ‘Yet you sound so uncertain. Do not lose this opportunity Charlie Oakley. If your mother lives and you may yet find her it would be very sad not to seek out the right facts.’

  ‘I will not stand by whilst you ruin the country,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Has this King done so much for you? Your foolish monarch had me in London’s employ, sending false reports of his mistresses to the Mayor under his very nose.’

  Blackstone paused to judge the effect of his words.

  ‘It is only the key I want,’ he continued, his tone shifting. ‘I will allow you
to live.’ He looked down at Maria. ‘Both of you. You will know at last for certain,’ Malvern’s voice had dropped to a whisper. ‘Where your mother is.’

  ‘No!’ He heard Maria’s shout from where she had been thrown to the floor, but he could not bring himself to look at her.

  ‘You have my word boy. I will tell you all.’ Malvern was tensed. ‘You cannot win.’

  Charlie’s eyes flicked to Maria and back again. His hand moved to rest on the key.

  ‘Give it to me.’ Malvern’s gloved claw writhed impatiently.

  ‘He will never give it over!’ Maria’s faith in him was unexpected. Charlie turned to look at her.

  ‘You would not let him win,’ she said.

  Charlie looked from her face back to Malvern. His hand retreated away from the key.

  ‘I will not give it to you,’ he said. ‘I would rather die than betray my mother’s memory.’

  A low growl came from behind Malvern’s mask. With lightning speed he darted forward, grabbing Maria’s blonde hair. He moved the sharp blade of his sword beneath her throat.

  ‘Very well then boy. Since you are without sentiment for your own mother, perhaps this girl is worth something more to you.’

  Maria was shaking her head. ‘Do not give it Charlie. I am dead in any case. You will gain nothing by playing to his plans.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Malvern. ‘If you would see her blood spilled, so be it.’ With practised calm he began to draw the sword.

  ‘No!’ said Charlie.

  Maria gasped.

  ‘Hold! Please! I will give it to you.’

  Malvern looked up from his task. The blade held still. ‘Well then?’

  Charlie fumbled for the key.

  ‘Charlie! No!’

  Ignoring her he tossed it to the floor near Malvern’s feet.

  Malvern let Maria fall to the ground and snatched it up. Charlie stepped towards her but Malvern held out his sword in warning.

  ‘Come no closer.’ Malvern’s eyes glittered and his voice lost all of its previous persuasiveness.

  ‘Your mother stole from me and I strangled her. It was not until later, of course, that I realised she hid my secrets. I thought her sons would have the answer but could never find you out.’