A Missed Murder

by Michael Jecks

  He saw me and barely acknowledged me. His eyes met mine and I saw them sort of narrow ever so slightly, and then he returned his gaze to the pit. I wasn’t sure, but it looked to me as if he didn’t want to speak to me. Well, be damned to that! God’s wounds, I had come all this way – south of the river, no less – in order to have a word! I was not going to be fobbed off with a grim look. I would go to him.

  As I came to this conclusion, there came a roar from the pit, and when I glanced, I saw that one of the cockerels had been dealt a ferocious blow. A long, raking slash ran from beak to the middle of his breast, and he was on the ground as if winded. His opponent was plumping his feathers, crowing at the sky in glee and preparing for the fatal assault. Now he leaped up into the air, talons ready to do great damage, but when he came down, the injured bird was no longer there. He had sprung to the side, and now he pecked viciously at the other’s eye, before chasing it about the pen until he caught it from behind and attacked his neck with repeated nips and bites.

  I didn’t want to see any more. Feathers and blood, if anything, are worse than blood on its own. Looking over to where Humfrie had been sitting, I was about to make my way to him when I realized he was no longer there. I frowned, staring at the spot, then turning all about, trying to see where he could have got to, but there was no sign of him.

  Eventually, I gave up. I moved back towards the door, and there was Humfrie, only a pace away. How he managed to get so close without me realizing, I do not know.

  ‘Master,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Is there a place away from this horrible racket where we can speak?’ I said.

  ‘Follow me.’

  He took me out to a large plot behind the barn, in which a number of horses grazed. We walked to a low wall and sat on it, contemplating the view. Houses, barns and, over all, the fog of ten thousand cook fires from London. ‘Well?’

  I explained about losing my purse, and the need for more money to pay him. ‘So, what I wondered was, whether you could speak to Mal the Loaf about the money Jeffry gave him, but also about the purse stolen from the Spaniard? See whether he has heard anything about them.’

  ‘This is Mal the Loaf you’re talking about. If he heard of a purse full of money, he’d take it,’ was Humfrie’s unhelpful comment.

  ‘Not if you could persuade him that Falkes is displeased about the purse going missing.’

  ‘He knows Falkes isn’t about. From what I’ve heard, Mal aspires to great things for himself and thinks he can take over Falkes’s empire. He’s a fool to think it, because even he must know he has no brain for organization; he’s much more keen on using his muscles. Oh, he’s able to go find a man and break his arms or his head, maybe use that knife of his to take off a finger or two, but to take charge of a hundred men or more? He wouldn’t last a morning.’

  His scathing assessment was not a disappointment to me. ‘Good. Because I only need him to work for a morning or so. And if he thought that this purse was important—’

  ‘He’ll steal it for himself all the more swiftly. You need it so you can pay me, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because you know I don’t work for promises, don’t you? I won’t go chasing after this Michol until I know you have the cash to pay me. You realize that?’

  ‘That’s why I was hoping you could find a way to persuade him.’

  ‘Oh, I can do that, right enough. It’ll take a little work, mind.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mal has always been all over my Jen like a cheap tunic. He adores her, and she can’t stand him. But if she were to ask him, he’d climb down into hell to fetch her a trinket.’

  ‘Will she do it? Will she go and ask him?’

  ‘I’ll get her to ask him to find the purse because it was stolen from her. If he thinks it was hers, he’ll move heaven and earth to find it, and you can be certain he won’t take a penny piece from it.’

  He left me then, walking quickly across the mud and gravel to the inn’s courtyard, and thence out into the roadway.

  For my part, I was in two minds, but I decided to make my way back homewards, thinking that not even a dedicated Spaniard would have waited all night and half the next day to capture me. I walked out past possibly the largest mound of horse manure I have ever seen, into the High Street, and up to the bridge.

  Most of the damage done the previous year during the rebellion had been made good. The shot that had thundered into walls and rattled along the roads had been cleared away, the loose stones and demolished buildings tidied or burned. Apart from the shining, clean-looking timbers that lined the bridge and buildings, you could hardly tell anything had happened here.

  I crossed over and made my way up towards my house. You may be assured that I kept my eyes and ears open all the way up my road. As I approached, I studied the doorways and any obstacles with great care, moving ever more slowly and silently. There was no sign of the Spaniards. Those dark eyes were nowhere apparent, and neither was his rapier, which, damn me, if it didn’t seem sharper and larger than before now that I brought it back to mind. I stood ten yards from my door and studied the road again. And then, well, I squared my shoulders and set off with the confident gait of a man who had no reason to fear any man, because I was quite right and the fools had left the place. There was no sign of Spaniards or other hazards anywhere near my house.

  Marching to my door, I pounded on it to waken Raphe, who would be sure to be sleeping somewhere like the lazy good-for-nothing that he was, and when it opened, I shoved it wide and stepped in.

  Which was a mistake. Because before I could take a second step, my feet were knocked from beneath me, the door was slammed shut, and when I glanced up with terror, I saw that my memories of the rapier were all too good. It was that large, and it was that sharp.

  I smiled up at him. ‘Ah! Ramon!’

  The rapier’s tip approached a little closer. Not too much, but it was like seeing a mastiff’s drooling jaws near your throat. A little closer is enough to make you need to clench your buttocks.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I … er …’

  ‘You know, Peter the Passer! He gave me an excuse and slipped away the evening before last. Where is he?’

  ‘How should I know? I was out for the last two nights, and—’ It suddenly occurred to me that Ramon, who supposedly spoke no English, was now giving a passable performance as an almost native-born Englishman. ‘You speak English?’

  ‘No, I just pretend to,’ he snapped. ‘Where did you take him?’

  ‘I didn’t say I took him …’ The tip was under my chin now, and I could feel my eyes widen as I sensed the icy coldness of the blade at my exposed throat. ‘Look, I don’t know where he is! He asked me to find him some pretty girls, so I told him where to go, but …’ I could feel it pressing. My skin was being compressed against the top of my Adam’s apple, and I didn’t like the sensation at all. ‘Um.’

  ‘Where is he? You can continue with these inventions if you like, but this rapier has not tasted blood in some weeks now, and it would love to see how your craven English blood tastes. So tell me where he is, and you will save us the effort of seeing how much energy I need expend to stab your throat and watch you drown in your own blood.’

  I began to think that keeping things back was a less good idea than telling him what he wanted to know.

  ‘Very well! He wanted to find a whore, so I took him to a place I know, the Cardinal’s Hat in …’

  ‘You took him to that pox-shop? Was he robbed? Did they injure him? Are they holding him for blackmail or hostage for ransom?’

  I don’t know if he meant to, but it felt as though he was about to pierce my spine as he spat those words. I squeaked, and tried to push my head into the floor to keep the sword at bay. ‘No, no, no! He left there fine, with me!’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I took him with me to a tavern, down near London Bridge.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘
The White Bear. It’s a good little place, and he was very happy while we were there.’

  ‘I suppose he was,’ the Spaniard said with what looked to me like a sneer of contempt. Perhaps he knew the Bear as well, then.

  ‘I left him there and came home.’

  ‘You left a stranger to your city in a den of thieves and whores?’

  ‘Well …’ Yes, he clearly did know the Bear. ‘Yes, but he seemed capable of protecting himself. There was no reason to think he would be in any danger.’

  ‘Are you really so dim that you don’t see the risk of leaving a Spanish nobleman in a base tavern, when all England despises the Spanish?’

  ‘Begging your pardon, but just now everyone in England rather likes the Spanish. Hadn’t you heard about the baby boy?’

  ‘I had not heard of it the night before last,’ Ramon said, and this time there was no doubt: he was sneering. ‘And I doubt I will hear of it again. So you left him in there, you say?’

  I didn’t like the sound of that ‘I doubt’ bit. I would have asked him what he meant, but just now it was still my pelt I was worried about. ‘Yes, of course. He had his fun with the Winchester geese, and I think they were clean of the French marbles, and then we left the stews to return to the Bear, where I left him.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Winchester geese – the whores.’

  ‘Marbles?’

  ‘The French pox.’

  ‘Oh,’ he lifted his eyebrows as he absorbed this new information. Then he frowned again. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did you leave him? Peter the Passer, I do not like your face. It tells me you are lying. I think you know where he is, and I wish to know immediately, else I will pin you to the floor with my rapier!’

  Now my mind was whirring quickly. ‘Why? Luys told me he was just a …’

  ‘He was a man sent here for a special task. We were guarding him.’

  ‘He was no nobleman, though. I would have thought him a professional,’ I said without thinking. My words touched a nerve.

  ‘You believe that he was a professional man, out to visit the city for a lark? I think you are brighter than you make out, Passer!’

  ‘No! No, I’m not!’

  ‘Let us see whether you will talk more when I cut off your fingers, one by one.’

  I spoke quickly: ‘No! Look, I didn’t know anything about him! He was there, I saw he got the women he wanted, then we went for some more drink, and that is all! I can’t tell you what I don’t know!’

  There comes a time when a liar has to tell the truth. When a fellow decides to remove his fingers one by one, that is a good starting point. But – and it is an important but – it is important to gauge whether the actual truth – such as ‘I took him to the riverside, and he was robbed and murdered’ – would not lead to more dire consequences than the removal of a finger or two. At such a moment, the best thing to do is to tell a lie, but tell it really convincingly. If you can, convince yourself before speaking it. That way, you may just live to regret the loss of a forefinger or two.

  I hoped so.

  ‘Yet you did not protect this foreigner in your city. You took him to places of ill repute, where he could pick up disease—’

  ‘I said, the girls don’t have the clap at the Hat!’

  ‘And then left him in a low tavern and walked away.’

  ‘Well, it seemed better than me staying there for no reason. I was tired. It had been an exhausting day. If you recall, I saved you and him from the mob! And this is the thanks I get!’ I added bitterly.

  Ramon peered at me more closely. ‘You swear this?’

  ‘Yes. I took him to the brothel and then to the Bear. I swear it. And then I left him and came home. It was late; I was tired.’

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘I was at St Paul’s Cross when the news came of the baby. I went with some men there to drink and celebrate.’

  ‘Yet when you saw us yesterday, you fled.’

  ‘Was that you? My eyesight … But why did you chase me? And where’s my doublet and cloak?’

  I suppose the look of baffled indignation on my face was convincing in some way. He relented, enough to allow the stabbing pain to reduce somewhat. Suddenly, he stepped away, his rapier all but forgotten in his hand. One of his men was still standing with his back to the door, so I couldn’t rise and run, much though I desired it. Instead, I remained where I was, rubbing my throat where he had pinked it, and thinking poisonous thoughts about foreigners coming to London. I had come to the conclusion that all should be weighted with chains and dropped into the river, when he turned and fixed me with those terrible dark eyes once more.

  ‘Master Passer, you took young Diego to harlots and low drinking places. You deserted him at the Bear. You have broken the rules of hospitality which exist even in this most satanic city. My friend Diego is somewhere in the city. You will find him and bring him to me.’

  ‘But – a moment, please – me? What can I do about finding him? I am only a private fellow, servant to Master John Blount and—’

  ‘I suggest you be silent a moment. I know all about you. I know Master Blount is a servant to Sir Thomas Parry, the comptroller to Lady Elizabeth. With your contacts, it should be easy to track down our friend.’

  ‘I need my doublet and cloak first.’

  ‘Then you had best hurry. We left them in the street.’

  That was a knock. I would never see them again.

  ‘When you have found him, I would hear of him, his whereabouts and his condition. You have a day. Bring news of him to me at once.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Because if you do not, I will see to it that you are packed in a barrel and shipped to the boy’s master by evening tomorrow. He will be most interested to meet you.’

  When they had gone, I went straight to a mirror. It felt as though I could breathe without opening my mouth, and I was convinced I would find that there was a new rapier-sized hole in my throat, but fortunately there was nothing. Only a small dot of soreness which, when I rubbed it, smeared a drip of blood over my shirt.

  I bellowed for Raphe, who ambled along some moments later. ‘Didn’t you think not to let strangers into the house? What were you thinking?’

  Raphe pulled a chicken leg from his mouth. He had sucked the meat from it and was sucking the bone itself. ‘They were your friends. You brung ’em in yourself.’

  ‘But the man threatened me!’

  ‘I didn’t know. I was in the kitchen. You didn’t come home last night. I got you a capon, too. All roasted.’

  ‘Good. I am starving. I’ll eat it cold.’

  ‘Had to throw it away. Didn’t think you’d want it.’

  ‘Throw it away?’ I stared at the chicken bone in his hand.

  He defiantly replaced it in his mouth. ‘Mmm,’ he said.

  ‘Fetch me my old jack, my pale brown one, and a clean shirt, hosen and hat,’ I said. I wasn’t going to bandy words with him. I was already in a bad enough mood, both for the threats and the loss of my best clothing. Raphe wandered off, and when I was sure he was gone, I went to the fireplace. There was a loose stone in the left side of the chimney’s wall, and I scrabbled at it now. The stone came free, and I stuck my hand inside. This was my emergency store of funds. There were several pennies inside, and I pulled them out. I had lost my purse and would need another, but merely holding those few coins in my hand made me feel happier, as though they could ensure my safety once more.

  Soon I was dressed again in clean clothing. My old doublet had been my pride and joy last year: faun coloured, with a soft, lovely feel; now it was stained and marked in various places where I had bled over it, or rolled in other people’s blood. Although the best woman I could find had done her best, nothing could hide the fact that it had suffered.

  I stood outside my door, my few coins held in a leather pouch which I had slipped inside my waist, the laces tied to my belt. At least a foist would find it l
ess easy to grab my money from in there, I thought.

  There was no one in the street whom I recognized. That was itself a relief.

  I turned to the south and made my way towards Ludgate. I had to find Humfrie and see whether he had persuaded Jen to be reasonable.

  Humfrie found me.

  I had hunted in amongst all the taverns near St Paul’s without luck, when I decided I needed refreshment and expended some few of my pennies on a coffin of minced beef and a quart of good ale. When Humfrie appeared, he walked straight to me, as though he knew all along that I would be waiting there for him.

  ‘I’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She said yes, if she gets half the money.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s my daughter,’ Humfrie said, a little shame-faced. ‘I suppose I brought her up to negotiate.’

  ‘She can’t do that!’ I protested. ‘I need that money to pay you!’

  ‘Perhaps you can find some more?’

  ‘Perhaps you can negotiate with Jen about your own share!’

  He looked at me mournfully. ‘Do you think you could negotiate with her? No? Then why do you think I can?’

  ‘Because you’re her father!’

  His face grew longer. ‘That’s why I can’t. She knows how to make me agree to her every demand.’

  ‘This is ridiculous!’

  ‘What can I say?’

  I shrugged. ‘Will she come with us?’

  ‘We can ask.’

  Jen was in a back room at the George, enthusiastically getting herself outside a large pot of wine. She always used to drink cider or ale when I had first met her, but recent months living with me had persuaded her that it was less ladylike, and now she insisted on the worst red piss she could buy.

  ‘Hello, Jen,’ I said. Humfrie stood at my side, a sycophantic smirk on his face.

  She studied me for a moment, then lifted her chin and turned to her companion, a slimy little bag of rats called Simeon. I’d met him before. He was not too bad at purse-cutting, but a more devious little weasel-faced lick-spittle … well, I never liked him, let’s leave it at that.