A Missed Murder

by Michael Jecks

  There was a crash as a door was slammed, and I rose to walk to the little window. The glass was fogged with dirt, and I had to wipe and wipe at a pane to create a tiny view of the world. Opposite was another house, a mere spit away. Down below was a narrowish street, with a car travelling along it slowly, while pedestrians moved from its path, some few shouting bile at it for blocking their way. People always grow hot about being forced to slow their own passage. Below me, a woman darted to the opposite side of the road, and even from above, I was able to recognize that it was surely Agnis. No other woman rolled her entire body so enticingly fore- and- aft while merely strolling across a street.

  It was a picture to make a man smile, and I did, for all of a second. Then, I admit, my mouth fell wide.

  She was crossing the lane to talk to a man, and as I watched, I saw that she was speaking with a man in the shadows. I peered closer, trying to guess who it was, but the glass was too filthy. The man was wearing a hood that concealed his face, and even when I peered closely, nose against the window, I could not see who it might be.

  Then I gave a shriek.

  A hideous, grey flashing thing, like a hellish demon of the air, appeared before me. I sprang back, heart beating, swearing as my head pounded again, and then cursed myself for a fool. It was a pigeon.

  At the window once more, I flapped my hands to send the bird off, but it merely stared at me with idiotic, empty eyes and cooed gently.

  When I looked down again, Agnis and the man had disappeared. I don’t know why, but it left me unsettled. Who would she be going to talk to, leaving me in my injured state? Of course, for all I knew, it could be a brother, or her baker … but no baker would wear a hat like that. It spoke of money. Perhaps it was the owner of this house? Why would he be waiting outside for her to meet him there?

  No, whoever this fellow was, I wanted nothing to do with him. I was sure of that.

  I dressed quickly and went to the door. It was locked.

  There are some men who would have been downcast to be confronted with a locked door. Not so me. If you had lived in London with some of the rough fellows whom I had known, you would appreciate that no door is safe against a determined draw-latch.

  I knelt and stared at the door’s lock. It looked a complicated affair, but I had seen others make free with such locks with their sets of skeleton keys. However, I had none. I stood and stared at the door for a long time, and then searched the room for something suitable. I needed a fine, strong piece of metal, like a nail or something similar, or a strong iron bar to break the lock and prise the door from the jamb. Or something. But there was nothing suitable.

  Sitting on the bed, I gazed about again. I had no idea what to do now. I was truly downhearted. I had anticipated a swift exit from this place, but now I was apparently trapped.

  My eyes returned to the cupboard and the collection of items on the top. There was a pouch, which was heavy, and when I opened the drawstring, I discovered it contained a number of lead balls. Useful, perhaps, as marbles, but I didn’t see why they were here. The flask beside it, I had hoped, might contain some brandy or wine, but it had only powder when I shook it.

  And that was when I realized what this was. I opened the wallet beside it, to find the gun. It lay there, all workmanlike and oddly unappealing, in spite of the skill and effort that had gone into its manufacture. But for all that, it was a comforting sight. It was the only means I had to defend myself.

  The thing was repellent. Heavy, cumbersome; but still, it was better than taking a dagger to a sword fight. When I studied it more closely, I saw that there was a mark on the side. Something put on by the armourer who made it, no doubt. A sort of T and F, the sign of the fool who wanted to be known for making things that would kill people. Personally, I would prefer to be known for making things that enhanced life, I thought. And then I thought that this thing could well save mine. I decided to be less judgemental about the man who made it.

  I was sure it was easy to ready it. I took some powder in my hand, pouring it from the flask, and tipped it into the barrel. I stared into the barrel. Was it enough? How could I tell? I put the flask over the barrel and let in a goodly quantity more.

  When I took a ball and dropped it into the barrel, it rattled down easily enough. I hunted for the spanner, which was under the pouch, and quickly set it to the wheel, turning it for almost a full turn, before there was a loud click and the wheel locked in place. I took the dog and set it on the wheel. Then, as an afterthought, I pulled the flask, pouch and wallet to me. The first two had long thongs, and I pulled these over my head, the pouch with bullets lying on my left hip, the flask with the powder on my right, while I slipped the wallet with the gun inside it, under my jack. It was a hellish weight, but I didn’t care. The hook of steel on the left side slipped through my belt, binding it firmly in place.

  Just as I was completing my preparations, I heard steps. There was a snick as the door was unlocked, and then it opened. A man was in the doorway, and as the door opened wide, I gaped. It was growing on me as a habit. ‘Willyam! What are you doing here?’

  Willyam’s eyes took in the room with a quick, practised glance. ‘Are you ready to get away from here?’

  I shut my mouth, but my bafflement was not reduced. ‘What are you doing here, Will?’

  ‘I saw that you had been taken. When the wench left you, I thought I had best come in to rescue you.’

  ‘But … what?’

  He gave me a pitying look. ‘Perhaps we can leave the explanations until we find a safe place to talk? Come with me.’

  I was in no position to argue, really. I followed after him as he led the way to a steep staircase. We descended silently, apart from my hissing breath when I struck my forehead against the ceiling and muttered a curse. Willyam turned and glared at me so fiercely that I almost thought I would burst into flame. I swear, he could have lighted a fire with that look. He turned and led the way downstairs to the front door. Here he opened the door a crack and then slipped through it, beckoning me to follow suit.

  We hurried along, Willyam thrusting ahead, while I rattled along in his wake, until we came to a broader thoroughfare, and I recognized Eastcheap by a couple of the houses. With relief, I entered the great thoroughfare, and then we turned away from the Tower and headed back towards St Paul’s. There was a tavern there that I knew well, and I hurried inside before pausing to consider that I still had no money. I looked pleadingly at Willyam, who rolled his eyes and waved to the serving wench. Soon we both had ales, and I downed half of mine in one, long, delicious draft.

  ‘What are you doing, Jack?’ Willyam said.

  ‘Just trying to survive,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me all about it,’ he said, and I did so with relief.

  I had not realized just how concerned I had been, until now. The pressure of trying to prevent Jeffry’s death, of being told to kill Michol, of knowing that Blount would be furious with me for failing in both, and then the death of Luys, being hunted by Ramon, almost being killed by him several times, and … well, even if my head hadn’t been battered so wildly, I would still have had a headache just trying to keep up with events. It was a huge relief to be able to confess to my problems.

  He listened as I spoke, his eyes growing rounder and rounder as I explained the full horror of what I had been going through – not the bits about being a paid assassin, you understand, but I let him believe I had tried to save Jeffry and had failed to help Luys.

  ‘What of your attempt to kill the Spaniard?’ he said. ‘Did you succeed?’

  ‘He must be dead,’ I said. ‘The gun went off in his belly and bowels. He fell like a poleaxed steer. It was horrible!’

  He nodded. ‘Where did you get the gun?’

  ‘The girl gave it to me. She said that Blount sent it.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘The messenger girl?’

  I suddenly remembered. ‘I asked you how you found me in that room, but you didn’t answer. How did you know I was there?
’

  ‘I saw you being dragged up there by her and a big man.’ He shook his head. ‘That woman: do you trust her?’

  His question threw me. Oh, I know Humfrie didn’t trust her, but she had saved my life, letting me stay with her away from Ramon, rescuing me from Mal too … I did not quite let my jaw drop, but it was a near thing. In the last days, the only constant had been Agnis, but now that Willyam asked that simple question, it put a number of things in a fresh light, and the light was not pleasing. ‘Um.’

  ‘Did Blount himself introduce you to her?’

  I didn’t answer that; I was thinking.

  She had arrived as a simple messenger, as Willyam said, but all too soon she had taken charge. She had told me whom to kill, she helped me hunt the man down, she gave me the gun … And then something else came to me: at the tavern, while Humfrie waited outside for me to draw Michol out, when she came in and saw Mal, she had been worried. She had hidden herself behind the doorway, while the party continued with their roistering, with me standing out like a lemon in the press. What if she knew Mal, too, and was not with Blount and me, but was instead working for the Spanish, determined to have me kill not the Spanish ally, Jeffry, but their enemy, Michol?

  There are times when I find that my bowels seem to turn to water.

  ‘Oh, Christ’s pain!’

  ‘I think you need another drink.’

  I left Willyam in the tavern. There was a loud group of rowdy apprentices who had entered and were singing some lewd songs about how the Queen had been getting sweaty with an ape, and that was why she’d given birth to a monkey, or some such nonsense. If they weren’t careful, they would all end up in Newgate or the Tower.

  Outside, the morning air was cooling to my pounding head. I couldn’t wear a hat, of course. The sensation of pain was all too keen, and trying to enclose the swellings with a hat was not to be borne. Instead, I made my way along the road to Ludgate, and thence up to the Cross. There was a preacher there, giving probably the most boring sermon I have ever heard, all about fraternity or something. A group of young fellows with serious expressions listened intently, trying not to laugh while a pair of apprentices danced about and pulled faces behind his back. I walked on.

  Could Agnis have been an agent all along? It was hard to believe, but the more I thought about it, and her, the more I began to see that she had grown in confidence with every meeting that we had. At first she had mentioned two names, and that was it. Then she was interested in helping to find the money and Luys’s purse, but last night she had instructed me on using the gun, as well as telling me which man to point it at. She was no mere messenger from Blount! I had been made the dupe of a foreign spy!

  ‘Oh, God, help me!’ I murmured. The thought of Blount’s reaction when he heard that I had been persuaded to kill the wrong man was enough to make my belly give a swoop. I had to clench my buttocks. Blount was a dangerous man – much more than I was. I dared not think of letting him know.

  What could I do, though? I needed a friend. Someone in whom I could confide, someone who could make sense of my predicament and perhaps see a way through it all to safety.

  I thought of going south of the river and visiting Piers at the Cardinal’s Hat. Piers was a good man when sober, but at this time of the day it was too early for him. He would still be sleeping off last night’s debauch. Porters at the doors of harlots’ houses don’t tend to get to bed early. They lean more towards rising later and enjoying their breakfast while others are digesting their lunch. Then I had an idea: I recalled the man, Master Mark, to whom Piers had introduced me a year earlier, but then I had to reject the notion. Although he was undoubtedly brilliant and had a mind like an elephant’s, he was also a confidant of Blount. I could not trust him not to pass on information.

  In the end, I sighed. I had no choice.

  I set off to search for Humfrie.

  He was sitting in the dark corner at the rear of a tavern not far from St Paul’s. It was the sixth hostelry I had entered, and he welcomed me with a quiet smile, nodding to me in much the manner of a squire acknowledging a groom. His manner was high and suave, but I was not in a position to let it rankle.

  ‘I have been sorely tested,’ I said as I sat beside him.

  ‘I hear someone tried to assassinate the Spanish ambassador Renard last night,’ he said.

  I choked on the ale I had just begun to swallow. ‘What? Who told you that?’

  ‘Apparently, he was out near the Tower last evening and visited a tavern. On leaving, someone loosed a pistol at him and fled. Obviously a French agent wanting to remove the Queen’s best adviser. Of course, the fellows with him gave chase and got a clear view of him.’

  I could feel myself blanching. The colour ran from my face so fast that I thought my hair would go white. ‘But, but I had nothing to do …’

  ‘You?’ he said quietly, and looked at me.

  ‘I was there, but I was trying, well, to defend myself against the Spaniard.’

  ‘This Spanish man. Describe him?’

  I gave a good summary of the man. ‘He looks like a devil. Evil, narrow, pointy face, with dark eyes, black hair. Very Spanish,’ I said. ‘He’s called Ramon.’

  Humfrie was silent as I told him about the man’s clothing and cloak, the rapier that was always at his side, and all the while he held my eyes with a fascination that rather appalled me. Then, as I finished, he nodded as if to himself. ‘I think you have tried to attack the Duke of Aragon. He is as you describe, and he has a reputation for violence and cruelty.’

  ‘I killed him.’

  ‘That is unfortunate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He is – or was – the right-hand man of the ambassador, Renard. If you killed him, you will be sought by all the men under the Spanish command as well as the men serving the Queen. However, fortunately, you have escaped without risk. You know that Mal was chasing you?’

  I nodded, unnecessarily.

  ‘It was not you who was seen, but Mal. Those who believed that they were being fired upon only saw him.’

  Suddenly, I realized how it was that I had survived. Mal must have heard them giving chase and realized that they sought him, so he could do nothing to me. As soon as I fell, he had to keep running to evade his pursuers.

  ‘What can I do? Mal will want to kill me, the Spanish will want me dead for killing Ramon, and Blount will want to punish me for believing this woman Agnis!’

  Humfrie studied me. ‘Find her, catch her and take her to Blount. If you bring her to him, he will be less inclined to be angry, and at the same time he may well decide to reward you for taking an enemy spy.’

  It did make sense of a sort. It was certainly better than going to him empty-handed. ‘How will I find her?’

  ‘You know where she was living? Go and seek her there.’

  Humfrie shook his head when I asked him to join me. He had other business to attend to, he said, which made me almost laugh. The idea that this scruffy fellow had business of any sort that could merit his leaving me alone, when I had so many difficult, dangerous things to deal with, was, frankly, ridiculous. After all, here I was, his young master, and all he would do was snap his fingers and murmur that my position was difficult.

  Difficult!

  I left him there without a farewell, and if it hurt him, it was intended to. This was not the sort of behaviour I expected from my servant, and since I was the man who employed him most of the time, I thought it only fair to call him such.

  It took only a short while to make my way south to the river, and I had to glance at the spot near the alley’s mouth where I had found Luys’s body that fateful night. There was nothing to show that he had ever lain there, and I looked at it with a vague sense that things were wrong. I could almost have persuaded myself that he had never been there, I mean. If only he hadn’t. If only he had gone to sleep and woken with a sore head the next morning. Still, I suppose that at least he got to bounce around with one of the Cardinal’s Hat’s
best wenches before he died. And I got the sore head instead of him.

  That was something that kept coming back to my attention as I walked. I had been hit on the front of the brow on the night Luys died. I still had the lump to prove it, a large one on the left of my head, which was balanced by the second I had won last night. Yet I didn’t think I had walked into the pillar on the night Luys died. It seemed much more likely to me that I had been struck on the head by someone who wanted me out of the way. Perhaps the thief who had taken Luys’s purse? Could that have been Agnis? She was strong, but perhaps not strong enough to wield a bar or pole with sufficient force to kill me? Perhaps she didn’t want to, since she was struck with desire for me? Or, more likely, the strumpet had missed her mark in the dark.

  At Agnis’s home, I stood and waited. I was there for an age, and although it wasn’t as cold as the previous evening, it was tedious. In the end, I spied an urchin and offered him money to keep a lookout for me. He gave me to understand that a difficult task like that would justify cash payment in advance. I suggested that he might like to wait until he had performed the commission, and he suggested I should consider an act so bestial and improbable with a donkey that I told him to swive his mother, then settled resentfully in my doorway again.

  You will forgive my resentfulness, I know. I need not enumerate all of my various woes, since you have already heard them; however, this one seemed to me to sum up my miserable life. Here I was, considered by those who employed me as a dangerous killer, a man who could be instructed to commit murder, and yet a lazy urchin felt himself safe to tell me to do that. No one truly respected me, I suspected. They all laughed at me behind my back, in all probability, and made fun of my current predicament.

  At least my companions in the White Bear didn’t make jests at my expense.