The Inquisitor (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 5)

by David Penny

  “I seek Samuel Ibrahim. Do you know if he is within?”

  “If he is I didn’t see him enter, but he comes and goes at all times so it is possible.”

  Thomas tried to cool an ember of impatience. “Do you think you could ask? Or I will go myself if it’s too much trouble.” He took a pace forward and the man moved to block the door. Thomas judged him and found what he saw wanting. He could knock him down with a single blow, take his sword and walk in. But he would prefer not to.

  “A message it is, then,” Thomas said, rewarded when the man frowned as though they had tussled and he had lost, though what the contest had been remained a mystery to him.

  He half turned and called out a name. A young man, still shy of eighteen years, came running and the guard, for that was what he was, whispered into the youth’s ear. Once they were alone Thomas deliberately turned his back and tried to judge what lay in the square to amuse someone such as him all day. Not much, he concluded. A water trough to one side might provide a little entertainment when women came to wash clothes and fill buckets. The houses surrounding the four sides were well appointed with waxed shutters on the windows.

  Thomas turned when he heard the slap of bare feet on marble.

  “The master says send him in.”

  The guard offered a puzzled look before stepping aside, and Thomas moved past into a shaded courtyard almost half as big as the square outside. The architecture would not look out of place in the royal palace, even down to splashing water and tall palms amongst which parakeets nested. The tower Thomas had seen from outside sat on the edge of the courtyard, an arched entrance open to the cooling air. Sitting on stone benches were Abraham al-Haquim and Samuel. The third figure should not have caused Thomas surprise because he had glimpsed him at the house before, but his return to power still puzzled him.

  Abbot Mandana smiled at the discomfort he had caused.

  “Which of us do you seek, Don Berrington?”

  “I would speak with Samuel. I believe I owe him an apology.”

  Mandana smiled to display long yellow teeth. “He was only now saying the same to us. That he is owed an apology, if not more.” He patted the bench beside him. “Come, sit, we are all friends here, you can speak in confidence.”

  Thomas didn’t believe a word of it, but he made his way to one of the benches set cross-ways to the others. Al-Haquim clapped his hands together, and when the youth came instructed him to bring coffee and cakes.

  The three men stared at Thomas, waiting.

  “I would speak with you alone if I may.” Thomas looked only at Samuel.

  “As the Abbot says, we are all friends here.”

  Thomas took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts from where they had been scattered by Mandana’s presence. He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “Is that true? If so I’m not sure I believe any of you.” His eyes rested on Mandana, who he considered the notional leader, also the most deadly.

  “I heard you discovered a body in the Cathedral yesterday,” said Mandana, his gaze sharp, examining Thomas.

  “Not discovered, but yes, I saw a body.” He glanced at Samuel. It was obvious how the news had reached Mandana. “Another of your pieces of handiwork?”

  “I am a changed man. A penitent who recognised he has strayed from the path of righteousness and asked forgiveness. Which has been granted me.”

  “So you have no interest,” Thomas said.

  “I have an interested. Am I not a man of God, and did this atrocity not take place in God’s house? So of course I have an interest, and we may discuss the matter further before long. But you want to talk with Samuel. As I said, there are no secrets here.”

  Thomas looked toward Samuel once more. It was clear he had found time to tell them about the body, but had he neglected to tell them of his own dismissal?

  “Have you said nothing?”

  “You talk in riddles,” said al-Haquim. “What does he mean, Samuel?”

  “I am dismissed.” Still without meeting anyone’s gaze. “It seems I am no longer needed now he is here.”

  Mandana turned his entire attention to Samuel. “Is this true?”

  “I am no longer in the employ of the palace.”

  “God’s teeth, man, can’t you do the simplest of tasks? How are we to know what goes on now?”

  So, Thomas thought, Mandana might be Fernando’s man but he was not the Queen’s. Interesting.

  “You could always ask Thomas,” said Samuel, and Mandana laughed.

  “Yes, of course.” He turned. “Will you become my spy, Berrington?”

  “You know my answer, Abbot.”

  “I can guess it, yes.” His gaze locked on Thomas’s. “You need not fear me, Berrington. I am not the man I was. I have learned the lessons of humility and duty. And I make a good friend to have in this city… in these times.”

  “Are you for or against what is being done?” Thomas asked. “The questioning, the torture, the burnings? I would consider they are something you might relish.”

  “I am a changed man. That is what this did to me.” He held up his arm to show the mottled stump that now terminated it.

  “I could have returned that at one time,” Thomas said. “Not that it would have done you much good. The wolves had made a meal of it by then. But your rings are, I believe, in the possession of the King now.”

  “I have grown accustomed to the loss,” Mandana said. “Two hands might be considered superfluous to need. And better than the loss of my life.”

  “How did you survive? The gorge was deep and the wolves many.” Despite his hatred of the man, Thomas was curious.

  “Oh, I am a hard man to kill. Yes, the gorge was deep, but there was water at the bottom and a pool to break my fall. As you can see, I survived.”

  “And wormed your way back into favour.”

  “Quality of mind and loyalty are rewarded in Spain.”

  Thomas glanced away for a moment. “And these men?”

  “We share common interests,” said Mandana. It was only the two of them now, the others ignored.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Are you for or against the burnings?”

  “I have nothing against executing those disloyal to the crown, but we three share doubts about their purpose.”

  “Why you? Him I can understand.” Thomas nodded toward al-Haquim. “Samuel too in some ways, he is caught between two masters, and such is a dangerous place to be. But you? The last I heard you were Fernando’s weapon, doing work no-one else would.”

  Mandana leaned forward. “It is because of that, Berrington. What is happening here is a distraction from our true work.” A smile. “Which is the utter defeat of your friends in Granada. We will drive them into the sea. We will hunt them down, every last one, until their filthy presence is scoured from this land.” He stared again into Thomas’s eyes. “And then you will have to decide on which side your loyalties lie. You and that dark skinned wife of yours. And the gelded fool you call friend.”

  Mandana sat up as coffee arrived, accompanied by a tray of tiny sugared cakes. “I must leave, Abraham,” he said as he rose to his full height, his long hair hanging grey across his shoulders. “Walk with me a while and let these fools discuss what secrets they will.”

  Thomas was sure the move a ploy and someone would be nearby listening, but the servant had come and gone and Mandana and al-Haquim left through the gateway to walk across the small square.

  When the sound of their voices had faded Thomas waited a moment longer then leaned forward. “I did not know you had been dismissed until this morning, but I have spoken with the Queen. She was hasty and has been made aware you are needed. Your position is restored, so you can return to spy for Mandana once more.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what he asks of you? What power does he hold to bend you to his will this way?”

  “I will not be needed while you are here.”

  “You know full well that is untrue. And before many months pass I wil
l leave again and she will need you more than ever. So return. Do not allow pride to make a fool of you.”

  “Why would you leave?”

  “I don’t belong here. My life lies elsewhere.”

  “A life that is drawing to a close,” said Samuel.

  “As may be. But it’s my life and I choose to live it as I see fit for as long as I can.” He leaned closer, his body tense. “Now tell me what you do in this house with these men. Do you know what they are?”

  “Important is what they are,” said Samuel. “I need the friendship of such men in these times. I might have converted but that is no protection, not these days.”

  “What is it you do, the three of you?”

  “We try to save people.”

  Thomas shook his head, sat up. “I don’t understand. You and al-Haquim perhaps, but Mandana is a different beast and has little in common with either of you.”

  “Yet he is against the persecution that taints this city. We do what we can, exert what influence we might, and save some from the fires.”

  “You know what he did? Mandana?”

  “Some falling out is what I heard. I haven’t asked because it is of no relevance to what we do here.”

  “Why did you tell him about the body?”

  “He has an interest.”

  “Yes, I expect he does. But what kind of interest, I wonder?”

  “An interest is all I know. You should ask him yourself. You are old friends, are you not? That is how he refers to you.”

  “Is his interest in this one death only? Or have there been others?”

  Samuel reached for one of the small cakes and popped it into his mouth, a moment’s surfeit of sweetness.

  “Yes, there have been more. You heard the name the mob spoke. The Ghost. The Ghost. They must name everything, good or bad, but a name takes time to grow in the imagination, and the deaths have been going on for a year or more.”

  Chapter Nine

  Thomas pushed at the hand shaking his shoulder and muttered, “No!” But the hand remained, shaking harder. He rolled over to find not Theresa, as he expected, but a guard he had not seen before. The man brought a lamp which he set on the table.

  “Is the Queen unwell?”

  “Not as far as I know. Has she been?”

  “Um, no, she hasn’t. What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “There’s someone at the gate asking for you.”

  “Then send them away.”

  “The man is insistent.”

  Samuel, Thomas suspected, or even Abbot Mandana. Except Mandana would be granted admittance – or would he, without Fernando present?

  Thomas tossed the thin bed sheet aside and dropped his feet to the floor, barely aware of his nakedness. The guard turned away in any case while Thomas dressed quickly, not bothering with a robe.

  “Let’s get this done with, then,” he said. The guard led the way through the palace, the lamp held high. All around other lamps had been extinguished. Closer to the royal chambers they would no doubt burn all night.

  “Did he give a name?” Thomas asked. Sleep still clung to him. He had been deep below the surface when he was woken, strands of unreality continuing to cling to his mind.

  “Lomos.”

  “Lomos?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  Thomas shook his head, confused. What was Jorge’s brother Daniel doing here? The last time they had met was in Qurtuba three years before. He knew the smith now fashioned weapons for the King, so was that why he had come? But if so, why ask for Thomas?

  They reached the parade ground outside the palace walls, other walls protecting the long, wide space. The air here was barely any fresher than inside the palace, the heat of late summer hanging like a veil across the city even late into the night. Heavy oak doors reinforced with iron stood barred, a small door set into them also shut.

  The guard led the way across the cobbles, boot heels loud.

  He hesitated before throwing the bolt on the small door. “He can’t come in if that’s what he wants, not unless he has business.”

  “Open the door,” Thomas said. He stepped through into the night and heard the bolt being shot behind.

  The man standing outside looking across the outer square toward the cathedral wasn’t Daniel Olmos, but the other one Thomas didn’t associate with that name even though it had been his at birth. A cart sat on the cobbles beyond.

  “What in the name of God are you doing here?”

  Jorge turned slowly. “It’s good to see you too, Thomas. I see your humour hasn’t improved. Neither has mine, but we will come to that later. Lubna’s with me, and she’s sick.”

  Thomas pushed past him to the small cart and climbed on the bed. Lubna lay wrapped in a blanket. Thomas knelt and felt her face. She was hot, burning up. He pulled the blanket clear and touched her belly, which barely showed any swelling.

  “What are you doing here?” he said, his voice soft.

  Lubna opened her eyes and smiled once before closing them again.

  “How long has she been this way?”

  “Two days. She started throwing up, then complained of a bad head. She got worse so I pushed the mules faster.”

  “Why did you bring her at all in her condition?” Thomas said.

  “She wasn’t like this when we left. Do you consider me stupid?”

  “Not this. The child she is carrying, idiot.”

  Jorge stared. “She said nothing about a child. She is…” He shook his head, emotions playing across his face without filter. “You and she…?”

  “I think I can be sure this time, yes.” Thomas put his arms beneath Lubna and lifted. The heat of her came through the layers of clothing. He had to get her inside and find out what was wrong, but feared he might already know. He slid from the bed of the cart and started across to the barred gate.

  “Wait, I’ll bring Will,” said Jorge.

  Thomas stopped, turned back. Lubna stirred in his arms, barely any weight at all.

  “You brought Will too? Damn, but you truly are a fool, aren’t you?”

  “Thank you, Jorge, for bringing my loved ones across miles of dangerous country.”

  “Exactly,” Thomas said, turning away again. “And yes, bring him. Does he have any symptoms?”

  “None, other than looking forward to seeing you. Which I consider suspicious enough.”

  Thomas kicked at the door with his foot, waiting for it to open.

  “They’ll have to open the whole thing to get the cart inside,” said Jorge.

  “The door will be a start.” Thomas kicked again. The guard should have been waiting on the other side. What was the man doing? And then a small panel opened and a face peered out.

  “Open the door, damn you!” Thomas said.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s ill. I need to get her inside before I can find out why. Now open the damn door!”

  The face withdrew and the panel closed. Thomas took a step back ready for the door to open. Minutes passed and nothing happened.

  “He’s gone,” said Jorge. “Probably needs someone more important to make the decision.”

  Lubna stirred in Thomas’s arms, eyes opening again. Her hand came up and cupped his face, the touch hot. “I ache,” she said. “I ache everywhere.”

  “Your belly?”

  A flicker of a smile, soon extinguished. “Still healthy, I think. He was kicking this morning, anyway. I wasn’t as ill as this then.”

  “Why did you come? The journey is too much for you in your condition.”

  “I am with child, not sick,” said Lubna, a flash of her usual spirit showing.

  “And now you are sick,” Thomas said.

  “And no better for your welcome. Did you expect me to remain at home, an abandoned woman? Do you know how long I waited for you to come to the palace?”

  “I sent a message,” Thomas said.

  “Yes. A message. You sent a message. Did you
not think to come yourself?”

  “Martin was insistent.”

  Lubna made a sound and turned her head away.

  “He’s not coming,” said Jorge. “They’ve abandoned us.”

  “I’ll remember his face,” Thomas said, turning away. Jorge was right. They would not gain admittance now, not until morning, and perhaps not then. “I know someone who might be able to help. You’ll have to leave the cart though, it’s too wide to take where we’re going.”

  “Our belongings are in it,” said Jorge. “And I brought money.”

  They each of them had more gold and jewels than a man could spend in a hundred lifetimes since liberating three chests from the abandoned house of a dead man two years before, but Thomas kept his hidden. Jorge, who had never had funds of his own because his every need was catered for by the harem, found the idea of spending gold a novelty. He had even purchased a house near Thomas’s for the four Nubian slaves he had somehow acquired while they were in Ronda.

  “How many bags?” Thomas asked, walking toward the cart.

  “Three.”

  “Including the money chest?”

  “No chest. It’s hidden among my things.”

  Thomas stopped at the cart. The three bags were laid on the bed of the cart, one larger than the others. He dragged it to the edge, tested the weight, then heaved it off onto the ground.

  “You take this one. Will is lighter than Lubna, and you are bigger than me.”

  Thomas expected an objection, but Jorge laid Will on the cart while he tugged at the bag, pulling a pair of trousers from within and fashioning a strap from them. Thomas nodded, admiring the ingenuity, and did the same with the other two bags.

  On the cart Will stirred, perhaps disturbed by Lubna when she was laid beside him. He groaned, then said, “Pa!”

  Thomas leaned across and kissed his face, welcoming the short arms that clung around his neck.

  “Jorge will carry you, my sweet,” he said, and Will nodded. He loved Jorge almost as much as he loved Thomas and Lubna. But then Will loved everyone. He had turned three earlier in the year, had some words now, and a curiosity that Thomas encouraged. He wondered what his son would turn into with so many fathers in his life. And Will was his son, he was in no doubt of that, even if there was doubt over who the true father might be. Helena, who was undoubtedly his mother, continued to remain silent on the matter.