The Inquisitor

by David Penny

  “When I attack, turn and run. There are fewer behind us and a swing or two will discourage them. Find a way clear and go to the Queen, tell he what we have found, and send troops.”

  “You will be dead by then,” said Jorge.

  “And you will not. Now go.” Thomas pushed at his friend, who staggered a few paces away before stopping. “Go, damn you, before I stick you myself.”

  “Kill them!” shouted Friar Ramon. And then, “No, keep the short one alive. He interrupted my work so he will become my next subject. All I will need then is a Christian.”

  The big man stepped closer and raised his axe, the weight handled easily in his grip.

  Jorge turned and ran, swinging his sword, more skilled than he had once been but still lacking the instinct to kill that made him vulnerable. But those he swung at did not know of this shortfall and they stepped back, tripping over each other and falling to the dirt in their hurry to escape his blade.

  Thomas sensed the big man coming at him and turned, almost lazy. He ducked beneath the killing blow, hearing the sound it made as it passed over his head and then, when it thudded into the ground he flicked his wrist and took the man behind the knee. His leg buckled and he fell into the dust. Thomas raised the point of his sword and placed it against the man’s neck, applying just enough pressure to prick skin and draw blood.

  “I have done you a favour today, but there is no need to thank me.” With his foot he kicked the axe away, keeping it in his peripheral vision in case someone tried to retrieve it, but he doubted anyone else was strong enough to wield the weapon. Starvation and sickness held sway here. When the man pulled his head back, dragging himself on his knuckles away from the blade, Thomas bent and picked up the axe, grunting from the effort.

  “Do not allow him to live!” Ramon’s voice was a scream. “He cannot end my work!”

  And the others came. Men, women, children, a wave of them. Too many to kill, too many to stop. Thomas’s eyes flickered across faces as they came toward him. He saw no weapons, but the weight of bodies alone would be enough to overwhelm him. He could submit or fight, but he had never been willing to submit to anyone. Sheathing his sword Thomas gripped the axe in two hands and swung it around his head. He yelled as he ran toward the front ranks.

  They parted, as he knew they would, and he saw Friar Ramon directly ahead, legs planted wide. He held his arms out to the sides as if the power of God alone might stop Thomas. God could not, but logic did. Kill the Friar and the mob would descend on him despite their fear. Already he saw figures closing the gap he had made.

  Thomas edged to one side, away from Ramon, opening a new avenue of faces which he ran between, but as fast as he went there was only ever the space around him which instantly closed behind. All it would take was one determined fool to get their head caved in, then the others would fall on him. Sweat stung his eyes, dust rose from pounding feet, and still he could not see a way out from the maze of shacks, and the denizens of the township grew ever bolder, lunging at him, always just out of reach. Thomas knew he could kill several, but was reluctant. These people were not his enemy, they were not who he was after. He had lost sight of Friar Ramon, but imagined him somewhere behind, urging the others on.

  He skidded around a turn into a gap between wooden boards and came to a halt, almost losing his footing, which would have been the end, but he managed to stay on his feet. He turned fast, because the way ahead was blocked by the city wall.

  A dozen feet away bodies shifted. Women drifted backward as men made their way to the front. Children were dragged away. Now Thomas saw weapons, of a sort. Kitchen knives, lengths of rope with nails knotted into them, anything that was hard or sharp and could be wielded. He swung the axe one way, the other, and the men stepped back, but not in panic as they had at the start of the chase. Their confidence had grown, bolstered by numbers and circumstance.

  “Shit,” Thomas muttered under his breath. He turned aside and smashed the axe into the wall of one of the shacks, stepped through, still swinging. Wood crashed, canvas fell to impede the four men who lunged at him, and a final swing opened the back wall to sunlight and he darted through. Ahead lay the city wall, the gate two hundred paces to his right, but already bodies were streaming from between the shacks and Thomas began to run, legs heavy, unsure if he could reach safety before they fell on him. He threw the axe aside, not wanting to have to use it and gaining a little speed for its lack.

  He was still a hundred paces away when a hand grabbed his cloak and he skidded to one knee. Bodies swarmed over him. There came a blow to his head, a prick of something against his arm, and he tried to stand, bodies clinging to him like ants to honey. And then, all at once, they were gone, running hard to the safety of their township.

  Thomas turned, rubbing at a cut on his hand, to discover Jorge approaching, a dozen armed soldiers behind.

  “I found them lounging around with nothing better to do, so I thought to bring them with me,” he said. “I would of course have come and rescued you without them, but it seemed such a waste not to use their talents.” He looked Thomas up and down. “Are you hurt?”

  Thomas shook his head. “But I thought that might be the end of me. Thank you.”

  Jorge laughed. “Are you sure you haven’t taken a blow to the head?”

  Thomas looked around. There was not a soul in sight. Someone had taken the discarded axe and the ground was churned by the hundred feet that had pursued him, but the township could be deserted. A shiver ran through him despite the heat of the sun. This had been close, the closest he had come to death in many a year, the closest since he had been left for dead beside a French roadway.

  He clapped Jorge on the back and embraced him.

  “Come on, we haven’t finished yet today.”

  “What do I do with these?” Jorge indicated the soldiers, who had started to gossip, no doubt glad of another tale to tell and embellish. Thomas considered sending them into the township to find Friar Ramon, but knew the man would have fled by now. But not, he thought, out of the city. There was unfinished work for him here, but now Thomas had a face and name, for what they were worth.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  They went first to the cathedral but discovered the bodies gone. At Jorge’s house Olaf told them he had used the cart to dispose of them, as Thomas had shown him during the night. He believed he had done the right thing, so Thomas did not disabuse him of the notion. The bodies could have provided evidence when they caught Friar Ramon, but the man’s confession would be enough.

  Belia was kneading dough on the wooden table and Thomas sat and watched for a moment, his mind blank, exhaustion clinging to him, making his limbs slack.

  “Where is Lubna?”

  “She went to the palace with Will,” said Belia. “He wanted to play, and there was a message brought for her.”

  “From Isabel?”

  “The Queen? I don’t know, I didn’t see the note, only the woman who brought it.”

  “Theresa?”

  “You are full of questions today, aren’t you?” Her forearms flexed as she leaned into the dough, her fists buried inside. “Not Theresa. She was the one stayed over last night, wasn’t she? Red haired – slept with Martin and Helena.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Belia seemed satisfied with the dough and shaped it into a round, cut a cross on the top before sliding it into the oven. She sat, pushing hair from her face with the back of her hands. “So, there is something you don’t know. It is almost a blessing.” She glanced toward Jorge, something in her eyes changing, her mouth softening.

  “What will you do when we leave?” Thomas asked.

  “More questions. I don’t know. It depends on whether he asks me or not.”

  “Asks you what?”

  “To go with him.”

  “And if he does?”

  “Not all questions have an answer, Thomas.” She reached out and touched his hand, smearing it with flour. “Not yet.”


  “He has a house in Gharnatah. Not as fine as this one, but fine enough.” And a harem of sorts, Thomas thought, but made no mention of that. “And there is a garden where you could grow your herbs. Your skills would be of more use there than here.”

  “Why? Doesn’t Sevilla deserve me?”

  “Of course. I only meant that Gharnatah appreciates the manner of knowledge you possess. I suspect not everyone here does. You have trouble now and again, do you not?”

  “People come to me, or they leave me alone, but no trouble. I think some are afraid of my difference.”

  Thomas stared at Belia, his eyes tracking her face, trying to see her difference and failing. Yes, she was different in many way, he could tell, but a difference? He thought not.

  When Jorge sat close and wrapped his arms around her like an octopus she laughed.

  Thomas rose and left them to their pleasures. He debated whether to invite Olaf to accompany him to the palace but thought that would be pressing Fernando’s chivalry too far. He and Helena, and a few others who had made the journey, were due to set out for Gharnatah within days. Olaf was already growing nervous at being in a Spanish city. He said it smelled strange, and people looked at him oddly. Thomas thought it better not to point out that most people looked at him oddly. Few had seen such a giant of a man.

  Thomas took the steps down to the riverfront rather than the door to the street and walked alongside the caravels drawn up there. He saw a familiar face for the second time and called up to Columb, who came to the rail and peered down.

  “Is that Thomas Berrington? Come up, come up, I have some fine wine from Portugal and sweetmeats from North Africa.”

  “I cannot, I am on my way somewhere.”

  Still Columb did not give up. “I would speak with you, Thomas. Are you still in the employ of the King and Queen?”

  Was I ever? Thomas thought, but called back, “I am on my way to the palace now, which is why I cannot take up your offer of hospitality.”

  “Then wait for me to come down, I will walk a way with you.”

  Thomas sighed, but waited all the same until Columb clambered down a swaying ladder. He fell into step beside Thomas as he started up once more, beginning to regret he had chosen to come this way. He had wanted to look on Castillo de Triana once more even though he knew its walls were barred to him. He wondered how far Mandana would take this new enmity, or would he be too afraid of what Fernando might do if harm befell Thomas?

  “Have you sailed far?” Thomas asked, more out of politeness than interest.

  “Not far. Lisboa, the coast of Africa. A short trip for a mariner. We sail for Sicilia in the morn.”

  “What is it you want to talk to me about?” Thomas was in no mood for small talk, but he saw Columb was uneasy that he was asked to state his business so soon without any preamble. “I have much on my mind,” Thomas said, as if in apology for his shortness.

  “Does the Queen ever mention me?” asked Columb. “I speak with her advisors, her priests, and they say they pass on my requests, but I am not sure she hears them.”

  “What requests?”

  “To forge a new route to the Indies, of course. You must recall we spoke of it in Ronda. You showed me a map that was claimed to be of the coast of China drawn by some northmen. Was that not proof enough of my ideas?”

  “I will mention your name,” Thomas said. It was little concern of his if this man wanted to kill himself and his crew in a pointless expedition. The world was more than big enough as it was without someone setting out to discover new lands.

  “I would be grateful. Here, take this as thanks.” Columb held out a dark bottle to Thomas. “The finest wine of Portugal. Sweet and warming.”

  “I drink little,” Thomas said.

  “Then a gift for the Queen, perhaps? When you mention my name to her.”

  Thomas took the bottle, hoping to get rid of the man, but Columb stayed at his side all the way to the palace gates, regaling Thomas with non-stop chatter relating to his lunatic theories. He only stopped when they reached the wide wooden entrance and Thomas kept going without looking back.

  Thomas went first to his rooms. They were clean, fresh smelling, with newly cut flowers decorating the window sills. He half expected to find Lubna recovering there after being hurt, but there was no sense of her presence, no hint of the scent she always carried with her that was not scent but the essence of her. Thomas left the bottle of Portuguese wine on the table and went in search of Samuel. Lubna would be with Isabel, Will with Juan and his sisters, a new plaything for them who would be forgotten the instant they left the city.

  Samuel was not in his room, but Thomas found him sitting with Theresa in a side room close to the royal chambers. He glanced up as Thomas entered, only a momentary surprise showing. Their heads had been close together until he disturbed them, and Thomas wondered what was so interesting in their discussion. He considered embarrassing Theresa by asking where she had slept last night, but decided it would be unnecessarily cruel and serve no purpose.

  Samuel rose. “I will leave you to your business.” He stopped when he reached Thomas. “The Queen continues in good health.” He leaned close and whispered, “No thanks to you.”

  “It is you I would speak with,” Thomas said.

  “I have been told to talk only of essential matters with you. I will reveal nothing else.”

  Theresa watched them, a frown creasing her normally placid features. She had bathed and dressed since leaving Jorge’s house, but there was a dusting of tiredness beneath her eyes and her lips looked fuller, as if lightly bruised.

  “I know the name of the killer I seek,” Thomas said, “and want to ask what you know of the man.”

  “I know no killer,” Samuel said.

  “Friar Ramon Braso. He trained as a physician I was told, a fine one, too. Trained in Malaka, as did you.”

  “Ramon? A killer? I refuse to believe it.” Samuel shook his head and Thomas watched him carefully, trying to judge whether his show of surprise was an act or not. He knew he should have brought Jorge with him, but it would have been difficult to gain him access to these rooms so close to the royal presence. “I don’t believe what you are saying. It is true Ramon and I trained together in Malaga, and at the same time. Yes, he was a fine physician. A skilled surgeon. Better even than you.” Samuel took obvious pleasure in the statement.

  “If he is so skilled why are you the Queen’s physician and not he?”

  “It is not always a matter of skill. Ramon’s interests lay elsewhere. With the poor, with those in need. And such appointments are a matter of who you know rather than what you know.”

  “And you know Mandana, who is Fernando’s man.”

  “Do not make is seem such an accusation. Have you never grasped an opportunity when it came your way? Ramon, for all his skill, would have refused such a position. I would have been a fool to do the same.”

  “When last did you see him?” Thomas asked.

  “Not for some time. A year, perhaps a little more, not since he helped me distil your liquor. He was strange even then, but still clever. I heard he had been touched by our Lord and turned into some kind of zealot.”

  “Of sorts. He lives among the poor outside the city walls.”

  “Why?”

  “Perhaps you should ask him next time you meet.”

  Samuel sighed, shook his head. “I have told you, I wasn’t aware he still lived in Sevilla. If you had told me he was a member of the Inquisition I would have believed you, but this? Ramon was a man of culture. He appreciated the fine things in life. What could change a man so much?”

  “You know him, you tell me,” Thomas said. “Or perhaps I should ask Abbot Mandana.”

  “Not if you value your life.”

  “Are you still working with him and al-Haquim? And are you ready to tell me what you are really doing, the three of you?”

  “I believe our purpose has been explained. Now let me leave, I have work to do.” Samuel s
tamped off, making his annoyance known.

  Thomas walked to Theresa and touched her shoulder, surprising himself.

  “Is Isabel truly well?”

  Theresa nodded and laid her hand over his before rising and stepping away. “She is. No thanks to Samuel, but yes, she is well.” A smile “I think your wife pleases her. They discuss matters I barely comprehend and try not to listen to. She will be pleased to see you, Thomas, she asked where you were.” Another smile. “Catching a murderer, it seems. Well, you are getting a reputation for such, aren’t you.”

  Thomas heard Will’s squeal of delight, and then Isabel’s soft tones, the voice she used when alone with friends, not the royal voice of command. When he entered the room he saw Isabel and Lubna sitting close together on a bench, and Thomas noticed Lubna had her arms wrapped about her waist. As he approached, before they had seen him, Lubna suddenly pitched forward onto her face and Isabel screamed. A pool of blood spread around Lubna’s prone body, her legs moving as if she was trying to walk.

  Thomas ran to her and knelt, turning her over.

  “The baby,” Lubna gasped. “I am losing our baby, Thomas.”

  Isabel looked down on them, her mouth open. Then she stood and screamed, but the scream was one of pure fear.

  “Get her out! Now! Get her away from me!” She turned and ran past Lubna’s prone body just as Will ran up and slid along the floor to them both.

  Thomas turned, panicked, to see Theresa standing in the doorway, a hand to her mouth.

  “Fetch Samuel,” Thomas ordered. “And find someone to take Will away. He cannot see this.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Thomas sat on the edge of the wide bed and held Lubna’s hand, staring at the dried blood which still stained his own. She continued to sleep, kept unconscious by a mixture of poppy and herbs Belia had made up.