‘It might. Except that the Stone is mixed up in courtly matters. The Scots were proud to have stolen it and bided their time. Maybe once it was back in Scotland, then it would be safe to shout it to the rooftops.’ His heart hammered. If that were the case, then he was a dead man already.
‘To embarrass the king.’
‘Aye. And quite a show they made of it.’
She took the flagon and walked back to her goblet with it. Jack rushed after her. ‘Here, my lady. Let me do that!’
‘Nonsense, Tucker. I do know how to pour my own wine. Please sit down.’
She poured it and picked up her goblet, gesturing for Jack to take the seat opposite her. He did so gingerly, edging downward with the thought that he’d suddenly have to jump up again. And as soon as his bum hit the seat, the door swung open and a servant came in with a tray. Jack did jump up and offered to serve Lady Katherine.
‘We will serve each other,’ she said, motioning to the servant to place it on a table between them. Once the servant left, Jack took his place again and reached for the meats only after she had her own in hand.
He chewed thoughtfully. He did wonder at the strange and start-ling way the Stone was exploded. ‘I wondered at it, at the way it was done. The Stone, I mean.’
‘We must let Crispin do his work and await his word.’
‘Aye, I suppose. There isn’t much I can do to help him from here.’ He swallowed the last of his food. ‘My lady, are you certain it is well my being here? Where Master Crispin is concerned, his majesty’s heart is hardened as much as Pharaoh’s was. And I would see no harm come to you in your kindness.’
‘I have friends at court. It is all well, Master Tucker. Now, perhaps if you have finished your repast, you will see to your new lodgings.’
‘Aye, my lady.’ He wiped his hands down his coat and followed her to the door she pointed out. It was a smaller door than the other two. When he opened it, he found a small but comfortable room … with a bed! He backed out of it. ‘Oh no, my lady. There must be some mistake.’
‘There is no mistake. We call it the squire’s room, for many a squire has taken his ease in there when he was not attending his knight. And since your knight is otherwise occupied, it is fitting for you.’
‘But my lady …’ He peered in again. ‘It is too rich for me.’
‘Nonsense, Tucker. Go in. You must seem to be locked away to satisfy the king.’
‘But there is a casement window …’
‘And do you argue as much with your master?’
He offered her a sheepish smile. ‘I am afraid I do, my lady. I thank you.’ He stepped in the doorway again and stopped. ‘And I will think on the problem of this missing Stone. It might be that we can help Master Crispin.’
‘How so?’
‘It seems likely to me – in order to accomplish such a scheme – that the culprits would have had to have help from the inside, so to speak. From the abbey or from court.’
‘From court?’
‘Aye. There are many who would embarrass Richard and not just the Scots. He might have enemies within. And that is something we are in a unique position to study further.’ He ducked his head. ‘Oh, begging your pardon, my lady. If it pleases you to do so, that is. It might be risky.’
She smiled. ‘It might be interesting. I should like to help, at any rate, Master Tucker.’ He nodded and went inside at last. She closed the door after him as he looked about the small room, but he noticed that she did not lock the door.
SIX
Crispin followed McGuffin back into Westminster and to a humble cottage just off the main bustling streets. His hand was never far from his dagger hilt, and he was just as ready to make use of his sword. Every now and then, the man would look back at Crispin, just to make certain he was still there. He’d smile, nod his head, and continue on. But once he reached the cottage he stopped at the threshold and gestured to Crispin to precede him.
There was no point in backing out now. He drew his sword – happy to have the length of steel with him – and kicked the door open.
He didn’t quite know what he expected to find. The Stone, perhaps, sitting in pride of place on the table situated in the middle of the floor. Dark men plotting in the shadows.
What he found instead was a congenial gathering of northerners – four of them – crouched over their cups, laughing and singing, a fire crackling behind them in the hearth, and an aroma of food that made Crispin’s belly groan.
The men stopped their laughing and drinking and turned as one toward Crispin and his brandished sword. Feeling foolish, Crispin sheathed it again and stood with his fists at his hips. ‘Very well, McGuffin. I am here. Where is the Stone?’
The men looked to McGuffin who closed the door and carefully barred it.
Crispin’s hand returned to his knife hilt. ‘Am I a prisoner now?’
‘Not at all, Master Guest. We simply need to talk with you without interruptions.’ He strode into the room. ‘Give the man some food and drink. He hungers.’
Some of the men cleared the way at the table and others brought forth a platter of meats and cheese. McGuffin grabbed a flagon and filled a cup with ale and thrust it toward Crispin. ‘Drink, man. And sit. We’d talk with you.’
Crispin held the cup but did not drink. ‘McGuffin …’
‘Sit!’ His large hands covered Crispin’s shoulders and forced him down onto a chair. Crispin splashed his ale onto the table, but none of the men seemed to mind. They encouraged him to eat as they were doing, grabbing handfuls of the cooked flesh – pork, by the smell of it – and shoving it into their mouths.
McGuffin sat beside Crispin and gestured toward the hunks of pig. ‘Go ahead, Master Guest. Feast with us.’
Crispin couldn’t force the issue, not when he was outnumbered as he was. So he reached for the roasted meat and tore off a hunk. He bit into the juicy flesh and sighed at the taste. It had been a long while since he’d had anything as tasty and succulent as this.
He chewed for a while, eyes scanning the room. At the plump women who served them with jovial faces, at the men in their own jocularity, and the surroundings that spoke of money but not wealth.
When his gaze finally turned, the man was watching him. He leaned on the table, his cup never far from his mouth, hovering. ‘I see your mind working, Master Guest. Good. I like a thinking man. This lot.’ He waved his cup at them. ‘I’d be lucky if two of them could summon the wits to outsmart a dog.’
Instead of anger and fighting words, the men swatted at him good-naturedly and laughed.
Crispin ate and drank, keeping his own council. He tried using his left hand, as the cut to his right palm stung, but it proved too clumsy, and he didn’t wish to appear weak in these men’s eyes. When he was satisfied and had wiped his mouth and hands on the tablecloth, he sat back with his ale and fastened his eyes on McGuffin’s. ‘Now what?’
‘Now … we tell you about ourselves.’
The men suddenly stilled. Crispin’s grip on his cup tightened. They wiped their faces, filled their own cups, and attended McGuffin.
‘Now then,’ said the Scot. ‘Though it is true that we well know about the Stone’s disappearance – who in Westminster or London does not? – alas, we had nae to do with it.’
Studying the men, Crispin could see they had nothing to offer. He slid his gaze back toward McGuffin, but kept his face impenetrable.
‘Not for lack of trying, mind you. Oh, we applaud the scoundrels that did it, but we no ken them.’
‘This was only a few hours ago. How could you have learned of it so quickly … unless you were somehow involved?’
He looked at Crispin and laughed. ‘Ah well, “involved” is a verra loose term. Let us just say … I am acquainted with the idea of it.’ The others chuckled in recognition. ‘I am an affable man, Master Guest. I’m a loyal vassal and do my duty to my king. And I’m certainly no fool. And surely you’d no deal with a fool, would you, Master Guest?’
; ‘I don’t know. Would I?’ He stared pointedly.
McGuffin laughed heartily at that, slapping Crispin on the back. ‘A good jest indeed. No, Master Guest, I’m no fool. But I do know something of the Stone’s disappearance. Aye.’ He looked around as if worried the others would hear, and yet when he leaned in toward Crispin, he spoke just as loudly as before. ‘Aye, we know about the Stone. And we know about you. And we’ve a mind to hire you, you see.’
‘Hire me. For what?’
‘Well now. It’s not exactly as the Tracker might be used to. You see, we’d like to pay you. Pay you in good English coin.’
‘To do what?’
‘Why … to look the other way.’
Crispin forced his brows to stay where they were. ‘To bribe me.’
‘Och, such a feeble word that is. Does it no sound appealing to you, to gain coin just for getting out of the way?’
Crispin stood, his chair skidding back.
‘Verra well, Master Guest. Sit down. Let us take another tack.’ He gestured toward the chair.
Out of curiosity, Crispin sat and listened.
‘If no to look the other way, then at least for another task. You see, we need to move something out of London. Something precious, and we canna afford to be followed, and we canna afford to be stopped. So we might need the expertise of a man with your … credentials. You see, you know the streets and alleys of London. You’re an asset in many ways.’
‘So now you wish to smuggle something out of the area.’
‘Aye.’
‘About … so big?’ Crispin gestured something about the size of the Stone.
McGuffin smiled. ‘No so big as that, Master Guest.’
‘It isn’t merely because I know London’s streets. You could get any number of henchmen who wouldn’t raise a question at all if you waved enough money under their noses. Why me in particular?’
McGuffin canted forward again. ‘You are known to us, Master Guest. Indeed, to all of London and beyond. Twelve years ago, you committed treason and lived. We have to assume you’ve no love for King Richard still. That makes you the most logical man.’
Crispin rose again. ‘You must think me a great fool indeed.’
The room fell silent.
‘I am loyal to my king now,’ he went on, ‘no matter what transpired twelve years ago.’ He heaved a sigh, composing himself. Quietly, he offered, ‘I know what it means to your countrymen, but this simple act of thievery will mean the death of an innocent boy. Surely … surely some mercy is mete here. Surely you can see that a precious life means more than …’ Their faces, so full of mirth before, had suddenly hardened into carved stone. When they had risked so much to steal the thing, there could be no mercy, not for a mere boy such as Jack. He conceded it to himself, but in the back of his mind, he began to scheme how he could steal it back.
He lowered his head and rubbed the rawness out of his eyes. ‘I cannot help you,’ he said wearily. ‘I cannot turn a blind eye or help you in any way. I must succeed in this. You must understand.’
‘We do, we do, Master Guest,’ said McGuffin. His conciliatory tone gave Crispin fleeting hope. Perhaps they could be reasoned with. Perhaps … he could make some sort of bargain with him.
‘However,’ McGuffin went on. ‘There is one small problem. We were so fairly certain that you would not help us … that we may have done something bad. Something that, on the face of it, would seem extreme. We truly wanted your help, you see.’
‘And I told you I cannot. My apprentice’s life hangs by a thread …’
‘Och, aye, that is a shame. We didna anticipate that. But surely you must know, as a knight yourself, that sometimes the footman must be sacrificed for to win the battle. It is like chess. Do you play chess, Master Guest?’
‘Yes.’ He narrowed his eyes. What was his meaning now?
‘And so. ’Tis also true on the chessboard, that the pawn is sacrificed for the greater good of the game.’
Crispin clenched his jaw. ‘Jack Tucker is not a pawn!’
‘Oh, but he is. King Richard has declared him so.’ He pointed a finger in Crispin’s face. Crispin didn’t like it. ‘We’ve heard about your apprentice, and Jesus-on-a-cross it’s a shame. But our task matters more than him, or you, or me. And to that end, we had rather hoped you would help us. And if not for your own honor, than for the sake of the life of another.’
‘Wait. What are you talking about? Jack Tucker is …’
‘It’s no about him. It’s another. It’s a sad fact, Master Guest, that when a man is well-known for holding his honor dear and for protecting the weak – as any knight should – that it shows the chink in his armor, so to speak. Your weakness, Master Guest, is your kindness. And as any good warrior knows, one must take advantage of any weakness when one is at war.’
He paused and the meaning sank home. Crispin edged forward, itching to draw his sword. ‘What have you done?’
‘We are … entertaining a friend of yours. She is in good health, never fear. But she is our guest until you complete your task.’
Crispin stiffened. ‘Who? Who have you taken?’
‘Her name is Eleanor. A woman of your longtime acquaintance, I gather?’
Eleanor? The wife of the tavern keeper Gilbert Langton? Crispin’s oldest friends on the Shambles?
He trembled with the effort to control himself. ‘I warn you now – all of you – if you have harmed even one hair on her head, your lives will be forfeit.’
‘I swear by Saint Andrew himself that she is well.’
‘And when did this happen? I left them but not a day ago.’ He let out a laugh he could scarcely dredge up. ‘Ha! I don’t believe you. I want proof.’
‘Och, Master Guest. We are wasting time.’
‘It is my time to waste. Show me. Show me she is well.’
‘How are we to do that?’ cried one of the men, a ginger-haired, round-faced fellow. ‘He’ll ken where we have her.’
‘Aye,’ muttered McGuffin. ‘That’s a quandary.’
‘No proof,’ said Crispin with a smug raise to his chin, ‘no help.’
‘We could hood him,’ said another with burly arms and a thick, dark beard.
Crispin stepped back. He had no fondness for being blindfolded.
‘Aye,’ said McGuffin with a nod. ‘That will do.’
‘That certainly will not do!’ Crispin protested.
‘You want your proof, then that’s the only way.’
‘You can bring her here.’
McGuffin ran a hand up into his hair, mussing its already unruly locks. ‘Aye, well. Might do.’
‘You’ll bring her here, then? Safe and sound?’
McGuffin looked at his fellows, and they silently seemed to agree. ‘Alec,’ he said to the swarthy man with the beard. ‘Go and fetch her.’
‘Me?’ The cup in his hand was full, and he indicated it with some annoyance.
‘Aye, you. Make haste. Master Guest hasn’t got all day.’
The one called Alec sneered at Crispin, and Crispin sneered back. The man grumbled as he took his leave, exhorting his fellows to leave his ale alone until he returned. As soon as the door shut behind him, his friends laughed and took turns downing the contents from his horn cup.
Crispin strode across the room, folded his arms, sat on a bench with his back to the fire, and waited.
Time crept by slowly. Church bells tolled None in slow, droning gongs. McGuffin’s men, who had been so jovial before, were more subdued and now spoke in low murmurs, leaving Crispin out of the conversation. That was fine with him. His mind churned with strategies. Was Eleanor well? How had she fared? She must be frightened and Gilbert panicked. Crispin would very much like to do these men harm for daring to hurt his friends, but any vengeance would have to wait. For all McGuffin’s caginess, it was obvious they had the gall to want Crispin to help them smuggle the Stone from London. He was already branded a traitor. What had begun twelve years ago would certainly culminate into a l
ong-delayed execution for this. Richard would never understand that he had been coerced. He wouldn’t care. And frankly, Crispin wouldn’t blame him.
Best to see first that Eleanor was in good health, negotiate her freedom, and then figure out how to appease both these brigands and the king.
Meanwhile, where was the damned Stone?
With a surreptitious glance about the room, he saw only one coffer which was big enough for the Stone, but there was also a door leading to yet another room and he knew not what was behind that sturdy barrier.
The serving women had dispersed a while ago. Were they servants or the wives of these men? Did they all reside here in Westminster, or was this a rented cottage? Time enough to discover that later.
He brooded over his thoughts until a sharp knock sounded on the door. Crispin stood as did the other men.
The door whinged open and Alec stepped in, pulling on someone. He yanked harder. Crispin stopped himself from intervening just as a woman stumbled through the doorway.
Crispin expected the gregarious and plump figure of his friend Eleanor Langton, the tavern keeper from his favorite ale house, the Boar’s Tusk. But this slender person who staggered forth was certainly not her.
He kept his mouth shut until the woman turned around. Her frown soon turned to surprise and Crispin’s own face surely reflected the same emotion.
He looked the woman up and down. She wrenched her arm free from Alec’s grasp and stomped hard on his foot. He howled in pain and hopped about the room. The men laughed and the edges of Crispin’s mouth fluttered into a smile.
Fists at her hips, the woman threw back her head, gauging the men around her, and then Crispin again. ‘Faith!’ she said in a roughened and smoky voice. ‘Is this any way to treat a lady?’
Crispin couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Relieved tears teased at his eyes.
McGuffin stomped forward. ‘Och! What mischief is here?’
Crispin gathered his laughter and heaved a cleansing breath. ‘Mischief? No mischief.’
‘No mischief?’ said the woman. She gestured with a delicate hand. ‘These ruffians have detained me without so much as a “by your leave.” Verily,’ she said with a sigh, ‘I should have known you’d be involved, Crispin.’
The Silence of Stones Page 5
