Deargh sucked on his teeth and looked down at the table. ‘Alas.’
Pushing himself noisily away from the table, Crispin rose. ‘Then why am I even bothering to talk to you?’
‘Because you have an apprentice dangling by the end of a rope and if I do not find the Stone of Scone for my laird, I shall be in the same predicament.’
‘When I find it, I am not finding it for you.’
‘You might. With the proper persuasion.’
Crispin rested his hands on the table and inclined forward. ‘Mark me. I have no patience for thieves, murderers, or extortionists. And I’ve had it up to here with Scotsmen. Take your threats and shove them up your arse.’ He turned toward the door, even though Deargh’s men blocked the way.
‘How will you proceed without my help, Master Guest? You only have two days left. Maybe less. Will your pride kill your apprentice?’
Crispin knew he could not draw his sword in time to cleave Deargh’s men and escape harm to himself, so he let it lie. His sword hand twitched and finally curled into a fist instead. Without turning he said over his shoulder, ‘Well?’
‘I don’t think it is any surprise to you that there are … factions … interested in the Stone of Scone.’
‘I have met the others, yes.’ He turned to face Deargh. ‘All seem equally incompetent.’
Deargh smiled. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Who is this lord you are all working for? For I have no doubt that this is one scheme, one master, with many little helpers. I would even postulate that he chose these three separate groups thinking if one failed then surely one other would succeed. Alas, his confidence seems to have been entirely misplaced.’
Deargh’s smile faltered. The insult had at last struck home.
‘He is a man you would have had little acquaintance with, Master Guest.’
‘The earl of Moray, you mean?’
The man’s eyes flew wide. ‘You are a man who “tracks” information, aren’t you. Would that we had hired you at the outset.’
‘Except that I have no interest in getting on the wrong side of King Richard. Again.’ Crispin looked at the wine, felt a dry scratch in his throat, and pulled out the chair. He sat, cupped the goblet, and drank. ‘Who is this John Dunbar, anyway?’ he asked, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Or should I say “Mormaer”? Does he think he will make himself king by sitting upon the Stone?’
‘Many a man has been made king for less.’
‘True.’ Crispin drank again and held out his goblet to be refilled, only he held it out to Deargh’s men and waited.
A shadow grudgingly moved forward. He was a tall, broad man – as all these Scots seemed to be – and grabbed the jug with a ham-fisted grip before sloshing the wine into Crispin’s cup. Crispin didn’t so much as acknowledge him as he drank again.
‘John Dunbar is a verra great laird and warrior. He is my clan chief.’
‘Oh? Clan, is it?’ Crispin pictured them as fur-wearing, woad-painted savages, dancing before a bonfire. ‘But he would be king?’
‘He would only return the Stone of Scone to the sons of Scotland where it belongs.’
‘But he wouldn’t mind a little ransom instead, eh?’
Deargh shrugged. ‘An army is an expensive thing, Master Guest.’
‘Naturally. How much gold, for the sake of argument, might his grace the earl be willing to accept to give up Scotland’s honor?’
The table wobbled as Deargh shot to his feet. ‘You had best curb your tongue, Master Guest,’ he snarled, his calm slipping away at last.
Crispin gazed up at him mildly. ‘Or what?’
‘Or you’ll no get my help to find the Stone.’
‘Your help? It seems more like you need mine.’ Crispin took a last gulp of the fine Flemish wine, set down the goblet, and stood. ‘I think I’ve got all I need.’
‘What? What mean you?’
‘I mean, I’ve got the information I require. Good day.’
‘You’ll go nowhere until I tell you you can.’
Crispin sighed and stuck his thumbs in his belt, rocking on his heels. ‘Have you sent a ransom demand to his majesty?’
‘Well … no.’
‘And you won’t until you actually have the Stone or know its whereabouts. And so you truly have nothing to bargain with. And you have told me much that I didn’t know before. All in all, a good meeting. Now, if you will excuse me, I will continue my search.’
When Crispin turned his back on the Scot, he was still facing the man’s henchmen. They glared, making a wall to block the door. It must have been some silent gesture from Deargh that made them move at last, for they reluctantly parted, allowing a path for Crispin to make his escape.
He shouldered past them, making certain to bump them as he went. He was nearly at the door when it burst open and McGuffin and his men pushed their way in, forcing Crispin back. God’s blood, Crispin sighed.
‘Aha!’ cried McGuffin. ‘I should have known. Deargh, you piece of shite.’
Deargh cast his goblet to the floor, shattering it and splashing its contents upon the nearest men. ‘By the rood! You lackey, McGuffin.’
‘I’m no lackey, Deargh, not as you are. So what have you told him, eh? Everything, no doubt.’
‘He didn’t need to be told. He sussed it out for himself.’
‘Oh he did?’
‘Yes,’ said Crispin. ‘You are all oafs and easy to manipulate.’
‘Eh? Who are you calling an oaf, Master Guest? Here I am saving your sarding hide—’
‘My hide didn’t need saving. I was about to leave.’
‘McGuffin,’ said Deargh wearily, ‘I’m sure you’d like to continue to believe you are important in the scheme of things, so you’d best get on with it. Out with ye.’
‘I am important.’ He dug into his scrip and dragged out a folded parchment. He snapped it open with one flick of his wrist and flattened it on the table before Deargh. ‘See here. A letter from his grace himself, with his seal!’
Deargh dove for it and smacked it out of the way before Crispin could get a good look at it. ‘You fool! Don’t wave that about in front of the Tracker!’
‘By all means,’ said Crispin mildly. ‘Don’t mind me.’
By the look on Deargh’s reddened face, Crispin would have wagered anything that Deargh had a letter just like it.
‘It’s nothing he doesn’t already know. And who are you calling a fool?’
‘You, you fool!’ Deargh now had his hand on his dagger hilt and McGuffin, just as red-faced, had reached for his.
McGuffin’s men growled, facing off with Deargh’s.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Crispin, raising his hands between them. ‘It seems that the two of you should unite for this one course. Surely you will both be able to find the Stone if you work together.’
‘I told you!’ cried McGuffin to Crispin’s face. ‘I’m no looking for the sarding Stone!’
‘What?’ Deargh scrambled around the table. ‘Then what have you been charged with?’ He gestured for his men to retrieve McGuffin’s parchment from the floor.
But Crispin was faster. He was able to skim it before it was snatched from his hands by McGuffin himself.
‘Here!’ said Deargh. ‘Let us see that.’
‘I don’t think I will,’ said McGuffin, stuffing it back in his scrip and giving Crispin a sour eye. ‘It seems we have given the Tracker too much information as it is.’
Deargh clenched his fists and snatched a glance at Crispin. ‘I’m no working with this lowland fool. I have greater work to do. And you, Master Guest. I suppose you have no intention of helping us for the sake of your apprentice.’
‘You would be right. In all truth, I believe you will slow me down. Good day, gentlemen.’ He shoved McGuffin roughly aside and pushed the door open himself. He trotted down the inn’s gallery steps and marched across the hall amid stares from the occupants, no doubt privy to the loud goings on in Deargh’s chamber.
&
nbsp; Outside in the fresh air, he breathed hard. He had only gotten a glimpse of McGuffin’s letter but the man hadn’t lied. It had nothing to do with the Stone of Destiny, and everything to do with some sort of jewelry.
What the devil was going on? He decided he would very much like to meet this John Dunbar face to face … and stab him good and hard in the gut.
SEVENTEEN
Jack ducked. The arm that had reached out to grab him caught only air. He threw himself backward into the foliage with the cracking of twigs and the flailing of leaves.
The knights dove in after him, but he squirmed away on his back. Gauntlets poked through the branches in front of his face, and he tried to meld into the ground as much as he could, but he escaped each grasp, each closing of fingers like claws.
Rolling, he desperately scanned ahead, looking for options. An open path. No good, it was too open. Then a wall with a dead end. No good either. The gnarled tree would have to do.
He tore through the brambles, leaves exploding around him, and leaped for the rough bark of a tree like a squirrel. And very like a squirrel, he used both hands and feet to scale the knotted trunk until he gained the first outstretched limb. He stood on it and looked down, but some of the knights were already following him up the tree, though as encumbered as they were by armor it wasn’t as easy.
Looking up, he spied another heavy limb and climbed for it, gaining height with each step. He could see far over the walls now, both into Henry Derby’s garden and beyond to the busy Thames. Lambeth Moor spread out east across the river, with its green and rusty plain broken up by occasional right-angle hedges and grazing cattle. If the river were closer he’d make a dive for it, but it was a stony embankment that shouldered the outer wall, and he had no desire to land upon that!
No, he’d have to either make for Derby’s wall or the queen’s chamber, and by the looks of things – what with knights climbing after him and more coming through the queen’s door – neither seemed like a viable option.
Merciful Jesus, he prayed, I got m’self into a fix now. If You can see Your way to offering me a path to freedom, I’d be very obliging.
His feet looked too close to the climbing knights and so he had no choice but to go higher. He knew he would soon run out of limbs thick enough to hold him … ‘Ah!’ His eyes followed the path of a long branch above. It reached upward, shooting toward the sky, but if a weight were attached to it – say about Jack’s weight – it might just carry him over Derby’s wall. If it didn’t break first.
He looked down. The angry face of a knight sneered back up at him. ‘Get down here, you gawby lop!’
Jack kicked his way higher, dislodging a clump of dead leaves, cobwebs, and an old bird’s nest. It cascaded downward and landed on the knight’s face. He batted at it with a yell and nearly lost his grip. ‘I’ll bray you good when I catch you!’
Jack didn’t wait. He shimmied higher, wrapping his legs around the narrowing branch. The higher he climbed, the more the branch shivered and tilted. Just as he hoped, it began a slow swooning bend toward the other wall. He inched still higher, for he needed that length to get him over the barrier.
‘Stop at once!’
The garden hum of bustle and shouting came to an abrupt halt. Jack risked his precarious balance to look down over his shoulder. The queen! She stood on her porch and, with an imperious air, glared down all the king’s guards who had gathered. And with a lump in his throat Jack saw that there were many more than he thought.
‘I command you to stop,’ she cried again.
‘But your grace, that man—’
Jack’s branch was dipping lower toward his goal. His feet were mere inches from the wall now and all he need do was leap. He took one last look over his shoulder and gave a grateful smile to the queen.
‘What man?’ she said, and Jack released the branch and dropped hard on the other side of the wall. The branch slashed back like a whip.
He heard their complaints and shouts but he left it behind him and ran through the garden to the door. He grabbed the latch and threw it open … and came to a halt before Hugh Waterton, Derby’s chamberlain. His face was dark and his hands darted out to grab Jack by his chaperon hood.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
‘I … I …’
A loud banging on the main door made them both turn. Waterton scowled down at Jack again.
‘Master Waterton, I swear by Jesus’s precious blood that I was on an honorable errand. I swear! Lay me hand on a saint’s bones and I will swear the same.’
The door banged again with, ‘Open up in the name of the king’s guards!’
‘I just need to … hide, Master Waterton. I beg you. His grace Henry Derby himself would vouchsafe for me. He would, sir.’
He could see it in the steward’s eyes. The man plainly did not want to believe him, but something compelled him to do so. Or so Jack thought. Waterton cast a glance back in the direction of the door and its echoing pounding. He curled his hand tighter in the cape of Jack’s hood and dragged him forward. ‘Come with me.’
They stalked past frightened servants, staring aghast at the main door through the many doorways. ‘Master Waterton,’ cried one as they shouldered past him. ‘Should we open the door?’
‘No! I will be there anon to open it myself.’ He shoved Jack forward into a chamber Jack had never been in before. Waterton strode to the bed, bent over, and pulled out a truckle bed. Designed for a servant to sleep near the master, it had only a thin mattress stuffed with straw.
‘Get in.’
Jack complied immediately. Waterton barely gave him time to lay flat before he shoved it under the larger bed again. ‘I need not tell you to stay quiet.’
Jack becrossed himself, albeit tightly as there was little room to move. In fact, his nose was pressed up against the under ribs of the bed above. He listened as Waterton stomped away. The banging had not ceased, and the shouting on the other side of the door had grown louder. Jack cringed down and awaited his fate. Either he would stay hidden or … Or King Richard would make good on his threat.
Waterton must have opened the door for the noise level rose to a crescendo. Jack closed his eyes and prayed. Surely it should not be so trying doing a good deed for his sovereign queen!
‘You’re mistaken,’ he heard Waterton say, far too close to the room. ‘He made his way out the door. You must have just missed him.’
‘But he was here?’
‘That is the truth, my lord.’
Master Crispin had always said that if one must lie, stick as close to the truth as possible.
Men stomped with heavy boots throughout the apartments. Doors opened and slammed.
Until the voice of Henry Derby thundered from the entry. ‘What, by God and St George, is this?’
Muttering and sounds of obeisance – Jack knew them well – a woman’s scream, and the calling out to the guards.
The door opened to the chamber and Jack froze, holding his breath.
The call to the guards came again, but the knight hesitated. Jack could hear his armor clanking from the doorway. The knight moved into the room, each heavy footfall growing closer. Jack heard him try the coffer, but it was locked. He opened a sideboard with a squealing hinge. The footfalls approached the bed and stood there a long time.
The call again.
The knight swore under his breath and spun on his heel, his footfalls falling away with distance.
Jack breathed shallowly and waited. He would have to make very certain that no guards remained before he made a move.
And just as he thought that he had waited long enough, he heard the hurried footsteps of two men enter the room. Before he could gird himself, the truckle was pulled out and he was dragged to his feet in a strong grip.
‘By my mother’s bones, Jack Tucker!’ shouted Henry Derby into his face. ‘Do you mind explaining what you thought you were doing? Are you not in enough peril?’
Waterton stood beside Henry, glaring
at Jack with just as much fire as the young lord. Jack’s throat constricted with fear and for a moment nothing would come out. But with some hard swallowing he looked the man in the eye. ‘I am heartily sorry, your grace, for inconveniencing you—’
‘Inconveniencing me? You and Master Guest are nothing but an inconvenience.’ He shoved Jack away. Jack stumbled to right himself and straightened his coat and hood.
‘I know it, my lord. No one knows it better than me and Master Crispin, and that’s a fact. But we are both bound by our honor to do what is right, and he apprenticed me as a Tracker and that I will do with my last breath, sir.’
‘Tracker? What nonsense is this?’
‘Our vocation, my lord. My master is the Tracker and I his apprentice. In tracking. I was only doing me job.’
Henry folded his arms over his chest. ‘Doing what job?’
Jack bit his lip. ‘Er … I may not say, my lord. It is a matter of confidentiality.’
‘Confidentiality?’ His fists were now at his hips and he leaned into Jack, too close for comfort. ‘Master Tucker.’ His voice was low and deadly. ‘I will not have the king’s guards in my household. I cannot give them an excuse to look into private matters, do you understand me?’
Jack swallowed, his throat constricting again. He nodded.
‘So whatever it is you think you are doing – tracking or no tracking – you had best stop it now. Are we clear?’
‘But …’ he managed to squeak.
Derby’s nose was up against Jack’s. ‘Are … we … clear?’
‘Yes, your grace,’ he whispered.
‘Good.’ He pulled back and straightened. ‘If I hear of any more disturbances, I will return you to the dungeons from whence you came. My generosity only goes so far.’
Jack said nothing, which seemed to suit the young lord. He gave a nod and turned smartly, hurrying away and out the suite’s door.
But before Jack could even think about relaxing, Waterton had him by the collar. ‘I am charged with keeping order in the earl’s chambers. When anyone – servant or guest – displeases him, it is up to me to make it right. But you, Master Tucker, have gone far beyond inconveniencing my master. You put him in danger, and he already lives on the knife edge of it in his current position. You will not discommode him again.’
The Silence of Stones Page 16
