The Silence of Stones

by Jeri Westerson

  As soon as she had departed, the queen leaned forward, looking to Jack like all the anxious girls that Jack had ever known from any London parish, only far prettier and far more elegantly dressed. ‘What have you discovered, my Goat?’

  His excitement had momentarily washed away his fear of what tomorrow would bring. He pulled the pouch from his own scrip, opened it, and pulled out the small object wrapped in a cloth. He laid the cloth aside and looked for the first time at the jeweled brooch in his hand. For a moment, he saw the shield that was meant to look like the king’s but then his eyes remolded it to one of the king’s courtiers, one who was not in favor with his majesty. He flushed at it and quickly handed it to the queen.

  Joy brightened her face. ‘You found it! Oh, my Goat! You are a miracle.’ She laughed and jumped to her feet. Clearly overcome, she launched herself upon him and embraced him tightly. Jack’s jaw slackened, fell open. He dared not return the embrace. And it didn’t matter, for she had quickly released him and paced about the room, looking down at the offending object. ‘I should have that jeweler imprisoned … if I could find him,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, my lady. I would, too, if I were you. What will you do with it now?’

  She tilted her proud head upward. The gold cage around her hair sparkled, and the veil fluttered from her horned headdress. ‘Bring me that candlestick.’ He looked to where she pointed and hurried to obey. It was heavy and he brought it to her.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked.

  She placed the brooch upon the floor. ‘I want you to beat the thing to a pulp.’

  Jack stared at the gold and gems. ‘B-beat it, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to look at the thing again. And it is too dangerous to keep intact.’

  ‘Aye. Well … if that is your wish.’

  She tilted up her chin. ‘It is.’

  Jack turned the candlestick in his now sweaty hand. How was he to … Oh yes. The bottom part was the heaviest. He plucked the candle from the holder and laid it aside on the chair that Henry had vacated. He turned the stick upside down and crouched on the floor over the cursed brooch. Cocking his hand back, he brought it down hard, and the jewel was instantly crushed and misshapen. He mourned the thing as soon as he had done it and looked up at Queen Anne for confirmation. ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes. Again and again until it is completely unrecognizable.’

  ‘If that is your will,’ he mumbled. Again he struck until gems scattered and the gold was bent and mashed. He picked it up, scooping up what gems he could find from the floor and handed them to her.

  ‘That was a very fine job, my Goat. Very fine. I know what I will do. Will you take this as part of my thanks?’ She plucked a mashed oval of gold and several loosened gems and drizzled them into Jack’s open palm.

  His eyes widened. ‘My lady!’

  ‘Please. You have done me a very great service. It is only fitting you claim your reward.’

  ‘But I did not do it for any reward, my lady. I did it because you asked it of me.’

  ‘And when you agreed, you did not even know who I was. Which is why reward is especially fitting.’ Her smile was wide and bright. ‘Please, Goat. Take it with my thanks.’

  ‘But … you don’t even know who I am.’

  ‘Then who are you?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘My lady, it is not safe for you to know.’

  She frowned. ‘Oh. Is it … a very bad thing?’

  ‘Aye, my lady. It is a very bad thing.’

  She turned away slightly. ‘I am saddened at these tidings. Very much so. And I will pray for your soul, dear Goat.’ She took a breath and then faced Jack again. ‘But I still want you to take my gift.’

  Jack looked down at the bounty. It was a treasure indeed! His retirement was looking brighter. ‘With all thanks, my lady.’

  ‘I shall discard the rest of it. It’s the cesspit for this.’

  Jack groaned at the thought of such riches being tossed away.

  The inner door opened and Jack saw Henry return. He looked uneasy.

  Henry glanced at the dented floor, the now crooked candlestick in Jack’s hand, but did not remark on any of it. ‘Your grace, is your business done?’

  She nodded. ‘I have tarried too long. My husband would not approve of my being in your apartments, Lord Derby.’

  ‘You are welcome, of course, as my dear cousin, but …’

  ‘Then I shall depart. Thank you for allowing me here, Lord Derby. And I thank you with all my heart, my Goat, for doing me this service.’

  ‘My lady,’ said Jack with a deep bow.

  Lady Margaret suddenly appeared, rushing forward with her veil trembling. She gave Jack a coquettish smile and Jack melted, smiling back.

  The queen raised her head and was decorous again, allowing Lady Margaret to open the door and passing through it without a backward glance. Once the door was closed again and Jack and Henry were alone once more, Henry sighed. ‘And now, Master Tucker …’

  Jack deflated. It was true that he had a fortune now in his purse, but would he live to spend it? ‘It’s back to the storeroom with me, isn’t it?’

  ‘Can you promise me that you will stay there this time?’

  ‘I have given you enough trouble, my lord. I give you my word.’

  ‘And I trust—’ he looked back toward the door through which the queen departed ‘—that I can rely upon that?’

  ‘I will … do my utmost, my lord.’ Jack offered a wincing smile. And then sent up a prayer for Master Crispin that he would succeed in time.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Crispin left the abbey, leaving behind the passions and questions to the sheriffs when they arrived. There was only one day left. But that Crìsdean had been murdered weighed heavily on his thoughts. He was certain that the monk had been silenced, and that meant that one of the conspirators didn’t want any loose ends. Did that mean they had the Stone at last?

  He lifted his face to the wine-stained sky. One day left. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. There was more to do with Westminster Abbey, he was certain of it. Yet the church and monastery had been thoroughly searched. Hope was slipping through his fingers. He needed to clear his head and he knew of only one way to do so.

  He reached the gates of London well before Compline and hoped that the Boar’s Tusk would still be open.

  With relief, he passed through the doors of the tavern and into its familiar warmth, trudging to his customary spot before the fire, facing the door. He dropped onto the seat and let his head fall back, allowing the warmth from the fire to melt the chill that had crept into his bones.

  He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he felt two someones plop down on the bench on either side of him. Eleanor on one side, blinking solicitously at him, and Gilbert on the other, pouring wine from a chipped jug into a horn beaker.

  ‘Much thanks, Gilbert,’ Crispin muttered, closing his hand around the beaker and bringing it to his lips. The wine – though not nearly as good as the abbot’s – was nevertheless satisfying.

  His friends silently watched him drink, refilling his cup when it was nearly empty. After Crispin felt the wine warm his belly and soften the ache in his head, he settled down and raised his face to each in turn.

  ‘How goes it, Crispin?’ Eleanor was the first to ask. ‘What of Young Jack?’

  The prickle of anxiety crept up his neck again. ‘Young Jack is still in King Richard’s clutches, and the Stone is still missing. I fear … I fear …’ He sighed, turning the beaker first one way, then the other. ‘I fear that I might not be able to find it in time.’

  ‘Oh!’ Eleanor’s fingers covered her mouth.

  Gilbert’s steadying hand closed over his shoulder. ‘I know you can do it, Crispin. Surely you must be close.’

  Crispin slammed his hand to the table. ‘Always close,’ he said harshly, ‘but never close enough.’ He drank another dose of wine. ‘I am so close I can almost feel the Stone in my hand. But it is all so mud
dled. I just need to think.’ Wearily, he told them of his investigations, of the factions, and of the dead monk.

  ‘And they killed that monk to silence him, eh? You think he told them where it was?’

  ‘I think it unlikely that they would kill him without first knowing where it was. It makes sense that the monks were in on the plan. It was easiest for them to have access to the Coronation Chair. I wasted so many days and now we are at an end …’

  Gilbert poured more wine into his cup. ‘One more day, Crispin. That’s enough time. I mean, if they’ve only just found the Stone then maybe it’s still in Westminster. Maybe even London.’

  ‘Possibly.’ His head suddenly throbbed and he scrubbed at his hair. ‘I can’t think anymore. Perhaps it is time I go home. A fresh start in the morning.’

  Eleanor helped him to his feet with a strong arm. ‘I think you are right. When was the last time you slept properly, eh?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Come along now. And don’t vex yourself, Crispin. We all have faith in you. The good Lord knows where your heart is and He is watching over you.’

  He nodded, grateful again for their intervention. He bid his farewells and left the tavern. The thunk of the bar falling across the door as they shut it up for the night made that final. He had been the last to leave … again.

  Trudging down Gutter Lane, he turned at the Shambles. The soft clucking behind the shutters of the poulterer told him he was only steps away from the tinker’s shop and thence to his upstairs lodgings. He grabbed the railing to his stairwell and lifted up each riser, feeling heavy and weary. He hadn’t realized how he had come to depend not only on his apprentice’s assistance but on his company, and it left a hole that nothing – not even drink – seemed capable of filling.

  He fitted his key in the lock and pushed open the door, expecting the dark and cold to greet him. Instead, a shadowed figure hunched over his chair by the small fire, turned at his step. His heart leapt for a moment before he remembered.

  ‘John. I forgot you were here.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Rykener with a good-natured chuckle.

  He noticed with a sigh that John was still in his woman’s gown but said nothing. Instead, he crossed to the fire and stood over it, warming his hands over the flickering flames.

  A brisk wind rattled the shutters, and the rafters groaned briefly, but there were no other stirrings. Martin Kemp, the tinker, and his family had long ago gone to their beds and were quiet below. The noisy street with its busy commerce was also laid to bed and only the sound of a yowling cat disturbed its silence.

  ‘What did you discover, Crispin?’ said Rykener after a long pause.

  ‘That Brother Crìsdean may not have been who he said he was, and that his Scottish compatriot – a Brother Andrew – is missing. I do not know if the man is also dead or the cause of Brother Crìsdean’s death. Whatever the case, it might mean that the Stone is gone at last …’

  John rose, took Crispin’s arms, and carefully maneuvered him into the vacated chair. Crispin’s limbs softened and he let his arms drape down. John dragged the stool forward and sat atop it next to Crispin. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said John. ‘I’d be willing to wager that the Stone never left the abbey.’

  ‘It might have been there, but it might be gone now. Something had gone awry. One crucial message did not get out to the thieves who were to get the Stone. I believe these monks carried out the plan to spirit it away but never got word from the others as to what to do with it. That is, if these others – McGuffin, Findlaich, and Deargh – can be believed.’

  ‘Then what of the m-murdered monk?’

  ‘Something went awry again. Or one of the factions went searching for it and Brother Crìsdean either failed to give up the information or was no longer needed.’

  ‘Then that would seem to exonerate this other missing monk, eh?’

  ‘Possibly. He could have fled. Or be in hiding. So either the Stone is gone or the conspirators killed the wrong man and it is still in the abbey. What a choice!’ He dropped his head in his hands. ‘I can’t think anymore. It is all too convoluted. In the morning, early, we will start again.’

  ‘I think that a good idea, Crispin. Here. Let me help you.’

  Crispin pushed himself up from the chair. ‘Not necessary, John. I can do it myself.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m sure Jack helps you. Let me be your provisional squire.’

  John, even in his woman’s garb, wore an expression of kind concern. There was nothing of the playful tempter about him now. Crispin nodded.

  John unbuttoned his cloak and tossed it over his arm while Crispin unbuckled his sword frog and belt. He laid his sword carefully across the table and draped his belt beside it.

  John busied himself hanging the cloak on the peg by the door and fussed with the fire before returning to Crispin to pick up his discarded boots and carefully line them up under the bed. ‘I must say, for an observant man, you are most inattentive when it comes to your own lodgings.’

  ‘Eh?’ he asked wearily, yawning so widely that his jaw cracked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean this.’ He spread his arm expansively toward the far corner where Jack’s straw once laid. In its place was a modest cot and a scruffy mattress. A blanket and pillow lay tidy in their proper places.

  Crispin halted unbuttoning his cotehardie. ‘John! How did you—’

  ‘I sought out a carpenter who turned out to know you well and offered one from his own servants at half the cost. And so the mattress and such were easily purchased. I’m sure Jack will be pleased.’

  ‘I’m sure he will.’ He stared at it in wonder, amazed at how far he had come in twelve years. The place was starting to look habitable. ‘Thank you, John,’ he said softly.

  ‘My pleasure. But if you don’t mind, I will test it out for him.’

  ‘Staying again, are you?’

  ‘Well, a lady shouldn’t travel abroad this late.’

  Crispin snorted and took off his cotehardie. He untied his stockings, stripped them off, and crawled into his own modest bed as John divested himself of his own garb down to his shift. He scratched luxuriously at his torso and, with unbound hair, looked like himself again.

  ‘Ah me,’ he said in sing-song. ‘“Eleanor” is put to sleep while “John” gets into bed.’

  Lying with his head on his arms, Crispin stared at the gray ceiling. ‘Does it ever get confusing, John?’

  ‘For me? Oh no. Only for friends like you.’

  ‘Friends like me,’ he muttered.

  ‘Think no more of it, Crispin. Dream.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he mumbled, and took that advice. And yet it seemed like so short a time. When Crispin awoke, it was to John’s humming. The man had made himself at home, and still in only his shift, he stood before the fire, stirring broth in a kettle.

  Glancing at the angle of the sun, Crispin suddenly sat up. ‘It’s late!’

  ‘I let you sleep. You looked like you sorely needed it.’

  ‘John!’ He tossed the blankets aside and threw his legs over the side of the bed. ‘I haven’t time to waste! There is only today!’

  John rested the hand holding the ladle at his hip. ‘I know that, Crispin,’ he said solemnly. ‘But you can’t think clearly if you do not sleep.’

  He stopped yanking on his cotehardie to stare at his companion. ‘What is the hour?’

  ‘A few hours after Prime. There is plenty of time to sip a bit of broth and have a little bread before you trot off to Westminster again. Oh. And this message came for you last night.’

  ‘A message? Why didn’t you wake me?’ He opened the parchment as he dressed. He recognized Jack’s hand immediately. What was that boy doing? He read his apprentice’s carefully written words:

  Master Crispin, greetings. I am well and anxious. But I have not been idle and though I cannot yet tell you to what business I have been about, I must tell you of a situation. Two men, one a noble an
d the other a monk. One called McGuffin and the other Brother Andrew …

  ‘I’ll be damned!’ cried Crispin so suddenly that Rykener nearly dropped the kettle.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s from Jack. And the scoundrel has found out something. Well done, Jack Tucker! So Andrew is alive.’ He read aloud:

  The McGuffin fellow, a man from Scotland, had charged Brother Andrew to do a task at Westminster Abbey on that fateful day. That task was … the business I cannot relate to you. However, I believe the monk was also involved in secreting the Stone. For he was nervous about the death of another monk Brother Crìsdean. This might help you in your cause …

  ‘Indeed it does, Jack,’ he muttered.

  … and he said he was sore afraid to return to – I assume – Westminster Abbey. I know he was a monk there, sir, for the deed he carried out – of my concern – placed him there. He begged help from this McGuffin as he feared for his own life, but the churl would not give it, for his task was not for the Stone but for another matter …

  ‘As he had said,’ remarked Crispin. ‘Then McGuffin was telling the truth in that at least. Jack, what are you up to?’

  … And so. He swore and said that his compeers could go to the devil – in so many words. And then he said something strange which I will recount here. He said: ‘For it is secreted well and sound, and even an “ach-ishkeh” himself cannot find it.’

  I didn’t understand it, sir, but thought it might be important. I tried to give chase, but he got away and anyway, I could not leave the palace precincts as I had given my word to Lord Derby.

  ‘Lord Derby? What the devil …?’

  God keep you, sir. I await your rescue with confidence.

  Your servant,

  Jack Tucker

  ‘With confidence. I hope it shall be deserved.’ He read the missive again. ‘What is an ach-ishkeh?’

  ‘A what?’ asked John, setting the bowl before Crispin.

  ‘Here. It is what Jack says.’ He showed the parchment to John.

  John dipped a spoon into his own broth and peered at the letter. ‘Some Scottish oath?’