Dark Fire (33 page)

I
RODE AWAY FROM THE
House of Glass through sheets of rain that fell straight and hard, bouncing off my cap like a million
tiny pebbles. But the storm was quickly over; by the time I reached Cheapside the last fading rumbles of thunder were sounding. The sewer channels had been turned into streams, fed with refuse from
lanes that had been turned from dust to mud in half an hour. The last light of the long summer evening was fading and I jumped as Bow bells sounded loudly behind me, striking the curfew. The
Ludgate would be closed and I would have to ask for passage through. Chancery was plodding on, his head down. ‘Come on, old horse, we’ll soon be home.’ I patted his wet white
flank and he gave a little grunting whicker.

The extraordinary conversation with Lady Honor went round and round in my head like a mouse in a jar. Her kiss, while chaste, was a daring thing from a woman of rank. But it was only after I had
got her to admit she had read the papers that her tone became intimate. I shook my head sadly. I was attracted to her, all the more so after this evening, but I must be wary; this was no time to
allow my mind to be cloyed by affection for a woman. Tomorrow would be the second of June, and only eight days left.

There was a stir about the Ludgate; men were going to and fro with torches to one side of the ancient gatehouse that held the debtors’ prison. I wondered whether someone had escaped, but
as I drew closer I saw a small part of the outer wall, where scaffolding had been erected, had collapsed. I pulled Chancery to a halt in front of a constable, who stood examining a pile of
flagstones in the road with a lantern, watched by the gatekeeper and some passers-by.

‘What has happened?’ I enquired.

He looked up, doffing his cap when he saw I was a gentleman. ‘Part of the wall’s collapsed, sir. The old mortar was crumbling and the workmen dug it out today, then the storm soaked
what was left and some of the wall fell down. It’s ten feet thick, or the prisoners would be scrambling out like rats.’ He squinted up at me. ‘Pardon me, sir, but are you able to
read old languages? Only there’s something written on these stones, like pagan symbols.’ There was a note of fear in the man’s voice.

‘I know Latin and Greek.’ I dismounted, my thin pantofle shoes squelching on the wet cobbles. A dozen ancient flagstones lay in the road. The constable lowered his lamp to the inner
surface of one of the blocks. There was some sort of writing carved there, a strange script of curved lines and half-circles.

‘What do you think it is, sir?’ the constable asked.

‘It’s from the time of the old druids,’ someone said. ‘Heathen spells. The stones should be broken up.’

I traced one of the marks with my finger. ‘I know what this is, it’s Hebrew. Why, this stone must have come from one of the Jews’ synagogues after they were expelled near three
hundred years ago. They must have been used on some previous repair – the gatehouse goes back to Norman times.’

The constable crossed himself. ‘The Jews? That killed Our Lord?’ He looked at the writing anxiously. ‘Perhaps we should break them up after all.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘These are of antiquarian interest. You should tell the alderman – the Common Council should know of this. There is a new interest in Hebrew studies these
days.’

The man looked dubious.

‘There may be a reward in it for you.’

He brightened. ‘I will, sir. Thank you.’

With a last glance at the ancient writing I returned to Chancery, my shoes squelching unpleasantly in the mud. The keeper opened the gate and I rode over Fleet Bridge. I heard a great rush of
water beneath me, and it made me think of all the generations who had lived in this City, dashing and scurrying through their lives, some to leave great monuments and dynasties of children, others
rushing only to oblivion.

W
HEN
I
REACHED HOME
Barak had not yet returned and Joan was abed. I had to rouse young Simon to take the horse to the stables; I
felt a little guilty sending the boy stumbling off into the night, heavy-eyed with sleep as he was. I took a mug of beer and a candle and went up to my room. Looking through the open window, I saw
the sky was clear, all the stars visible. The heat was gathering again already. Rainwater had come in, dripping on the floor and on my Bible, which stood on a table beside it. I wiped it,
reflecting it was many days since I had last opened it. Only ten years ago the very idea of a Bible in English being allowed would have filled me with joy. I sighed and turned to the papers on the
Bealknap case I had brought back from court, for I must prepare my recommendations for the council about an application to the Court of Chancery.

It was late when I heard Barak come in. I went to his room and found him in his shirt, in the process of hanging his doublet out of the window to dry.

‘You were caught in the storm, then?’

‘Ay, I’ve had a busy time going from place to place and the tempest caught me on my way to the tavern where the compurgators gather.’ He gave me a serious look.
‘I’ve seen the earl. He’s not pleased. He wants progress, not a stream of refugees.’

I sat down on the bed. ‘Did you tell him we’ve been going back and forth across London day after day?’

‘He has to go to Hampton Court to see the king tomorrow, but he wants to see us the day after, and he wants some progress by then.’

‘Was he angry?’

Barak shook his head. ‘Anxious. He didn’t like the idea Rich may be involved in this. I talked to Grey. He gave me disapproving looks like he usually does but he said the
earl’s a worried man.’ I saw again the fear behind Barak’s customary bravado, fear for his master – and for himself if Cromwell fell. ‘What happened at the
banquet?’ he asked.

‘The Duke of Norfolk was there, in a foul mood and drunk.’ I told him all that had passed. I even told him about Lady Honor’s kiss, impelled to frankness by the worry I had
seen in his face. For good or ill, Barak and I were in this together. I half-expected some mocking remark, but he only looked thoughtful.

‘You think she was making up to you because you found out she’d read those papers?’

‘Perhaps. There’s more besides.’ I told him of the conversation I had overheard. ‘Norfolk wants something from her, something that Marchamount knows about.’

‘Shit! Norfolk may be in the know too. That would be far worse than Rich. Lord Cromwell will have to be told about that. Do you think Norfolk’s trying to get what was in those papers
out of her?’

‘Perhaps. There’s not that much information in them, but he doesn’t know that. But if he’s pressing her, why didn’t she tell me?’ I looked at him seriously.
‘I had the sense she thinks Cromwell may not be able to offer protection to his friends much longer.’

Barak shrugged. ‘That’s the rumour.’

‘I’m going to see her again tomorrow. I’ll take the papers, say I’d like to go through them with her, use that as an excuse to press her further.’

Barak smiled wryly and shook his head. ‘Caught by her rich woman’s scent, eh?’

‘Yes. I knew the smell on those books was familiar.’

Barak ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Perhaps they’re all in together. Bealknap, Lady Honor, Marchamount, Rich, Norfolk. That would bake a fine pie.’

‘No. That doesn’t make sense. Whoever killed the Gristwoods and Leighton – for I think he must be dead too – knows all about Greek Fire. They have the formula, and
they’re trying to stop people’s mouths. If I’m right, Norfolk may be trying to open Lady Honor’s mouth. That means he
doesn’t
know about Greek Fire. Not
yet.’

‘The earl should have had Bealknap and Marchamount and her ladyship in the Tower at the start, shown them the rack.’

I winced at the thought of Lady Honor in the Tower. Barak looked at me. ‘Fine feelings won’t help us in this,’ he said impatiently.

‘And if those people were taken to the Tower, how long would it have been before some gaoler or torturer started rumours that Greek Fire’s been found and lost again?’

Barak grunted. ‘That’s why Lord Cromwell won’t do it. Though there’ll be plenty going to the Tower if he falls. Probably you and me with them, if the pope comes
back.’ He shrugged. ‘At least I’ve made some progress on other matters. I’ve found who pock-face is.’

I sat up. ‘Who?’

‘He’s called Bernard Toky. He’s from out Deptford way, he started life as a novice monk apparently.’

‘A monk?’

‘Ay, he can pass for an educated man. But he was defrocked for something, spent the rest of his youth soldiering against the Turk and developed a taste for killing apparently. The other
man, the big one, is called Wright. He’s an old mate of Toky’s. They’ve been involved in various bits of dirty business, though they’ve never been caught. Toky had a bad
dose of smallpox a few years back, which accounts for his face, but it didn’t change his habits.’

‘Dirty business for whom?’

‘Whoever will pay. Rich merchants with scores to settle mostly, who don’t want to dirty their fine hands. He left London for somewhere in the country a few years ago, things were
getting too hot for him. But now he’s back. He’s been seen, although he seems to be avoiding old friends. But I’ve got people looking for him.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get to us first.’

‘And I found the tavern where the compurgators hang out.’

‘You’ve had a busy time.’

‘Ay. I told the tavern keeper I’d pay well for information about Bealknap. He’ll be in touch. And I went to the tavern where the sailors hang out too. Offered money for
information about that Polish cargo. The tavern keeper remembers someone trying to sell the stuff there, a man called Miller. He’s at sea now, bringing coal down from Newcastle, but he should
be back the day after tomorrow. If we go to the tavern then the innkeeper can introduce us.’

‘Excellent. And if we can follow its trail from there to the Gristwoods’ house . . . you’ve done well, worked hard.’

He looked at me seriously again. ‘We’ve much more to do,’ he said. ‘Much more.’

I nodded. ‘I sat next to a mercer’s wife at the banquet, who said a strange thing about young Ralph Wentworth. Told me he drove his mother to an early grave. What can she have
meant?’

‘Was that all she said?’

‘Ay, then she clammed up.’

We both jumped suddenly at a knock on the front door. Barak reached for his sword as we hurried down the stairs. Joan, roused from her bed, was already at the door, a startled look on her face.
I motioned her back. ‘Who is it?’ I called.

‘A message,’ a childish voice called. ‘Urgent, for Master Shardlake.’

I opened the door. An urchin stood, holding a letter. I gave him a penny and took it.

‘Is it from Grey?’ Barak asked.

I studied the superscription. ‘No. This is Joseph’s writing.’ I broke the seal and opened the letter. It was brief, and asked me to meet him first thing tomorrow at Newgate,
where a terrible thing had happened.

N
EXT MORNING WE RODE
out early again. Any hope the storm might have heralded a change in the weather was gone; it was
hotter than ever, not a cloud in the sky. The puddles were drying already and a malodorous steam rose from heaps of rubbish washed down from the alleyways.

I had thought there might be an argument with Barak over my plans for the morning; I intended to go to Newgate, then to the Guildhall to present my recommendations for transferring the Bealknap
case; while there I planned to seek in the library the books that had been taken from Lincoln’s Inn. I would be spending some hours away from the Greek Fire case. However, Barak raised no
objection, saying he would visit the taverns again to see if there was more news of the compurgators or of Toky, and to my surprise he offered to come to Newgate with me and see Elizabeth. I
promised I would visit Lady Honor again that afternoon to question her.

We rode up to Newgate again and left our horses at the nearby inn. I ignored the hands at the begging grate, and banged on the door.

The fat gaoler opened it. ‘The lawyer again,’ he said. ‘Your client’s given us a peck of trouble today.’

‘Is Joseph Wentworth here? He asked me to meet him.’

‘Ay.’ He stood in the doorway, barring our entrance. ‘He won’t give me a sixpence he owes me.’

‘What for
now
?’

‘Shaving the witch’s head when she went mad yesterday. After she started screaming and howling and throwing herself around the Hole. We’ve had to chain her and I got a barber
to come and shave her head to cool her wild brain. That’s what you’re supposed to do with mad people, isn’t it?’

Wordlessly, I passed him a sixpence. He nodded and stepped aside, letting us into the dark entrance hall. The heat had now penetrated even Newgate’s thick stones and the interior was a
warm, stinking fug. Water dripped somewhere. Barak wrinkled his nose. ‘This place stinks like Lucifer’s privy,’ he muttered as we went to where Joseph sat on a bench. He looked
crushed and barely brightened when he saw me.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked. ‘The gaoler said Elizabeth’s run mad.’