Fire Catcher (44 page)

Chapter 144

‘I can tell you something else about common men,’ said Charlie, as the burn in his leg ebbed away. ‘They buy smuggled goods. The smoke you breathe is called opium.’

Blackstone swung in confusion. Somewhere towards the vanquished shape of the girl and the door to the vestry he could see the smoking bale. It had been placed so he breathed the smoke but they didn’t. A current of air drew silkily over him. It meant something. He didn’t know what.

For the first time since he could remember, Blackstone felt uncertain. He tried to summon his knowledge of the cathedral and found that he couldn’t. Tobias’s boy had laid the room out, he could see that now. Blackstone had been drawn to stand with the large stained-glass window behind him. There was something wrong about that. But he couldn’t work out what. Thoughts rolled like warm treacle. He couldn’t gather them together.

Charlie took aim and sent a candlestick winging towards the stained glass window. It dented the lead fixings and smashed away two small portions of glass. Just enough to force a current of air whistling into the still cathedral.

Blackstone turned slowly. His eyes lifted to the stained glass window behind him. It seemed to be shimmering. The Virgin Mary stared at him. She had a face he knew. Sally Oakley, leaden tears running across her cheeks.

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘You died.’

The cathedral seemed to take a giant breath. The whistling sound rose to a shriek. A network of cracks split out from the holes in the stained glass. Then the entire window bowed inwards as air rushed to fuel the fire.

‘This is not a war,’ said Charlie. ‘It is a fire. Fire doesn’t fear its own skin, or seek riches. All fire wants is food. You have released a monster you can’t control.’

‘You think you can control fire?’ asked Blackstone.

‘No man commands fire,’ said Charlie. ‘But I can predict where it will go.’

The window smashed apart in an explosion of coloured glass. Blackstone held up his hands as the glass shards pelted him. He looked wonderingly at his arms. They were sliced to the bone, but the wounds didn’t hurt him.

Then the ground beneath him shuddered as air rushed through the crypt beneath.

Blackstone staggered as the floor split apart.

A great split appeared in the floor, showing the burning books and papers below. They glowed like hellfire. He staggered again. The ground was uneven. It was hard to stay upright.

His last thought was the pistol. Blackstone thought it was loaded. He could fell a man across a battlefield after a day and night’s hard fight. Tobias’s son would waste time saving the girl. Tobias was the same. Sally Oakley had always been his weakness.

Blackstone aimed the pistol. His mind swirled like a thick fog.

He had been right. Tobias was pawing at Sally’s unconscious form. The pistol sights wavered and then fixed. A chest shot was safest. He couldn’t miss.

Charlie looked up from Lily’s collapsed figure. Blackstone’s gun barrel was pointed square at his chest.

Then a knife whistled through the air and lodged deep in Blackstone’s throat. His eyes widened in amazement and his hand went to the knife. He tugged at it in puzzlement but it had been driven too deep.

The ground shuddered beneath him. Blackstone slipped, twisted, then fell headlong into the fiery bonfire of papers below. Beside Charlie, Lily dropped her knife arm.

Below them Blackstone gasped as the fire burned his hair and clothes. Then he stood with arms outstretched.

‘Teresa,’ he choked as blood filled his throat. ‘Is it you?’

He staggered forward into the fire. And then the flames masked him out.

Chapter 145

Lily doubled over again, clutching her stomach.

‘Here.’ Charlie grabbed a burning stem of opium poppy. ‘Breathe this. It will take the pain away.’

Lily inhaled gratefully and stood a little more upright.

‘Better,’ she agreed. ‘We need to get out of here.’

The stone floor split and collapsed a few feet away as Charlie helped her out of the vestry. Out in the wide cathedral all was chaos. The huge roof had split open revealing the dark sky above. Possessions were aflame and the floor had collapsed into a fiery pit.

Charlie took it in with the practised eye of a cinder thief.

‘This way,’ he said, drawing them away from the main air flow.

They broke out into St Paul’s graveyard gasping from the smoke. Behind them the mighty cathedral blazed. London’s most iconic landmark was destroyed. The great spire had smashed through the burning roof. The paper-filled crypt had blown apart the thick walls and sent all tumbling down.

Above them the dark sky crackled. A sliver of yellow sun peaked low beneath the black clouds. It was morning. Charlie felt a cinder land on his face. Then another fell. And another. But they didn’t seem to be burning him.

Charlie brought his hand to brush them away and was surprised to find it wet.

‘Lily,’ he grinned. ‘Rain.’

She tipped her head back and smiled up at it.

‘The wind has died as well,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it will do some good.’

They looked up at the flaming cathedral. There was no saving it. Somewhere deep inside were the papers, blazing in Teresa’s wedding trunk.

‘Did you mean it?’ asked Lily. ‘About your father? You really don’t want to know?’

Charlie shrugged. ‘It hardly matters now. Perhaps it is best some things stay buried.’

‘Oh,’ said Lily. ‘Because if you want them, I have the papers.’

Charlie stared at her. ‘You have the papers?’

‘Yes.’ Lily nodded.

‘Why? How?’ Charlie could barely get the words out.

‘I had your key,’ said Lily. ‘I made a copy. On my way to Bridewell Prison. I spy for Amesbury,’ she added, ‘I know men who will forge a key in a few hours.’

‘How did you take the papers from the chest?’ asked Charlie.

‘You were distracted by Teresa’s magical things,’ said Lily.

Charlie was thinking back. ‘I thought the body moved,’ he said. ‘It was you. Opening the chest.’

Seeing Charlie’s expression Lily pulled them out of her bodice.

‘Don’t be angry,’ she said. ‘I had my reasons.’

Mutely he took them.

‘Torr said they were dangerous to England in the wrong hands,’ said Lily. ‘It was only when you fired the chest I knew you could be trusted with the papers. They could bring down England you know,’ she added earnestly.

‘Is not a man’s word . . .’ Charlie stopped speaking and shook his head. His gaze dropped to the papers.

‘Women,’ he muttered.

‘Aren’t you going to look at them?’ asked Lily. ‘You’ve waited long enough.

Charlie shot her an incredulous glance. Then shaking his head, he unrolled them.

Chapter 146

The King turned to his troops. Everyone was covered in a fine dusting of gunpowder.

‘You thought well,’ admitted James. ‘To use gunpowder.’

‘It was your naval men who placed the barrels right,’ said Charles. ‘They raced up those buildings like monkeys.’

‘They’re good men,’ said James. ‘I’d give my life for them and they for me. But your plan was what saved us. It was a good one. A barrel of gunpowder is worth twenty men.’

They looked at the smoking devastation where buildings had been. It had only taken a few well-placed barrels of gunpowder to make a wide enough firebreak. Gunpowder smoke scented the air. Sooty-faced men grinned at the victory. The Tower was safe.

The wind was dying down and, unexpectedly, rain began to fall. A muted cheer went up. The smoking shell of the city began to whisper and hiss.

Amesbury was looking admiringly to the King and his brother.

‘Say what you will about the Stuart brothers,’ he said, looking to the Tower, ‘they come into their own in a crisis.’

‘We must rebuild without delay,’ said the King. He was looking at St Paul’s still burning in the distance. ‘Did we not have plans for the cathedral in any case?’

Amesbury nodded. ‘Sir Roger Pratt drew up plans for a very high spire.’

‘There was another architect, was there not?’ The King was remembering.

‘Christopher Wren,’ said Amesbury. ‘It was decided he hasn’t the experience for such a project.’

‘Bring me his plans again,’ said Charles. ‘He suggested a domed cupola I think, which I remember liking. Time for something new, perhaps.’

He thought for a moment. ‘The London Stone is now broken in two you say?’

‘Split in half,’ agreed Amesbury.

‘Then we will have Mr Wren set a piece of it at the altar in our glorious new St Paul’s,’ he decided. ‘The other can be set in its original place on Cannon Street. That will afford our great capital dual protection I should think. From the Roman Gods and the Christian angels besides. I’ll wager Londoners will be swearing on the stone in five hundred years’ time.’

Amesbury nodded. The King certainly had style. But he had no understanding of finances. London was bankrupt.

‘But first we must go to Hatton Gardens,’ muttered the King, ‘where the refugees gather. We should attend to the poor as well as the rich.’

Chapter 147

The first paper, Charlie had seen before. A Fleet wedding certificate signed by Thomas and Teresa Blackstone. He made out the word ‘witnesses’ above their names. Then further up the firm signature of Charles Stuart. And a looping ‘Lucy Walter’, written smaller beneath it.

Even though he had known what the papers held, Charlie found his hands shaking.

‘This could bring down the Crown,’ he said.

Lily nodded. ‘It could start a foreign war,’ she said. ‘King Charles was given Bombay and Tangier for his Portuguese wife. Portugal should not like to know her marriage is not legal.’

‘Or another civil war,’ said Charlie. ‘Monmouth is Protestant. People may prefer him to the Duke of York, with his Catholic wife and children.’

He unrolled the other paper. It was written in Dutch with a Dutch seal and he frowned as he made out the names. It was addressed to Sally and signed Tobias.

‘I can’t read it,’ said Lily. Her eyes were on Charlie.

He tried to see what was written, but his eyes were swimming. Peering hard he made out a few words. ‘Miss you’ and ‘home’.

Charlie rolled up the papers.

‘Do you think he is there still?’ asked Lily. ‘In Holland?’

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I think he died at sea.’

As soon as Charlie said the words he was certain of them. He folded the letter carefully and slid it inside his coat.

‘It is enough,’ he said, ‘to know it.’

‘What of your father’s lands?’ asked Lily.

‘Maybe Blackstone told the truth, maybe he didn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘But no land in England truly belongs to a man. Civil War taught us that. Besides,’ he added with a grin, ‘I grew up in London. I’ve no business in the country.’

Lily smiled. ‘There’s not much of London left,’ she pointed out.

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Charlie, ‘how little of London is out there,’ he pointed, ‘and how much is in here,’ he said, tapping his chest. ‘So long as people are here to remember how things were, they’ll rebuild. More quickly than you might think. If there’s money to be made, there’s no stopping them.’

Charlie’s eyes swept the smouldering remains of St Paul’s graveyard. He took a few steps and dropped the certificate into a patch that still flamed.

Lily moved towards him. For a moment Charlie thought she meant to retrieve the papers. Instead she took out the mermaid handkerchief and dropped it into the flames.

They watched as paper and cloth smoked and then flared.

‘Do you trust me now?’ asked Lily, as black ash swallowed up the King’s signature.

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘A little,’ he qualified. ‘Why did you give me the papers? You could have destroyed them.’

‘Maybe I’ve grown fond of you.’

Charlie considered her expression.

‘I was wrong about you,’ he decided. ‘You do have a tell.’

‘I do?’

‘It just says something different to what I thought.’

Lily tried for a casual tone as he moved closer. ‘What do you think it says?’

‘I cannot easily put it into words.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded disappointed.

‘I can show you,’ said Charlie. And he kissed her.

Three days after the Great Fire

Lucy Walter knocked tentatively on King Charles’s bedchamber. She
adjusted her low-cut pink dress and repositioned a horsehair curl.

‘Come in!’ called the King.

Lucy entered to find the King standing with his brother James, Amesbury and a short man with a tall wig she didn’t recognise.

Lucy curtseyed low. ‘Less security outside your rooms of late,’ she observed.

‘Charles is currently the most popular King in Europe,’ said James.

‘And there are no plotters left in any case,’ added Amesbury. ‘Discontented men tend to be poor. And they suffered worse from the fire. Most are still camping out in Hatton Gardens.’

‘I’ve sent orders to the surrounding towns and cities to receive refugees,’ said Charles distractedly. He was looking at a large map.

‘This is Christopher Wren,’ he said as an afterthought, gesturing the introduction. ‘These are his plans for the new city.’

‘The streets make the Kaballah Tree of Life,’ said Wren, mistaking Lucy for someone of importance. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral is the heart of it. And see here how it spans out.’

Lucy glanced at it, then back at Charles.

‘Barbara was very kind,’ said Lucy haltingly. ‘She gave me a carriage and cart. I owe her everything I own,’ she added, sounding as though the confession pained her.

Charles looked up at her. ‘Barbara can be very kind,’ he said. ‘Just not often to me.’ And he gave Lucy the dazzling smile that had first made her fall in love with him. ‘She’s out arranging charitable donations,’ added Charles. ‘Making sure the homeless have food and shelter. Better you’re gone before she gets back,’ he added. ‘Giving away money puts her in a foul temper.’

‘You’re very popular in the city,’ said Lucy. ‘People say you single-handedly held up the blazing wall of St Dunstan in the West. That’s not my story,’ she added, catching his expression. ‘The people say it.’

‘I’ll pass your thanks to Barbara,’ murmured Charles, making clear she was dismissed.

‘There was something else,’ blurted Lucy. ‘Some small thing,’ she added as they all turned to stare. ‘There was talk, of the Sealed Knot having some papers,’ she said, looking directly at Charles. ‘Some alchemy things. Lead into gold, nonsense like that.’ She gave an embarrassed cough.

‘Oh?’ Charles was looking at her with a warning expression.

‘I didn’t take as good care of them as I should have,’ admitted Lucy, ‘in Holland.’

Charles’s eyes widened.

‘But Amesbury tells me they burned,’ she concluded. ‘And if they hadn’t, if they ever showed up, I would burn them myself. Worthless things that they were.’

Charles nodded slowly to show he understood, whilst James and Wren looked confused. Amesbury frowned for a moment and then smiled as though working something through.

They all looked back to the London plans as Lucy exited.

‘I like them very much,’ said Charles. ‘The streets laid out like this. You say it’s a kind of journey? With enlightenment at the end?’

Wren nodded. ‘It’s something the stonemasons advocate. Or freemasons I should say,’ he corrected himself. ‘They make a great study of symbolism and mystic ideas. I think it makes them better at their craft.’

‘This fine domed roof,’ said Charles. ‘I always liked it. But it wasn’t possible to get it through Parliament. I think I’ve bought myself enough grace to insist upon it now, don’t you think?’

‘It will be the pride of London,’ said Wren happily. ‘Hundreds of years from now, people will gaze up at St Paul’s and think Charles II made a modern wonder for London.’

Amesbury tapped the London sketches.

‘Perhaps we should be cautious about making these mystic freemason things. Feelings about religion run high after the fire. People blame Catholics.’

‘The Freemasons were accepted by Oliver Cromwell,’ said the King. ‘I will be no less tolerant. And besides, Amesbury, the Freemasons might have some strange ideas of how the world came into being, but they make some fine buildings with their notions of symbolism and such.’

Charles considered for a moment.

‘There should be a monument,’ he decided. ‘Near to Pudding Lane. Something which offers thanks to the heavens. Wren, you must speak with the Royal Alchemist. He can advise you on astrology and so forth.’

‘The Royal Alchemist?’

‘Isaac Newton,’ said the King. ‘He makes some alchemy for me in secret,’ he added, catching Wren’s face. ‘As well as helping us catch coin counterfeiters.’

‘I’ll arrange to meet with him,’ said Wren. ‘What should you like this monument to be called?’

Charles frowned. ‘I’m sure I shall think of something,’ he said. ‘But for now, we’ll just call it “The Monument”.’