Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (84 page)

B
ACK HOME
, there was no news of Timothy. Barak, who had remained at the house all afternoon, had had several visitors who said they knew where the boy was but wanted the reward first. Barak had dealt with them bluntly. Nicholas had also returned. I thanked them for their efforts, telling myself that for the next few hours I must put Timothy’s fate from my mind.

Looking at Barak and Nicholas, I considered again whether what I was doing was right. This was for the Queen and the murdered men, but I knew also for myself, because I wanted answers. Barak and Nicholas had come equipped for danger; Nicholas’s sword was at his belt and Barak had one, too. Both knew well how to use them.

I told them about seeing Stice at Hampton Court, and what Lord Parr had said. When I had finished I asked them once more, ‘Are you sure you wish to do this?’

‘All the more, now,’ Barak said. ‘With Brocket gone it’s our last chance.’

‘What did you tell Tamasin?’

He looked uncomfortable. ‘That we were going to continue searching for Timothy this evening.’

‘I’m glad of the chance to get back at that churl who kidnapped me,’ Nicholas said. ‘But sir, if we catch him, what do we do with him? We can’t take him back to my lodgings as we did with Leeman, my fellow students are there.’

‘I’ve thought of that. We’ll keep him in that house until morning; question him ourselves, then take him to Lord Parr.’

‘I’ll get answers out of him.’ Barak spoke coldly. ‘He wouldn’t be the first.’ I thought, no, there are things you did when you worked for Cromwell that we have always drawn a veil over. I did not dissent.

‘Can we be sure Stice will be alone?’ Nicholas asked.

‘I got Brocket to ask him to come alone as always. And Lord Parr’s man who is watching the house says Stice only came there once, and by himself.’

Barak said, ‘I got one of the men helping me on the search for Timothy to walk up and down that street this afternoon and report back to me. I didn’t want to go myself as Stice knows me. It’s a lane of small, newly built houses, much better places than on Needlepin Lane. Most of the houses have porches, quite deep. We could hide in one and watch until just before nine. We might even see Stice arrive.’

‘Very well.’ I looked out of the window. It was quite dark now. I thought, at Hampton Court they would be dancing by torchlight in the courtyard, sounds of loud revelry coming from the King’s banqueting house. Several more banquets, as well as hunts, were planned for the next few days. The Queen would be at all of them. Then I thought of Timothy, alone on the dangerous streets for a second night. I collected myself. ‘Let us go now,’ I said. ‘But remember, Stice is a man who will stop at nothing.’

‘Fortune favours those with justice and honour on their side,’ Nicholas said.

Barak responded, ‘If only.’

T
HE STREETS WERE QUIET
as we walked up to Smithfield. Fortunately it was not a market day and the big open space was silent and deserted. We went down Little Britain Street, following the wall of St Bartholomew’s Hospital, then turned into a broad lane, a reputable row of newly built two-storey houses, most with glass windows rather than shutters, and little porches, too. Candles flickered behind most of the windows but at a house that was in darkness Barak waved us into the porch. I hoped the owner would not return expectedly; he would think himself about to be robbed.

Barak pointed to a house on the opposite side of the lane, a little further down. ‘That’s the one. There’s a big Tudor rose on the arch above the porch, as Brocket mentioned. You can just see it.’

I followed his gaze. The house’s shutters were drawn and all was silent.

We stood, waiting and watching. A serving woman came out of a nearby house with a bucket of dirty water and poured it into the channel in the centre of the road. We tensed as the light of a torch appeared at the top of the lane, and voices sounded. It was, however, only a link-boy, leading the way for a small family party who were chattering happily, returning from some visit. They disappeared into one of the houses further down the lane.

‘What time is it?’ Nicholas asked quietly. ‘It must be near nine.’

‘I think it is,’ Barak said. ‘But it doesn’t look like Stice is here yet.’

‘He could already be inside,’ I whispered. ‘At the rear of the house, perhaps.’

Barak’s eyes narrowed. ‘All right, let’s wait till the clocks chime. Stice wouldn’t be late for this one, not if he’s been all the way to Hampton Court and back to consult his master.’

We waited. When the bells rang out the hour, Barak took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go,’ he breathed. ‘Rush him as soon as the door opens.’

W
E HALF-RAN ACROSS THE STREET
. I glanced up at the Tudor rose on the lintel of the porch, as Barak hammered on the door. He and Nicholas both had their hands on their sword hilts, and I grasped my knife.

I heard quick footsteps, sounding indeed as though they were coming from the rear of the house. There was the glimmer of a candle between the shutters. As soon as we heard the handle turn on the inner side of the door Barak put his shoulder to it, and crashed inside. The interior was dim, just a couple of candles in a holder on the table. By their light I saw Charles Stice stagger back, hand reaching to the sword at his waist. But Barak and Nicholas already had their blades pointed at his body.

‘Got you,’ Nicholas said triumphantly.

Then, at the edge of my vision, I saw rapid movement as the men who had been waiting on either side of the door stepped quickly out. Two more swords flashed. Barak and Nicholas turned rapidly as two well-built young men ran at them from behind. I recognized them by the candlelight: one fair with a wart on his brow, the other almost bald. Greening’s killers, Daniels and Cardmaker.

Barak and Nicholas were both quick, managing to parry the blows. Meanwhile, drawing my knife, I lunged forward, ready to plunge it into the neck of the bald man, but he was faster than me. Though still fighting against Nicholas, he managed to half-turn and elbow me in the face with his free arm. I staggered back against the wall. The distraction, however, was enough to allow Nicholas to gain the advantage, and begin to force him back.

Barak, meanwhile, was facing not only the other man in front but Stice behind. And before he could turn, step aside and face both of them, Stice raised his newly drawn sword and slashed at Barak’s sword-arm. To my horror the razor-sharp weapon, with the full force of Stice’s arm behind it, slashed down into Barak’s wrist just above his sword. Into it and through it, and I cried out at a sight I shall never forget: Barak’s severed hand, still holding his sword, flying through the air and hitting the ground.

He screamed, turned and grasped his arm, which was spraying blood. Then Stice stabbed him in the back with his sword. Barak looked at me. His face was a mask of astonishment, his eyes somehow questioning, as though he wanted me to explain what had just happened. Then his legs gave way and he crashed to the floor. He lay on his face, unmoving, blood pumping from the stump of his wrist.

In a fury, I flew at Stice, knife raised. My move was unexpected and he did not have time to block my path with his sword. I aimed for his throat but he ducked and the knife slashed his face instead, from mouth to ear. He cried out but did not drop his sword, instead raising it to my throat and forcing me backwards, pinning me against the wall.

‘Stop now!’ he shouted. ‘You can’t win!’

Glancing to the side, I saw the other two had Nicholas. The bald man shouted, ‘Drop the sword, boy!’ Nicholas gritted his teeth, but obeyed. His weapon clattered to the floor. He looked in horror at Barak, face down on the floor. Stice withdrew his sword from my throat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to staunch the blood welling from his cheek. I caught a glimpse of white bone.

Barak made a sound, a little moan. He was still alive, just. He tried to raise his head but it dropped back to the floor with a crack and he lay unmoving again. Blood still poured from his wrist, and more from the wound in his back, making a dark patch on his shirt.

‘He’s still alive,’ the bald man said with professional interest.

‘Not for long,’ Stice replied. ‘He’ll bleed out soon if nothing else.’ Blood dripped down the hand holding the kerchief to his face. ‘He was once known as a fighter,’ he added, with sudden pride.

I looked at Stice, and spoke savagely, through bruised lips. ‘At least you’ll have a scar on your face to match that ear.’

He looked at me coldly, then laughed. ‘So, you caught Brocket out, did you?’

‘It was me who sent the message.’

Stice smiled. ‘Brocket seemed to have found out something big. I thought it time to bring him in person to my master, so I arranged help to secure him.’

‘So all of you were working together, all the time?’

‘That’s right. All part of the same merry band, working for the same master.’

The fair-haired man, his sword still pointed at Nicholas’s throat, said, ‘He’ll be pleased then? We’ve caught a big fish, as well as this long minnow?’

Stice sat on the edge of the table. ‘Yes. He’ll be keen to find out why he mentioned an Italian.’ He winced at the pain from his face. ‘God’s wounds, I’ll have to get this stitched. But we must take Shardlake to him first. The boy as well. Bind their hands; we’ll ride. I’ll get treatment at Whitehall. He’s waiting there.’

Whitehall? I thought. But the royal family and high councillors had all moved to Hampton Court.

‘It’s past curfew,’ the fair-haired man said. ‘What if the constables see us?’

‘With my seal, they won’t challenge us. Not when they see who we are taking them to.’

There was a sudden bang on the wall separating the house from its neighbour. A man’s voice shouted, ‘What’s going on?’ The voice was cultured and angry, but frightened too. ‘What’s all this noise?’

Stice called out, ‘We’re having a party! Fuck off !’ His confederates laughed. There was silence from the next house. I looked down at Barak, quite still now, blood still flowing from his severed wrist, though less freely. I glanced at his severed hand, lying a foot away on the floor, still holding his sword. ‘Right,’ Stice said decisively. ‘Time to go.’

I said, ‘Who is your master? It’s not Richard Rich, is it? I was at Hampton Court, and saw how you avoided him. Who are you really working for?’

Stice frowned. ‘You’ll find out soon, Master Hunchback.’

The bald man nodded at the prone Barak. ‘What about him?’

‘Leave him to bleed out,’ Stice replied.

I said desperately, ‘Leave him to die here? Leave a body in this house to be found? That neighbour is already worried. He’ll be looking in the windows tomorrow. Then there’ll be a coroner’s enquiry – in public – and they’ll do a search to find out who owns the house.’ I continued rapidly, for I knew this was my last dim hope of saving Barak’s life, if indeed he was not already dead. ‘It’s known that Jack Barak works with me. Whatever you have planned for me, this is murder and it won’t be allowed to rest. Not when the Queen hears – she won’t let it.’

‘Our master could soon stop a coroner’s enquiry,’ the bald man said scoffingly. Stice frowned, though. He looked down at Barak; his face, from what I could see, was still and ashen against his brown beard. He could be dead already. I thought of Tamasin, pregnant. I had brought him here.

‘The hunchback could be right,’ Daniels said uneasily.

‘All right,’ Stice agreed. ‘Our master would wish us to be careful. Here, one of you make a tourniquet with your handkerchiefs, or he’ll bleed all over us as well as the floor.’

‘I know where we can put him.’ The bald man give a little giggle. ‘I came here round the back ways. There’s an empty building lot the people round here have turned into a rubbish heap. Two streets away.’

‘All right,’ Stice agreed. ‘Bind those two now.’

Cardmaker produced a length of rope from the bag at his belt, which he must have brought for Brocket. He cut it in two with his knife, then approached us. ‘Hands behind your backs.’

We could do nothing else. I looked desperately at Barak’s prone form as they bound our hands behind us. Meanwhile Stice bound Barak’s arm tightly with a handkerchief, making a tourniquet to lessen the flow of blood, and tied another securely round the stump. Bright red blood immediately began to seep through. Then Stice said, ‘Daniels, throw him across your horse. We’ll put these two on the horse we brought for Brocket, tie their legs together under the horse’s belly. If we’re stopped on the way to Whitehall, say they’re traitors and we’ve arrested them.’ He looked at Barak’s severed hand lying on the floor in a pool of blood, still gripping his sword. ‘God’s teeth, what a mess. We’ll have to come back and clean this up after. Our master often uses this house.’