Serpent in the Thorns (22 page)

21

THE THISTLE WAS DARK. Crispin hovered under the eaves, considered bedding down in the stable, but decided against it.

Then he heard it. A step. He saw a figure moving among the shadows and he pressed against the wall. The short figure moved along the edges much like a rat would do and Crispin lowered his hand from his dagger. He crouched and slid along the wall right behind the shadow and when they both reached the darkest corner, Crispin said, “Greetings, Lenny.”

Lenny jumped. His arms flailed and his cloak blew out. He looked like a waterlogged bat falling from a belfry.

“Master Crispin!” His hushed whisper cut across the space between them in a spitting cloud of fog. He pressed his hand to his heart. “I nearly shat m’self. What by blessed Christ are you doing?”

“Trying to stay alive.” He leaned against the wall and looked up into the drizzling sky. The moon had disappeared behind a ragged sea of clouds.

“Oh, aye. I heard. You ain’t a safe man to be hard by, beggin’ your pardon.” Lenny turned to go, but Crispin touched his arm.

“Don’t discount me yet. I haven’t quite given up.”

“Your trouble is you don’t know when to surrender.”

Crispin smiled for the first time that night. “No.”

“Now take me, for instance. When you told me to stop me thieving ways, I give it up, now didn’t I?”

“Was this before or after I had you arrested? Three times.”

Lenny chuckled and rubbed the spot where an ear had been. “Well, I take a bit o’ convincing.”

“And your being out well after curfew. That couldn’t mean anything sinister, could it?”

“ ’Course not, ’course not.” He waved his hand in dismissal but an object fell out of his sleeve to the ground and both he and Crispin bent to get it. Crispin was faster.

“What’s this?” Crispin raised the small metal goblet into what remained of scattered moonlight.

“Oh that?” Lenny ran a hand over his rain-slick bald dome. The long, stringy hair around it hung down in straight lines like a steady drizzle. His brows wriggled, dripping rain on his cheeks. “That’s a . . . that’s a . . .”

“A gift?” Crispin’s lopsided grin nudged his brow upward and he dropped the goblet back into Lenny’s open palm. The man closed his long fingers over it and stashed it quickly within the pouch at his rope belt.

“Thank you, Master Crispin.”

“Lenny, I’ve a favor to ask.”

“Oh anything, Master Crispin. Anything at all. Old Lenny is helpful if nought else.”

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, here and there.”

“I know it is mostly here, near the Thistle. But where? Exactly.”

Lenny pulled at his ragged cloak. “Why would you be wanting to know that, Master Crispin?”

Crispin dropped his voice even softer. “Because I need a place to stay. Somewhere the authorities will never find me.”

“Oh no, Master! No, no, no.” Lenny shook his head vigorously. His wet hair spun out around his head and slapped his face, sticking there. “Not nigh me. With all the world after your hide? No, no.” He turned and jerked free of Crispin’s grip and scurried along the wall.

“Lenny, I haven’t got many more options.”

The voice of the Watch suddenly sprung from the darkness. In the next alley, he called for all to be in their beds. It wouldn’t be long before his lamp’s light would cast its weary glow along the street and catch them. There were fines for being out past curfew, but in this part of town, the Watch was likely to arrest them, call out the hue and cry.

Crispin followed Lenny’s brisk pace. “Lenny, look at the advantage you have of me. Look at the favors you can garner.”

“What good are favors from a dead man?” Lenny stopped, turned to Crispin, and made an apologetic sneer. “Beggin’ your pardon.” He turned again and hurried.

Crispin looked back. The echoing voice of the Watch drew closer. Crispin thought he could see the beginning of the halo of light from his lamp.

“Lenny, for the love of Christ!”

“What do you hope to gain?”

“My innocence.”

Lenny stopped and swiveled his head on his hunched shoulders. “Are you sayin’ you
didn’t
try to kill the king?”

“Yes, I am.”

Lenny’s look of disbelief almost made Crispin lash out at him. He grit his teeth instead and pressed against the wall. He snatched a glance back. The lamp’s glow brightened the alley’s entrance. The Watch approached.

“If I help you, what’s to be gained?”

Crispin had only a few pence in his money pouch. Pence. All he had left in the world. “The next time I see you stealing . . . I shall look the other way.” He scowled at himself. The words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“
Every
time?”

The Watch’s step crunched the uneven cobblestones on the road. The lamp glowed the edge of Crispin’s hair. “Yes, yes,” he hissed. “Every time, then, you scoundrel.”

“Well then.” Lenny threw his hood up over his head. “Come along.”

He ducked down and disappeared into the dark and drizzle. Crispin shot a glance back at the Watch and cursed Lenny, until the thief tugged on his wrist.

“Down here!” whispered Lenny, and Crispin saw the arch of stone set in the wall at street level.

Lenny disappeared into the blackness and Crispin dove for it. He couldn’t see, but he followed the sound of Lenny’s steps and descended. The air smelled damp and close, as if they were somehow under the Thames. Ridiculous. Too far away. Yet the feeling of cramped closeness remained. He raised his hand and felt the roof, slick with mold. It was some kind of tunnel. Some Roman construct. No wonder Lenny looked so much like a rat when he lived little better than one.

At last Lenny let out an exhale. Crispin stopped, straining his eyes to see. Flint and steel threw a bright spark into the darkness. Another, and a fluff of rags took a small flame. Lenny lit a candle to it and threw the flaming rag into the hearth. The room jumped into view, the light startling the shadows, which remained wary but black.

The room was disgusting. Dank, dark, and wet; an undercroft long abandoned because of the encroachment of the Thames seeping through its walls. Perfect for Lenny.

“Home and hearth,” said Lenny, rubbing his hands briskly before the small peat fire.

Crispin considered for a moment whether it would be better spending time in one of Newgate’s cells than here, and then dismissed it. This might be the lowest he might stoop, but the alternative meant a nasty death.

Crispin stood in the center of the room and stared at his surroundings, loath to touch anything.

“I’ve never had guests before,” said Lenny. He laughed. “Guests.
Guest
. That’s you, ain’t it?” Laughing, he choked on his jest, leaned over, and coughed.

“Lenny, I need to sleep. Is there a place?” He looked around trying not to show his distaste.

“There’s a pile of fine straw in that corner. Not too damp. You don’t mind if I leave you, do you? Nighttime’s the best time for me to, well, you know.”

Crispin trudged toward the pile and sank into it. He waved Lenny off. He was too tired and achy to debate it. He nestled down into the straw and fell asleep with the smell of moldering grass in his nose.

“HOW ABOUT A NICE cup o’ broth?”

It wasn’t Jack’s voice. Crispin bolted upright, his dagger in hand.

Lenny flung back. Hot broth flew into the air. The wooden bowl landed on the floor, face down. “Master Crispin! You’re tight as a bowstring.” He picked himself up and merely brushed the broth into his already dirty clothes. “Should have expected as much.” He picked up the bowl from the floor and shuffled toward the crock on the fire. He scooped the bowl in and drew out more broth. Liquid dripped from the bowl’s dirty edge.

Crispin sheathed his knife and ran his hand over his hair. “Apologies, Lenny. I forgot.”

“Understandable.” He handed Crispin the bowl.

Crispin took the bowl and tried not to sniff it or look at it before pressing the rim to his lips. He gulped without tasting and wiped the excess from his mouth with the back of his free hand. “Much thanks, Lenny. What is the hour?”

“Early morn. The sun ain’t up yet.”

Crispin pushed up from his bedding and stood, brushing bits of straw from his coat.

“The king’s men are wasting no time searching for you, Master Crispin. There’s a reward offered.”

“Indeed.” He stretched his back, careful of his tender shoulder, and walked the length of the tiny room, shaking out his stiff legs. He found a bucket of fresh water in a corner and splashed the icy liquid on his face and rubbed a finger into his mouth to brush his teeth. “A reward big enough for a man to do well, no doubt.”

“Aye. A goodly sum.” Lenny smiled. He rubbed his hands together, like a rodent cleaning himself.

Crispin spat on the floor and cocked an eye at the thief. “You plan to turn me in, Lenny?”

Lenny looked skyward and scratched his stubbled chin. What remained of his long greasy hair rested on his shoulders. “Now let me think. A tidy sum of gold or your festering hide? Which would you choose?”

Crispin sat on a rickety stool and balanced himself by placing his hands on his knees. “Well by God, Lenny. I think I would choose the money. Did you?”

Lenny’s smile opened wider and then he guffawed. “Aw, Master Crispin! You ain’t got no faith at all. You forget. I know you.” He squinted over the finger he pointed at Crispin. “I’ve slipped through many a grasping fist, but not yours. No, sir. A man thrown down to the gutter like you. But did you stay there? Indeed not. Either God or the Devil is defending your hide.” Lenny vigorously poked the fire to little avail. “If I turn you in for thirty pieces of silver I’m the one who’ll hang. No, sir. You’ve got more lives than Lazarus. You’re the cock that’ll win this fight, mark me. Don’t know how, mind, but I know you’ll fare well. You always do, curse you.”

“Why, Lenny, I’m touched.”

“Don’t go weepy on me. I know you. I’ll not have you come back and smite me. And you would, too.”

Lenny’s words would be humorous if the situation weren’t so dire. Crispin stared at the floor. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to proceed. He wished it was Jack Tucker sitting across from him and not the bald-pated thief Lenny.

“What will you do now, Master Crispin?”

Crispin rubbed his chin. He needed a shave but it might be many a day before he got one. “I was thinking that very thing, Lenny. Right now the most important thing is to recover a certain lost item before my friends suffer further.”

“Ain’t the most important thing to unmask the real assassin?”

Crispin looked up. “You don’t believe I did it.”

“ ’Course not. You ain’t that addle pated.”

“Unfortunately, I was caught with the weapon in my hand.”

Lenny tried unsuccessfully to hide his chuckle behind his hand. “Oh my. That don’t go down well.”

“Indeed.”

Lenny sidled up to him and sat on the floor. “What is this lost item you’d be looking for? I’m good at finding things. Almost as good as you are.”

Crispin dropped his face in his hands and rubbed his brow, his eyes, his nose. “Does it matter? Gilbert and Eleanor will be in danger from the sheriff if I do not recover it soon.”

“Master and Mistress Langton? Oh that’s a shame, that is. Getting your friends into trouble. You shouldn’t aught to do that, Master Crispin. You should be more careful.”

Lenny’s oozing tone reminded Crispin with whom he spoke. Lenny could only be trusted so far. If at all.

Crispin stood. “I can’t do anything about it lying low in this rat hole—” Crispin showed his teeth in a mordant smile. “Begging your pardon, Lenny.”

Lenny smiled back. His uneven teeth were long and slightly protruding. “Aye. You’d have to go disguised, now wouldn’t you. Can’t walk about in that cotehardie. Don’t everyone know it by now?”

Crispin ran his hand over the coat’s breast, feeling where the weave had worn away. The material was very thin now, patched and repaired numerous times, its buttons chipped and cracked. “Disguised?”