The Enterprise of England (32 page)

If only I could see what was in that hut! It was becoming more and more clear that Hans had seen or heard something and perhaps threatened Parker with his knowledge. Threatened, perhaps, to tell the Dutch authorities or the Earl of Leicester. Had Mark Weber also discovered the same thing? He had seemed to the innkeeper to be on friendly terms with Parker, but he could have been playing the part of an agent for the Spanish. Walsingham’s agents often needed to pass themselves off as belonging to the enemy. Sometimes they were indeed double agents, but I knew that both Phelippes and Walsingham believed Weber to be trustworthy. Where was Weber now? If he
had
discovered something about the supply of arms, why had he not sent word to London?

I sat in the inn parlour with Ettore’s letter before me, brooding over a mug of thick Dutch beer. One voice in my head argued for going to the hut after dark and breaking in. It was vital for Walsingham to know what Parker was up to. But I also remembered Parker’s look of barely suppressed violence behind that falsely jovial façade and I remembered Hans lying with his throat cut from ear to ear. The other voice in my head was pure terror.

Andrew! I thought. Andrew was anxious to return to England as soon as possible with the men he had recruited, but must wait until the ship commandeered for Walsingham’s business was ready to take me back. Surely it would be reasonable to ask for his assistance? The sooner I was able to follow the trail Weber had laid and find him, the sooner we could both return home. And if there was an illegal trade in arms passing along that canal, it must be stopped. I shrank from approaching the Dutch authorities myself. I had papers from Walsingham, but I knew my youth would tell against me. As for Lord Willoughby, I had already had a taste of my reception there. But Andrew held an officer’s rank in the army. Even without Willoughby or the town officers, he could act.

I fetched paper and ink from my satchel and wrote a brief note to Andrew.

I need your help. I believe I have found what Weber was investigating: an illegal supply of arms and barges to the enemy. Can you come to the Prins Willem about dusk? In case I am mistaken, do not speak of this yet to any other. Kit

I folded the paper and sealed it, using for the first time the seal Arthur Gregory had made for me all those months ago. It gave the letter a more official appearance than I felt it merited, but if Andrew and I broke into the hut together, we could both bear witness to what we found there. If there was anything to be found, that is. If there was not, well then, I would not have made a fool of myself to anyone but Andrew, who would most certainly laugh it off. He might make fun of me afterwards, but no harm would have been done. At least I hoped not.

Marta, the innkeeper’s wife, assured me that one of the servants would ride out to the army camp and deliver my letter.

‘It is no trouble, Dokter. I know you are here to help us in these dangerous times.’

I gave her a weak smile. I hoped that what I was doing would help, and not cause a scandal. I begged a candle lantern from her, saying that I would need to go out after dark and was not sure when I would return.

I was in such a state of agitation that I could not eat anything, while I waited for the summer dusk to fall at last. Feeling somewhat foolish, I strapped on my sword, which I had not worn since leaving
England. It still felt awkward, slapping against my thigh, and I was far from being confident that I could use it. Standing in my room, I tried drawing it once or twice. It came smoothly out of the leather scabbard, but I was slow, far too slow. Sweat began to form on my back and trickle down my spine. Jesu! I thought, I am no hero. I am not cut from that cloth. My stomach churned with nausea.

My window faced west and I watched the sky grow bright with clouds flushed crimson and gold as the sun sank slowly, interminably slowly, towards the Spanish Netherlands. How near, I wondered, had that vast fleet drawn now?
Parma would need to have his troops in readiness to be carried across the Channel. If Andrew and I did not leave soon, we might find ourselves trapped in the Low Countries.

At last, as the sky had faded to lemon yellow, there came a tap on my door.

‘Dokter Alvarez?’ It was Anneke, the innkeeper’s daughter. ‘There is an English soldier here, asking for you.’

‘I am coming,’ I called. I slung my cloak about my shoulders. Even though it was summer, nearly the end of July, it might be cold after dark. I had heard a wind rattling the shutters outside the window. Besides, I still had Simon’s cloak, a good, dark colour. It would help me to blend into the shadows. I swallowed. There was an unpleasant, metallic taste in my mouth, the taste of fear. I picked up the candle lantern and opened my door.

Andrew left his horse at the inn and we began to cross the town on foot. As we made our way to Sint Nikolaas Straat, I told Andrew everything I had discovered. First, the murder of Hans Viederman when I had been in Amsterdam before Christmas, the behaviour of Parker, the plot which he and van Leyden had seemed to have contrived to poison Leicester.

‘Jesu’s bones!’ Andrew cried. ‘I knew nothing of this!’

‘It was kept quiet. No need to cause panic. Van Leyden disappeared. My evidence about Parker seems to have been ignored. But now it appears that Mark Weber may have discovered more evidence of treachery, and I think I know what it is.’

Quickly I recounted all that I had found since arriving in Amsterdam this time, and what I thought it meant.

‘So you want us to break into this locked hut?’

It sounded absurd on Andrew’s lips.

‘I may be quite wrong . . .’

‘No, I think you may have stumbled upon something. But we need tools – a crowbar at least.’

I gaped at him. What a fool I was! Certainly I was unfit to be an agent. I spoke airily of breaking in, but I had seen the size of that lock. Of course we would need tools of some sort.

Andrew slid an amused glance at me.

‘We’ll spy out the building first,’ he said, ‘then decide what we need. From the way you describe the lock, it will not be easy to pick, and I’ve little skill in the art, though my sergeant has.’

‘Should we fetch him from the camp?’

‘He’s still in
England. Unfortunately.’ He jerked his head. ‘Down here, is it?’

We had reached the alleyway. ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Down to the end and round the corner on the left, facing the canal.’

It was impenetrably dark in the alley and we had not yet lit the lantern, so that we could not avoid the noisome liquid which had spread even further than before, but when we emerged at the canal-side, the reflection of the sliver of moon off the water gave us light enough to see the hut and – all too clearly – the massive lock on the door. Andrew shook his head at the sight of it.

‘There’s no hope of breaking that, Kit, nor the door. It looks to be cross-planked in oak.’ He tried to get his fingers round the edge of the shutters which barred the window, but they too were made of thick oak boards.

‘I wonder–,’ I said.

‘Aye?’

‘Perhaps we could find our way through the back. The cottage round the corner in the alley, the one where Hans lived, is quite derelict. We could easily get in, but I cannot remember whether there was a way out at the back. If there is, it might be possible to approach this building from behind.’

‘Worth trying,’ he said, turning back at once.

Standing before the half-open door of the cottage, my nerve nearly failed. My reason tells me that ghosts do not exist, but it took every ounce of courage to enter that cottage in the dark, with the memory of that murdered man lying on the floor as vivid as if it were still there.

‘Best light that lamp,’ Andrew said.

I nodded, and fumbled with flint and tinder, for my hands were shaking. I had it alight at last, but shielded it from the street with my cloak as we crossed the threshold. It would be as well to avoid being seen.

The place was even more forlorn than I remember. The few sticks of furniture were gone, looted by other poor cott
agers for their own houses or smashed for fuel during last winter’s cruel weather. There were a few shards of pottery lying beside the cold ashes on the hearthstone, and the floor spat and crunched under our feet with grit blown in from the street. There was a rustling in the battered thatch from nesting birds or mice, but living creatures did not frighten me. Once we were inside and Andrew had dragged the door as closed as possible on its sagging hinges, I raised the lantern and looked around. In front of me a patch of the beaten earth floor was stained a darker colour.

‘That was where he was lying,’ I whispered.

Andrew nodded absently, but this place held no horrors for him. He had walked over to a far dark corner where there was another door that I had not noticed before. He struggled to open it, but it would not move, either warped or blocked by something on the outside. He heaved with his shoulder, but still it would not budge. I joined him, holding the lantern out of harm’s way and together we threw ourselves against the door. It shivered and cracked apart, sending Andrew sprawling half inside and half outside, while I just managed to grab at the splintered frame before I fell on top of him.

He clambered to his feet, brushing away fragments of rotten wood and rubbing his knee, which had struck a large rock. It had been wedged against the door from the outside, intended to prevent its being opened. He took the lantern from me and held it up beyond the gap where the door had been. The flickering candlelight revealed a small yard enclosed on two sides by this cottage and the adjacent locked shed, and on the remaining two by the blank walls of two other houses. As we had hoped, there was a door into the other building from the yard.

Without speaking, I pointed across the yard, where a row of barrels stood, like those I had seen on the barge. Andrew nodded. He seemed to be searching the ground for something. There was a clutter of rubbish strewn about and he stepped out into the yard to examine it.

‘This might serve,’ he said softly, holding up a piece of bent metal. ‘Near enough to a crowbar.’

It hardly seemed necessary to keep our voices down. The noise we had made breaking down the cottage door must have been heard as far away as the church. I picked my way around the ruins of the door and walked over to the other building. This back door did not bear a vast lock like the front, but it was almost certainly bolted from the inside. I doubted whether Andrew’s makeshift crowbar would be sufficient to lever it open.

‘There is another window here,’ I said, hardly above a breath. ‘The shutters are old. I think we might be able to open them.’

He came up beside me.

‘Too small.’

‘I think I could get through.’

He sized me up with a quick glance. ‘Perhaps you could.’

It proved easier than we had hoped. Andrew set the lantern on the ground and inserted his metal bar under the bottom edge of the right-hand shutter. Almost at once it swung out, snapping the hook that had held it shut. Then he reached up and grabbed the second shutter, which swung out unresisting. I took off my bulky cloak and laid it on the ground next to the lantern.

‘Give me a leg up, then pass me the lantern.’

When I was sitting on the sill, with a leg on either side, I leaned toward the inside of the building and moved the lantern from side to side. Like Hans’s cottage, it consisted of just one room, but this room showed no sign of being lived in. It was stacked high, all along the wall to my right, with more of those long canvas bundles.

‘I’m going to take a closer look,’ I said, and dropped down inside, tripping over my wretched sword and falling flat on my face in the dirt. The lantern tipped crazily sideways, but I managed to right it. The candle flickered wildly, but did not go out.

The bundle on the top of the nearest stack was just a few feet away. I felt it all over with my left hand, still holding the lantern in my right. The contents seemed to be long tubes of metal, but I could not be sure. In irritation, I put down the lantern and tugged at the end of the canvas. One fold fell open and finally I could see what lay within.

I stumbled over to the window.

‘Aye,’ I hissed. ‘It’s muskets. Dozens of them.’

‘Do you think you can lift one of the bundles out of the window?’ I could not see him, but
he must be just below the sill. ‘We need evidence.’

‘I think so.’

It was heavier than I thought, but I managed to drag one of the bundles to the outside wall. Raising it to the window was more difficult, but as it teetered on the sill I felt Andrew take the weight.

‘Better get out of there now,’ he whispered. ‘I thought I heard someone coming along the canal.’

I realised that this would be more difficult than climbing in, for there was no one to give me a leg-up. I could heard the approaching footsteps myself now. More than one man. I passed the lantern out of the window.

‘Douse it!’ I said. ‘The light may be visible through the cottage.’

One of the barrels
, I thought.
I could climb out by one of the barrels.
I grabbed the nearest and started to roll it under the window. My hands were slippery with sweat and I kept losing my hold on it, but at last I had it in place. They might notice that it had been moved, but that was a risk I had to take.