Dark Fire

  ‘What?’

  ‘The whole table caught light. The stuff should have put the candle out, but the whole top of the table burst into a strange blue flame. You can imagine the effect it had. Everyone jumped up—all over the tavern people were shouting out and crossing themselves. Then the fire died as quickly as it started, leaving hardly a mark on the table. It was this very one.’ He laid a hand on the scuffed tabletop, which was indeed unmarked.

  ‘It was like witchcraft,’ Hal Miller said. ‘After that I threw the stuff away.’

  I frowned. ‘You said this was in the winter.’

  ‘Ay, January. I remember we weren’t looking forward to the long voyage up the coast in the storms.’

  ‘When did the man Toky approach you?’

  Miller’s eyes were watchful again. ‘Later that month, when we got back from Newcastle. The story had got around, see, about a foreign drink that could catch fire. He came here one night with another, a big man. Strutted in as though he owned the place and came right up to us. His big mate was carrying an axe - half the tavern emptied at the sight of it. He said he’d been asked to get some of this stuff, said his master would pay.’

  ‘Did he say who his master was?’

  ‘No, and we didn’t ask. He said he’d pay good money, though. He didn’t believe me at first when I said I’d chucked the bottle off Queenhithe dock. Started to get threatening, but he went away when I gave him Captain Fenchurch’s address. I was sorry I did, but I was afraid. I enquired after Fenchurch later, from one of his servants. Fenchurch had told the servant he’d managed to sell the barrel on and made a handsome profit.’

  ‘Who to?’

  ‘The servant knew no more. The pock-faced man, I assumed.’

  ‘Marchamount? Bealknap? Bryanston? Do any of those names ring any bells with you?’ I did not add Rich or Norfolk’s names, for everyone in London knew those.

  ‘No, sir, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where does Captain Fenchurch live?’

  ‘On the Bishopsgate Road, but he’s abroad again. He’s taken a ship to Sweden. He asked me to join him, but I’ve had enough of these devilish places. He won’t be back till the autumn.’

  Then at least he had not been killed too. ‘Thank you, anyway.’ I nodded to Barak, who took out his purse and passed some coins to Miller. ‘If you think of anything more,’ he said, ‘you can reach me by way of the landlord.’

  I led the way outside, halting a little way from the inn. The Vintry crane stood outlined against the starlit sky like the neck of a huge swan. I looked out over the dark river.

  ‘Stumped again,’ Barak said. ‘If only that arsehole captain hadn’t gone abroad.’

  I raised a hand. ‘Think of the dates, Barak,’ I said excitedly. ‘Master Miller causes a great stir in the tavern in January. That’s three months after the Greek Fire was found at Barty’s, but two months before the Gristwoods contacted Bealknap as the first step in getting to Cromwell. What were they doing in those months?’

  ‘Building and testing the apparatus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And trying to produce more Greek Fire, using the formula? The Polish stuff must be part of it.’ Barak looked excited.

  ‘Or perhaps they heard the story of the fiery liquid, and sent Toky down here to try and get some to see if it could be of use.’

  ‘But they must have known what they needed and what materials. They had the formula.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? So Toky’s paymaster, whoever it was, was involved at a very early stage. Working with the Gristwoods. Months before the approach to Cromwell.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense. If he was working with the Gristwoods, why have Toky kill them?’ He stared at me. ‘Perhaps the Gristwoods went to Cromwell behind their first sponsor’s back, perhaps they were looking for a better offer.’

  ‘Then why wait until two months after the approach to Cromwell to kill them? And if the person behind the killings is one of our suspects, the Gristwoods wouldn’t use any of them as an intermediary to Cromwell.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I must talk to Bealknap, Barak. We need to lay hold of him.’

  He gave me a serious look. ‘What if Toky’s got to him already? Shit, they got to the founder just before we did - what if Bealknap’s dead too?’

  ‘I’d rather not think of that. Come on, we can check at Lincoln’s Inn before we go home.’ I cast a glance back at the gloomy tavern. It was a strange place. It struck me that it was only at night that London showed its true, sinister face.

  At Lincoln’s Inn there was only a note from Godfrey to say Bealknap had not returned. His door was padlocked and next morning, when I went in again, it was still locked. His locks and the guards at the gatehouse protected his chest of gold, but of Bealknap himself there was still no sign. And six days left now.

  Chapter Thirty

  IT WAS TURNING INTO a frustrating morning. After going to Lincoln’s Inn to find no trace of Bealknap again, I had ridden over to Guy’s, but my note was still on his door. Why could people not stay in one place, I thought as I rode to my next port of call, the house where Cromwell had sent the Gristwoods and Kytchyn, to keep them out of sight.

  The house was in a poor street near the river, with flaking paint on the doors and shutters, which were closed despite the heat of the morning. I tied up Genesis and knocked at the door. A large man in a dun-coloured smock opened it. He stood in the doorway, eyeing me suspiciously.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My name is Matthew Shardlake. I had the address from Lord Cromwell.’

  He relaxed. ‘Ay, sir, I had word you would be coming. Come in.’

  ‘How are our guests?’

  He made a grimace. ‘The old monk’s not too bad, but that woman’s a termagant and her son’s crazy to get out. Any idea how long they’re to be kept here?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be more than a few days.’

  A door opened and Goodwife Gristwood emerged. ‘Who is it, Carney?’ she asked nervously. She looked relieved when she saw it was only me. ‘Master lawyer.’

  ‘Ay. How are you, madam?’

  ‘Well enough. You can go, Carney,’ she said in a peremptory tone. The big man made a face and walked away. ‘He’s an impertinent fellow,’ Madam Gristwood said. ‘Come into our parlour, sir.’

  She led me into a hot shuttered room, where her son sat at a table. He stood when I entered. ‘Good day, sir. Have you come to tell us we may go? I want to be back at my work—’

  ‘I am afraid there is still danger, Master Harper. A few days more.’

  ‘It’s for our safety, David,’ his mother said reprovingly. Goodwife Gristwood had got over her shock, it appeared, and recovered her natural character as one who would rule any roost she landed in if she could. I smiled.

  ‘I would like to get back to my house, though,’ she said. ‘It has been decided David is to live with me there. He earns enough at the foundry to keep us both. Then when the market improves we shall sell the place. We shall have money then, eh, David?’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ he said obediently. I wondered how long it would be before, like Michael, he kicked against the traces.

  ‘Where is Master Kytchyn?’ I asked. ‘I need to see him.’

  Goodwife Gristwood snorted. ‘That creeping old monk? In his room, I should think. Upstairs.’

  I bowed to her. ‘Then I shall go up. I am glad you and your son are safe.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her face softened again for a moment. ‘Thank you, sir. You have kept faith with us.’

  I mounted the stairs, oddly touched by Goodwife Gristwood’s unexpected thanks. She had not asked about Bathsheba Green, perhaps she did not care any more now she had her son. I saw that only one door on the upper floor was closed and knocked quietly. There was silence for a moment, then Kytchyn’s voice called hesitantly, ‘Come in.’

  He had been praying, I saw, for he was still rising slowly to his knees. I saw the bulge of a bandage on one arm through the thin stuff of his white cassock.
His thin face was pale, drawn with pain.

  ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said anxiously.

  ‘Master Kytchyn. How is your arm?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘I do not have the use of my fingers as I did. But at least the arm has not gone bad, I must be thankful for that.’ He sat on the bed with a sigh.

  ‘How do you find it here?’

  He frowned. ‘I do not like that woman. She tries to rule the place. Women should not do that,’ he said definitely. I realized he had probably had few dealings with women over the years, so Goodwife Gristwood must terrify him. How at sea in the world he was.

  ‘It should not be for much longer, sir.’ I smiled encouragingly. ‘There is something I would ask you.’

  The scared look returned to his face. ‘About Greek Fire, sir?’

  ‘Yes. A question only.’

  His shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. ‘Very well.’

  ‘They are clearing out the graves at Barty’s now.’

  ‘I know. I saw that the day we met there. It is a desecration.’

  ‘I am told there was an old custom there that people buried in the precincts would have something personal buried with them, something that related to their lives on earth. The friars, and the patients in the hospital too.’

  ‘That is true. Many times I have been at vigil for a dead brother. Before they laid him in his coffin they laid a symbol of his life on the body, carefully, reverently.’ Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

  ‘I wondered if the old soldier, St John, might have had some of the Greek Fire buried with him.’

  Kytchyn stood up, looking interested now. ‘It is possible. Yes, I suppose if the monks knew of anything that defined his life it would be that. And they would not know Richard Rich would come and desecrate the graves,’ he added bitterly.

  I nodded. ‘Then I think I should find it before Rich goes digging there. I hope there is time. He has ordered the things they find in the graves be brought to him.’

  Kytchyn looked at me. ‘Ah yes. Some will be gold or silver.’

  ‘Yes.’ I returned his gaze. ‘Master Kytchyn, something has troubled me. The monks hid that barrel, and the formula. They knew what Greek Fire could do.’

  Kytchyn nodded seriously. ‘Ay, they did. That motto.’

  “‘Lupus est homo homini.” Man is wolf to man. But, if they knew that, why did they keep the damned stuff? Why not destroy it? If they had, none of this trouble would have come on any of us.’

  A sad flicker of a smile crossed Kytchyn’s face. ‘Struggles between Church and State did not begin with the king’s lust for the Bullen whore, sir. There have often been - differences.’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘St John was at Barty’s in the days of the wars between York and Lancaster. Unstable, warlike times. I imagine the monks kept Greek Fire in case they should find themselves under threat and could use it as a bargaining tool. We had to be politicians, sir. Monks always were. Then, when the Tudors restored stability to the land, Greek Fire was forgotten. Perhaps deliberately.’

  ‘Because the Tudors made England safe.’ I smiled sadly. ‘There’s an irony.’

  I FELT ENCOURAGED as I rode down to the river bank to meet Lady Honor. Here was some possible progress at last: I would go to Barty’s again tomorrow. I would have to invent some story for being there. I turned possibilities over in my mind as I left Genesis at an inn stables and walked down a crowded lane to Three Cranes Wharf. The big cranes which gave the place its name came into view over the rooftops, outlined against a sky where white clouds were scudding along. They gave no promise of rain, but provided welcome moments of shade as they passed beneath the sun. Flower sellers were doing a brisk trade at the bottom of Three Cranes Lane, where Marchamount’s party was to meet. I had left off my robe for the occasion, donning a bright green doublet that I seldom wore and my best hose.

  The Thames was alive with wherries and barges. Innumerable tilt boats passed up and down, some of the passengers playing lutes and pipes under the canopies, a merry sound across the water. All London seemed to have come to the river to savour the breeze. A raucous crowd was waiting at the wharf for boats to take them across to the bear-baiting, and I saw Lady Honor standing with Marchamount at the centre of a group by the river steps. Today she wore a black hood and a wide yellow farthingale. She smiled at some remark of Marchamount’s, making those engaging dimples round her mouth. How well she can disguise her feelings when she needs to, I thought: one would think him her best friend.

  I recognized some of the other guests as mercers who had attended the banquet; a couple had brought their wives. Lady Honor’s two attendant ladies and a pair of servants stood beside her, together with young Henry, who was looking nervously around at the crowds. Armed men kept the throng waiting to cross to the bear ring at a distance, watchful for cutpurses.

  Lady Honor saw me and called out, ‘Master Shardlake! Quick! The boat is here!’

  I hurried across and bowed. ‘I am sorry, I hope I have not kept you waiting.’

  ‘Only a few minutes.’ Her smile was warm.

  Marchamount bowed briefly to me, then began ushering people officiously towards the river steps. ‘Come along, everyone, before the tide turns.’

  A large tilt boat with four oarsmen was waiting, its bright blue sail flapping gently in the breeze. The party was in good spirits, all chattering merrily as they stepped aboard. ‘Tired of your robe, Shardlake?’ Marchamount asked as I settled myself opposite him. He was wearing his serjeant’s robe, and sweating mightily.

  ‘A concession to the heat.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you dressed so brightly.’ He smiled. ‘It looks quite extraordinary.’

  I turned to Lady Honor’s cousin, who was sitting beside me. ‘Are you enjoying London better, Master Henry?’

  The boy reddened. ‘It is hard to get used to after Lincolnshire. So many people crowded together, they give me a headache.’ His face brightened. ‘But I have been to dine with the Duke of Norfolk. His house is very splendid. I hear Mistress Howard is often there, that they say may be queen soon.’

  I coughed. ‘I’d be careful what you say about that in public.’

  Marchamount laughed. ‘Come, Shardlake, it’s as certain as can be. Cromwell’s days are numbered.’

  ‘I hear Lord Cromwell is a great rogue, of no breeding,’ Henry said.

  ‘You really should be careful where you say that,’ I warned him.

  He gave me an uncertain look. Lady Honor was right, this boy had not the wit to make a path for his family at court. I glanced at the head of the boat, where Lady Honor sat looking out over the river, her face thoughtful. Ahead, on the Southwark side, the high circular arena of the bear-baiting ring loomed up. I sighed inwardly, for I had ever disliked watching the huge, terrified animals torn apart to the roars of the crowd.

  I felt a touch on my arm. Marchamount beckoned me to lean down so he could whisper to me. I felt his hot breath in my ear.

  ‘Are you any closer to finding those missing papers?’ he asked.

  ‘My investigations continue—’

  ‘I hope you will not be troubling Lady Honor further about them. She is a woman of great delicacy. I like to think she looks on me as a counsellor now that her poor husband is dead.’

  I leaned back and stared at him. He nodded complacently. Remembering what Lady Honor had told me, I had to resist an urge to laugh in his face. I glanced at Henry Vaughan and saw he was staring over the water, lost in his own gloomy thoughts. I leaned in to Marchamount’s large, hairy ear.

  ‘I have had my eye on you, Serjeant, by the authority of Lord Cromwell. I know you have had certain conversations with Lady Honor, involving matters of interest to yourself and to the Duke of Norfolk.’ At that his head jerked aside and he gave me a startled look.

  ‘You have no right—’ he blustered, but I gave him a set look and crooked a finger so that, reluctantly, he bent his head again.

  ‘I have e
very right, Serjeant, as well you know, so don’t piss me about pretending an authority you do not have in this matter.’ I was surprised at my own crudity; I was picking up Barak’s ways.

  ‘That’s a private matter,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing to do with - with the missing papers. I swear.’

  ‘Your interest is of a romantic nature, I believe.’

  His face reddened. ‘Please say nothing about that. Please. For her sake as well as mine. It is - it is embarrassing.’ His look was suddenly pleading.

  ‘She did not tell me willingly, Marchamount, if that is any consolation. But, be assured, I will say nothing. Nor about the duke being after her lands.’

  His eyes widened briefly for a moment in surprise. ‘Ah, yes, the lands,’ he said a little too quickly. ‘A privy matter.’

  I had to lean back then because the boat hit the Bankside steps, making us all jerk slightly. The ladies laughed. The boatman began helping them out. Looking at Marchamount’s broad back as he clambered ahead of me, I thought he was surprised when I spoke of the duke being after Lady Honor’s lands. Was it something different that Norfolk really wanted of her? I remembered her hand on the Bible as she swore the duke had never asked her to discuss Greek Fire, and my doubts about her faith.

  The bank was crowded with people, mostly of the common sort, heading for the baiting. A man in a jerkin brushed against Lady Honor’s broad skirts. One of her attendants gave a yelp and a servant shoved him away. Lady Honor sighed.

  ‘Really, one wonders if coming here is worth it with all this crush and noise.’ I saw there was a sheen of perspiration on her lip.

  ‘It will be, Lady Honor,’ Marchamount said. ‘There is a fine bear from Germany called Magnus being baited today. He’s over six feet tall, killed five dogs yesterday and ended the day alive. I’ve a shilling on him going down today, though, he was much bloodied.’

  Lady Honor looked over at the high wooden amphitheatre. A great crowd was waiting by the gates, and shouting and cheering could already be heard from within: the old blind bears were already in the ring, the dogs loosed on them. She sighed again.