The Puppeteer: Book II of The Guild of Gatekeepers

by Frances Jones

  A wall of blackness closed around me, through which my eyes could not penetrate. I turned on my side and waited for them to adjust to the darkness of the room. The moon had set, and the shades of night obscured the familiar surroundings. The walls, washstand and the row of other beds now harboured shadowy figures with malign intentions ready to drag me from my bed. I reached over to the nightstand with trembling hands and fumbled for the the candle and tinderbox I kept there. The candle wick kindled, and the shadowy figures disappeared .

  The yowls of cats sparring with one another outside reached through the window. I wondered what time it was. Not even the ghost of morning, the first weak glow in the eastern sky, reached under the shutters. I groped along the floor for my boots then pulled them on and shrugged into my jacket before slipping out of the dormitory and across the hall to the front door.

  Outside, the night air was sharp but not cold, and pleasantly refreshing against my clammy skin. The other buildings in the lane were obscured by darkness, with not even the ambient light of the moon to illuminate them. I crept, candle in hand, around to the stables behind the Gatehouse where the few horses the Guild kept were housed. I could just make out the dark mass of the Venatorian’s stallion standing aloof at one end while Ralph and another colt kept for the Guild’s general use chomped on mouthfuls of hay at the other. Their soft snorts and the rustle of the hay were the only sounds to be heard.

  Along one wall, riding gear hung from heavy iron hooks. I took a saddle and harness and fitted it to Ralph then led him out out of the stable and down the lane. The night-time silence magnified the clip of his hooves against the cobblestone ground to a din that I marvelled did not wake every sleeping soul within a mile.

  We reached the end of the lane with the clock tower looming tall ahead of us. I climbed into the saddle and flicked the reins. Ralph, restless from standing idle, immediately broke into a brisk trot. The street stretched out ahead of us, dark and empty. There wasn’t a soul about. I tugged at the reins again and Ralph sprung forward. The obscure forms of the buildings lining the street rushed by in one black streak. I didn’t care for the noise now. I wanted only to feel the wind on my face and escape the sense of darkness growing in my mind with each passing night. I dug my heels into Ralph’s flank and urged him on faster. The Gatehouse was far behind me now and the river drew closer, shimmering in the light of the few lanterns on the docks just ahead. I had never known them so still or quiet. I slowed to a walk then stopped as close to the river bank as I dared to get, just to look across and marvel at the sight.

  The river was another world by night. All the bustle and traffic of the day was gone, and the ships, boats and barges moored in the docks seemed to sleep with the rest of London as the black water flowed smoothly beneath them. I looked from the river to the opposite bank and the skyline beyond. A church spire reached upwards out of the shadowy jumble of buildings, drawing my gaze to the sky, moonless but alight with thousands of stars. For a long while I could do nothing more than stare, stupefied by the sight of the night sky. I hadn’t seen it look so clear since I returned from Dorset almost half a year ago. Somehow it seemed bigger and closer than I ever remembered.

  Ralph snorted and flicked his mane impatiently, rousing me from my reverie. I was back in the present and suddenly afraid. I turned Ralph about and glanced around me, squinting into the darkness. An irrational, overwhelming fear that I was not alone gripped me, and in the shadows of the docks I thought I could make out the figure of a person slip quickly behind a stack of barrels on the landing platform, as though they were suddenly aware that I looked towards them. I stiffened for a moment then recovered my wits enough to snap the reins, sending Ralph galloping back towards the Gatehouse.

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t slow Ralph until the docks were far behind me and the more familiar streets around the Gatehouse appeared one by one. The sense of urgency that had drawn me out into the night was replaced with cold fear, and the darkness in my mind closed around me once more. Familiar as it was by now, the Gatehouse did not seem to me a place of sanctuary. Rather it was a stubborn reminder of the horror that dogged me and the power it held.

  As I turned into the lane, the sky was lightening with the approaching dawn. At the door of the Gatehouse stood Eliza, dressed in her nightgown with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  ‘Where have you been at this hour? Even Bill and Frigg are still asleep!’

  ‘I was restless,’ I replied.

  Eliza looked at me suspiciously as though she guessed, or at least suspected, more. ‘Well, we may as well leave now that we are both awake’ she replied. ‘Dawn isn’t far off. Wait here while I get dressed.’

  She disappeared back into the Gatehouse, and I led Ralph to the stables to drink and feed while I prepared the saddle for our other steed. A few minutes later Eliza appeared with a bundle wrapped in linen and Peggy at her heels.

  ‘I’ve brought food for two days’ journey,’ she said. ‘Unless something goes amiss, it shouldn’t take us longer than that to reach Oxford.’

  Daylight was broadening as we started down the lane. We turned into the main street then set the horses to a trot. It was still early enough for few people to be about, and we passed without the hindrance of the usual hubbub of the city, heading north and west for the highroad to Oxford.

  ‘This puts me in mind of our ride across Cornwall after the ship was wrecked,’ said Eliza as we jogged along side by side, Peggy trotting along beside me. The sun was up, scurrying in and out of wispy clouds, and the city landscape was replaced with open country which grew gradually more wooded as we entered the ancient Forest of Middlesex. The sun climbed higher in the sky, filtering through the branches and dappling the path ahead of us. A horse ride through the woods on such a fine morning should have been a pleasant experience, but I felt as heavy-hearted and burdened as I had trekking across England in that hopeless autumn last year. Besides, the sunlight hadn’t driven from my mind the memory of what I had seen and felt last night. I said little and listened instead to Eliza’s chatter as we rode, though my mood hadn’t gone unnoticed; more than once I caught her watching me with concern when she thought I wouldn’t notice.

  The fresh air had at least proven beneficial to Eliza; the colour had returned to her cheeks, and the sunshine had put her in good spirits.

  ‘Where should we stop tonight?’ she asked as we sat at the roadside to eat our lunch. The sun was high and warm, and we had set the horses to graze on a grassy bank covered in cow parsley behind us. Peggy flopped down beside me, hopeful of securing some scraps before we started on our way again.

  ‘We’ll stop at Marlow,’ I replied. ‘’Tis on the edge of the Chiltern Hills. We should reach it by nightfall if we keep up our pace.’

  ‘Very well, we had better not linger then,’ said Eliza, standing up and brushing the dust from her skirt.

  The sun climbed to midday, and we passed into the gently sloping valley of the river Colne. The road had all but disappeared, leaving us to zig zag our way across the wide valley floor along the narrow lanes that linked the villages of the Colne valley. Now and then we met a wandering pedlar or farmer driving his cattle to new pasture and passed them by with a nod and ‘good day’, but beyond that we said little.

  Eliza had grown weary of my muted responses to her attempts at conversation. ‘Something is troubling you,’ she said. We had ridden in silence for more than an hour until the sense of unease between us had become oppressive.

  I sighed. ‘Yes, something is troubling me. It may be nothing, but something happened last night when I rode down to the docks.’

  ‘You rode all the way to the docks?! Whatever for?’

  ‘I was restless. I needed some air. I hadn’t meant to go so far.’ I wasn’t ready to reveal the true reason behind my nighttime expedition.

  ‘’Tis a long way to go for a sniff of air,’ said Eliza. ‘Anyhow, what is it you saw there?’

  ‘It is more what I felt,’ I replie
d. ‘I had stopped by the docks when I suddenly felt mighty afraid. The feeling stole upon me so swiftly ‘twas uncanny. I didn’t see or hear a thing to cause me alarm, but I felt as though unfriendly eyes were watching me. I looked about and thought I saw someone dart behind a pile of barrels on the landing platform as though they had been watching me. I couldn’t be sure, for it was so dark, but I rode away faster than a fox fleeing a hound.’

  ‘Are you thinking it could have been whoever killed the Watchmaker?’ asked Eliza in a low voice.

  ‘It had occurred to me,’ I replied, ‘but what would he want with me? No, even as I say it, it seems illogical. Like as not it was just someone up to no good about the docks.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Eliza. ‘To think of a killer lurking about spying on you gives me the shivers. Come, let’s hurry. I’m anxious to reach Marlow before nightfall after hearing this. Set Peggy in the saddle before you. She can’t keep apace with us any longer without a rest.’

  I lifted Peggy into the saddle, where she quickly found a snug position to sit and watch the land pass by, and was content to ride for a long time while Eliza and I drove the horses on as fast as the narrow lanes would allow. Soon we were climbing and leaving the green valley of the Colne river behind. The road reappeared, passing by fields dotted with sheep, and water meadows where cattle lounged idly in the warmth of the day. Late in the afternoon we turned a little north as the road curved to avoid a great loop of the Thames. A stone at the roadside indicated that Marlow lay a few more miles down a lane branching off to the south.

  ‘Let’s hope Marlow has an inn or lodging house,’ said Eliza. ‘I don’t relish the thought of sleeping in the open after what you saw last night.’

  ‘’Tis a sizeable town with its own market, by all accounts,’ I replied. ‘There’s bound to be somewhere to stay. But please don’t fret about it. The more I think on it, the more certain I feel that whoever I saw had nothing to do with us.’ I wasn’t being quite truthful, but there seemed little sense in frightening Eliza unnecessarily.

  Chapter 6

  We reached the outskirts of Marlow just as twilight was turning the trees and hillsides to shadows. We had little difficulty finding the town’s principle inn, a half-timbered building with a courtyard and stables at the back occupying a prominent position opposite the church in the market square. We left the horses with the stablehand and made enquiries with the innkeeper for bread and board. He ushered us into a parlour lit by a single candle on the table and set two plates of bread and cold meat before us. Within a few minutes they were empty.

  ‘Wake me before dawn,’ yawned Eliza as we made our way up to the rooms prepared for us. ‘The ride has quite exhausted me, and I’ll probably sleep through unless I’m woken.’

  ‘I will wake you,’ I replied. ‘Sleep well.’

  I shut myself in my room across the hall from Eliza and lay down upon the straw mattress that substituted a bed. A tattered curtain hung across the window and billowed softly in the breeze admitted by a crack in the glass pane. I lay watching it for a long time until sleep stole over me.

  When I woke, the sun was already up. I jumped out of bed and threw on my jerkin and boots.

  ‘Eliza, wake up. We’ve slept late,’ I called through her door.

  I didn’t wait for a reply. I went to find the landlord to pay for our bread and board then busied myself saddling up the horses. Eliza appeared a few minutes later with an armful of apples.

  ‘The cook gave them to me. We can breakfast while we ride as we’ve set out later than planned.’

  ‘We may have to lunch while we ride also,’ I replied. ‘There may not be a straight path through the hills, and we still have to find Professor Goldwick when we reach Oxford.’

  The gently undulating slopes of the Chiltern Hills thankfully proved less difficult to navigate than I’d anticipated. Well-trodden paths set us on a generally straight course west and slightly north into the Vale of Aylesbury, and the lack of rain in these parts over recent weeks had left the narrow River Thame low and slow-moving enough to ford on horseback without diverting miles out of our way to Holman’s Bridge.

  The fine weather held out, and by early evening Oxford lay before us, the spires and towers of its churches and colleges rising through the haze which hung over the surrounding meadows. Farm hands and itinerant workers carrying the tools of their trade streamed out of the fields and plodded along the dusty road leading through the south gate of the city walls. We joined them as they passed through on their way home after the day’s labour in the fields.

  Inside the city, I was reminded of the first time I set eyes upon London. It was less cramped and congested but the buildings were much the same, with the upper floors overhanging the road, creating the rather claustrophobic effect of passing through a tunnel. We rode on as one by one the returning farm workers turned off onto narrow side streets, and we found ourselves alone.

  ‘Where now?’ asked Eliza. We had reached a crossroads in the centre of the city, over which the imposing tower of the church of St. Martin loomed, casting a shadow over the gallows which stood below.

  ‘To Merton College,’ I replied. ‘Wait here. I’m going to ask for directions.’

  I climbed out of the saddle and tossed Ralph’s reins to Eliza. Across the road, a young woman was filling a bucket at the water pump.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss,’ I said. ‘Please can you tell me where to find Merton College?’

  She pointed straight ahead. ‘Keep going that way, then turn onto Trinity Lane. You can reach the college through the meadow at the end of the lane. ‘Tis not very far.’

  I thanked her and returned to Eliza and the horses.

  ‘This way,’ I said, jumping back into the saddle.

  We followed the road a little further until we reached the turning into Trinity Lane that the young woman had described. At the end of the lane, a narrow path lined with trees led us along the edge of a grassy meadow before passing back within the city walls to skirt around an impressive building of buff stone.

  ‘This must be Merton College,’ I said, climbing down and leading Ralph by the reins. ‘Now to find the way in.’

  We walked a little further until we reached a pointed archway with its doors pushed open, leading into a courtyard where men young and old, dressed in long gowns with wide sleeves reaching almost to their knees and strange four-sided hats on their heads, passed to and fro between the buildings or stood talking together in the evening sunshine. None of them took any notice of me and Eliza standing with our horses and feeling quite out of place.

  ‘Excuse me, sirs,’ I said at last to two young men strolling together and apparently not in any great hurry. ‘Do you know where we might find Professor Cuthbert Goldwick? We have a message for him.’

  One of the men smirked. ‘Professor Goldwick?’ said the other. ‘He’s not been seen about the college since Candlemas.’

  ‘’Twas Gilmore’s prank that has kept him away,’ said the smirking man, not attempting to hide his disdain.

  ‘What prank was that?’ I asked.

  ‘Goldwick was giving a lecture to the other professors in the hall on conjuring or some other wizardry nonsense. Gilmore, one of the undergraduates, powdered his face with ash, dressed himself in rags and a turnip lantern and gave old Goldwick such a fright! All the hall erupted in laughter, and the old fool hasn’t shown his face since. Not that it is any great loss. The age of science is upon us, and the likes of Goldwick will soon find themselves confined to history- or the gallows.’

  ‘Aye, ‘tis well known Goldwick has only been allowed to study his heathen practices for so long on account of the college supporting the Parliamentarian cause,’ said the smirking man. ‘Cromwell would’ve had him hanged long ago otherwise, but Goldwick can’t count on his support forever. Change is coming, and soon.’

  ‘What’s all this? Did I hear mention of Cuthbert Goldwick?’ said a booming voice behind us.

  Eliza and I spun round to see a large m
an dressed in an extravagant claret version of the strange billowing gown that the young men wore, and a soft cap on top of his balding head.

  ‘Aye, you did, Professor Noakes,’ said the smirking man, doffing his hat and bowing his head reverentially, the smirk wiped from his face. ‘These youths have a message for Professor Goldwick.’

  ‘Oh indeed,’ said Professor Noakes, turning his beady eyes upon me as though my very presence offended him. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll not find him here, nor do I expect he will be a professor of this esteemed college for very much longer unless he drops his obsession with hocus pocus, witchery and the like! He has a house at the end of Trinity Lane. You should find him there.’

  With that, he turned and walked away without another word, followed quickly by the two young men. Eliza and I stared after them for a few moments, utterly dumbfounded.

  ‘Well, what do you make of that?’ asked Eliza as we led the horses out of the courtyard and back along the edge of the meadow. ‘I don’t believe I have ever encountered such an ignorant person as that Professor Noakes! And what about that business of the prank?’

  ‘I’d say it was just young men’s high jinks and nothing more, but ‘tis worrying that he has not been seen since Candlemas. I hope nothing is wrong,’ I replied.

  We reached the end of the path and found ourselves back on Trinity Lane. Before us, a tall narrow house stood at the end of a long, overgrown garden. Its windows were shuttered and the door was almost overtaken by climbing roses. At the very top of the house, the only window without shutters emitted the gentle orange glow of candlelight.

  ‘This must be it,’ said Eliza.

  ‘May I help you?’ said a voice somewhere close by. In the gathering dusk it took a while to identify the speaker, hidden as he was amongst the rambling shrubs of the extensive garden. He made no attempt to ease our dialogue, remaining where he was, half-hidden by the encroaching garden and with his hat tilted at an odd angle to obscure most of his face. I wondered at that until I noticed that beneath it he wore a patch across his left eye, which he seemed to be at pains to hide.