The Puppeteer: Book II of The Guild of Gatekeepers

by Frances Jones

  The carriages rolling through the streets splashed through the great puddles left behind, adding another layer of grime to every surface the muddied water touched.

  At last, we reached the Gatehouse, silent and sombre as ever. A sudden prickle of fear or excitement ran down the back of my neck as we climbed the steps to the door. My hand trembled as I set it on the handle and thrust it open. There in the hallway stood a cloaked figure wearing a cocked hat. They stood with their back to us, looking up to the gallery at the top of the staircase. At the sound of the door opening, they turned.

  ‘Tabatha!’ I cried.

  ‘Hello Tom,’ she smiled.

  ‘I didn’t think we would ever see you again!’ said Eliza. ‘What are you doing here, and how did you get inside?’

  ‘Along the catacombs and in through the labyrinth, of course,’ Tabatha replied with a grin. ‘I need George’s help with something. Where is he, and why are you dressed for travelling?’

  ‘The quadrennial tournament of the European magic guilds begins tomorrow,’ I replied. ‘George and the rest of the Guild left four days ago. Eliza was unwell, so we stayed behind. We have just returned from Oxford.’

  ‘Oxford? What were you doing there?’ Tabatha demanded.

  ‘’Tis a long tale,’ said Eliza. ‘Why don’t you stay, and we can tell you over supper?’

  ‘Excellent idea. No need to make anything, I have brought food,’ Tabatha said, patting the satchel slung across her shoulder.

  I lit the fire in the kitchen while Tabatha set about laying the table for supper. She listened without saying a word as Eliza told her of Mrs. Thorne’s letter and our visit to Professor Goldwick.

  ‘Well, it is peculiar to say the least,’ she said as she read through the letter. ‘But who or whatever is responsible for the deaths of these men, I’m afraid you are likely in over your heads. You will need help finding out anything about the killer with four magicians dead and their bodies missing.’

  ‘I was hoping you may help us now that you’re here,’ I said.

  Tabatha looked grave. ‘I will help, of course, but there is someone I think may be better equipped than I. You are looking for a killer, after all. As George isn’t here, I will need your help getting to him, though.’

  ‘Who is that?’ asked Eliza.

  Tabatha drew a breath. ‘Emerson,’ she replied.

  Chapter 11

  I reeled at the mention of Emerson’s name. My legs trembled, and I gripped the table to steady myself.

  ‘What do you mean? He is gone,’ I said, unable to bring myself to say his name.

  Tabatha looked at me, the usual hardness of her expression gone. There was a tenderness in her eyes, and she spoke softly.

  ‘I have spoken with him,’ she said. ‘He is consumed with guilt and grief for what he has done. He is in prison. Cromwell’s men arrested him outside Oxford. He was jailed there for a while before being brought back to London. He is to be hanged for witchcraft. Cromwell believes he was Devere’s accomplice and knows too much about their schemes. He’s tying up loose ends to ensure no one ever finds out. I’m going to rescue him, but I need your help.’

  For a few moments I could neither move nor say a word. My heart beat several times before I found my voice to speak.

  ‘How could you?!’ I cried. ‘He is a murderer! He shot my family in cold blood! They didn’t even have chance to defend themselves! He deserves to die!’

  Tears started in my eyes, and anger surged in my stomach, the dam finally bursting after months of holding back my grief and anger. I rushed for the door, but Tabatha stood before it.

  ‘He is a broken man!’ she said. ‘If you saw him, you would know that.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him! I never want to hear his name again! I wish he was already dead!’

  ‘Please, Tom…’

  ‘Let me go,’ I screamed, shrugging Tabatha’s hand from my shoulder. I flung the door open and fled through the hall, out the front door and down the steps into the lane. I ran without concerning myself with where I was running to. I cared only that I was running, as though by doing so I could flee the pain, anger and hatred that I would otherwise have to face.

  I sprinted past the clock tower, dodging carts and people in the streets. My pulse throbbed in my temples, and my breath came in shallow gasps. I fell to the floor and lay there for a few moments, unable to move.

  When I looked up, I saw I had reached a dead end. Before me, the church of St. Mary, where Eliza and I had harvested the hemlocks for the repellent spell before our long journey last autumn, stood behind a tall iron gate. The overgrown churchyard, with the tiny stream flowing behind it, looked strangely welcoming in its quiet solitude.

  I jumped to my feet and made my way through the headstones to the back of the churchyard where trees, strangled with ivy and bindweed, screened me from the view of the street. The tinkling of the stream, quicker and louder than usual on account of the heavy rain, drowned out the distant sound of the city.

  I threw myself down on the damp ground and looked around at the neglected and forgotten corner of the churchyard that nature had reclaimed as its own. It looked very different by daylight, almost pleasant. Pigeons hidden in the branches above cooed to one another, but the gentle piping of a wren perched on a headstone rose above them. It stopped its song and regarded me with its bright black eyes when I looked at it. The sound of the breeze in the trees, the cooing of the pigeons, the babble of the stream all seemed to melt away as the little creature held me in its gaze, and I was transported back to the hillock surrounded by trees on which the wild folk of Other England danced.

  ‘Ambrose?’ I murmured.

  The wren cocked its head in response, and the words carved into the headstone, barely legible from years of weathering, glowed and rearranged themselves before my eyes. Head before heart they read.

  I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing, but the letters remained. The wren let out a loud chirp then took flight and disappeared into the trees. I looked back to the headstone, but the glowing words had disappeared.

  ‘Head before heart,’ I murmured to myself. What was Ambrose trying to tell me? That I should accept Emerson’s help? Of course, Tabatha was right; Emerson was better equipped than anyone to help, but the thought of seeing him again, the ever-present knowledge that he had taken the lives of my family, was unbearable. I thought of George and Mr. Ellery, Bridget and Professor Goldwick. What if they were the killer’s next victims? Could I live with the knowledge that I could have prevented their deaths, or indeed the death of any other magician, by accepting Emerson’s help? It was a pitiful choice to have to make: accept the help of the man who killed my family or see others die.

  I looked up to the branches above me, but the wren had gone. Dusk had stolen over the churchyard quite suddenly, and beneath the trees it was dark. I shivered and jumped to my feet, suddenly uncomfortable, though for what reason I couldn’t say. Tabatha and Eliza would be worried about me and wondering where I was. That was my last thought before a searing pain ripped through the back of my head, and my mind went blank.

  Chapter 12

  From out of the blackness, a sound emerged, quietly at first, but growing louder. It was a voice chanting, melodic and solemn, but the words were strange, and the voice too was unfamiliar. I couldn’t be sure if it was even that of a man or woman. I listened and felt my mind and body yield to the music as it grew louder and filled my mind.

  Then it stopped suddenly. A voice shouted, and I heard feet running.

  ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Yes, he’s breathing, see? He’s coming round. Are you alright, lad?’

  I forced my eyes open and saw the blurred faces of three men peering over me. It was dark, but one of them held a lantern. I sat up and was suddenly and painfully aware of a large gash to the back of my head. I felt dizzy and sick but managed to stagger to my feet.

  ‘What happened?’ asked the man with the lantern, the sexton of the church I guessed fro
m the spade and shovel he had propped against a headstone.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied groggily. ‘Something hit me on the back of the head.’

  ‘Aye, that it did!’ replied one of the other men, both gravediggers. ‘He ran off as soon as he heard John here shout out.’

  ‘Did you see him?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, lad,’ replied the sexton. ‘’Twas dark, and he was wearing cloak and hat. He fled as soon as he heard my shout. His chanting made me feel right peculiar.’

  ‘You heard that too?’

  ‘Aye, and I’ve no desire to hear it again. Sent a shiver right down my spine. You should be on your way. The churchyard’s not a wholesome place to be by night. ‘Tis the reason I keep this close.’ He gestured to a wooden cross hanging round his neck from a length of string.

  ‘Yes, I should be getting home,’ I replied faintly, but at that moment I wasn’t quite sure how I would make it that far.

  I staggered to the gate and out into the street, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to ignore the throbbing in my head. I had only walked a few paces before my legs gave way beneath me. I crawled to a doorway and leaned against it, shutting my eyes to keep the world around me from spinning and ease the feeling of nausea rising in my throat.

  It was some time before hurried footsteps approached from further down the street, and I heard my name being called. I let out a little cry, hoping it was loud enough to attract the attention of whoever was calling. A moment later a lantern shone over me again.

  ‘Tom!’ Eliza cried. Her voice was frantic.

  I looked up and squinted into the light. Eliza and Tabatha kneeled over me, their faces etched with worry.

  ‘He’s bleeding. We have to get him back,’ said Tabatha, dragging me to my feet and dropping my arm around her shoulder. ‘Eliza, get the other side. We’ll have to hold him.’

  ‘I can walk, I just need help. I’m a little light-headed,’ I said faintly.

  ‘Thank goodness we found you!’ said Eliza. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere! Whatever happened? No, wait till we get back to the Gatehouse. You need to save your strength.’

  I managed to hobble the full distance back to the Gatehouse with Tabatha and Eliza supporting me. It loomed dark and unlit at the end of the lane as we turned the corner, but it had never before seemed such a welcome sight.

  ‘The Agriculturian has preparations to treat injuries to the head,’ said Eliza as she and Tabatha helped me onto my bed. ‘We should clean the wound too. I’ll boil some water.’

  I lay on my side while Tabatha inspected the wound by the light of the lantern and Eliza hurried off to the Agriculturian’s workshop.

  ‘It has stopped bleeding,’ she said at last. ‘It isn’t very deep. You are lucky. It could have been much worse.’

  Eliza reappeared carrying a bowl of steaming water, a jar of dried leaves and a tiny bottle of tincture. She set about cleaning the wound after the leaves had steeped for a time then handed me a cup of hot water mixed with a few drops of the tincture.

  ‘It will ease the pain and any nausea you might feel,’ she said. ‘Drink it all.’

  The fragrant vapour of the water filled the room and began to alleviate the pain almost immediately. I leaned back on my pillow and risked opening my eyes. The spinning had stopped, and the blurring of my vision had subsided a little.

  ‘There looks to be a bit of colour returning to you,’ said Tabatha.

  ‘Yes, I feel a little better,’ I said.

  ‘Well enough to tell us what happened?’

  ‘Yes, but I really don’t know myself,’ I replied. ‘I sat in the churchyard for a while before I decided to make my way back. As soon as I stood up, someone hit me from behind. I must have been knocked unconscious, but I heard a noise like a voice chanting. I’d have thought I was imagining it, but the gravediggers who found me heard it too. They seem to have frightened off the assailant, whoever he was.’

  ‘Did you see him at all?’ asked Eliza.

  I shook my head. ‘I didn’t get a look at him at all.’

  ‘What about the gravediggers?’ said Tabatha. ‘Did they catch sight of the attacker?’

  ‘The sexton said whoever it was wore a cloak and hat. That is all he saw. It could have been anyone.’

  Eliza looked skeptical. ‘But the likelihood is it was not just anyone,’ she said quietly. ‘What’s to say it wasn’t the killer coming for you?’

  I had no answer to that. My head was spinning with all I thought we knew about who or what was responsible for the killings. ‘Please, Eliza. I’m not really hurt, and like as not it was a thief interrupted before he had chance to go through my pockets.’ Even as I said it, I wasn’t convinced. Tabatha also looked troubled.

  ‘I will go back to the catacombs and fetch Colonel,’ she said. ‘I want to ride about and see what I can find.’

  ‘Wait,’ I replied. ‘I will come with you. I have thought on it, and I will help you free Emerson. This is too serious for Eliza and me to deal with alone. We need Emerson’s help. I don’t want to see another magician killed.’

  Eliza and Tabatha glanced at one another, exchanging a look that was part surprise and part relief, then Tabatha smiled.

  ‘That is a brave choice,’ she said, ‘but you must rest for now.’

  ‘Yes, there is nothing more we can do tonight,’ said Eliza. ‘Tabatha, take Ralph if you must go, but do be careful.’

  ‘No need to worry about me,’ said Tabatha. She swept out of the room and was gone.

  Eliza sat on the edge of the bed in silence, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. Outside, the sound of Ralph’s hooves pounding the cobblestones receded to silence as Tabatha disappeared into the night.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eliza,’ I said. ‘I have been a fool.’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘’Twas a shock for you to learn what has become of Emerson after all this time.’ She looked at me, her eyes wide and imploring. ‘Are you sure you can countenance seeing him again?’ she asked.

  ‘I have to,’ I replied. ‘Tabatha is right. He is the only one who can help us. Whoever, or whatever, the killer is, they must be stopped. We cannot do that alone.’

  Chapter 13

  I dosed on and off for the remainder of the night until the relief provided by the tincture began to wear away. Eliza slept in a chair beside me with Peggy curled up at her feet. She had insisted on staying with me, despite my protestations that I didn’t need to be watched over.

  I eased myself up and rested my back against the pillow. Outside, an owl hooted, and the clip of horse hooves approached from down the lane. My heart beat several times before I heard the front door open then close again softly. A moment later Tabatha put her head round the door. She looked surprised to see me awake.

  ‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Are you in pain? I thought you would be asleep.’

  ‘No, the pain isn’t very great,’ I replied. ‘Did you find anything of interest?’

  Tabatha shook her head. ‘Nothing. I rode to the churchyard and the docks, but there wasn’t a soul about. Still, we will see what tomorrow brings. I think I shall try and get some sleep in the library. Goodnight.’

  I lay back down and tried to fall asleep again, but my mind raced with thoughts, in spite of the throbbing in my head. I wished I could convince myself that my attacker was nothing more than an opportunistic thief, but my instincts warned me otherwise. The strange chanting reverberated in my mind as the sky outside grew lighter. Eliza stirred and opened her eyes.

  ‘Is it morning? Has Tabatha returned?’

  ‘Yes to both,’ I replied. ‘She returned some hours ago.’

  ‘Have you not slept?’

  ‘I dosed for a while. I have just been thinking.’

  ‘About what?’ asked Eliza, sitting up and straightening her coif.

  ‘About what happened…and seeing Emerson again.’

  Eliza looked serious. ‘If it is any comfort, I think you ma
de the right choice. You and I can’t offer Professor Goldwick much help alone. No one expects you to forgive Emerson for what he did. I don’t believe I could.’

  I smiled. ‘Thank you, Eliza. That means a lot.’

  We ate a hurried breakfast then joined Tabatha in the library where she was flicking through one of a pile of books she had stacked on the table. She looked up as we approached.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘How is your head, Tom?’

  ‘Better,’ I replied, taking a seat at the table.

  ‘When is Emerson to be executed, and how do you mean to get him out of prison? Can’t you just bribe the guards?’ asked Eliza.

  Tabatha shook her head. ‘’Tis not that simple. He is an enemy of Cromwell. No guard will dare risk letting him escape. Besides, he would be hunted down and recaptured within a week. I have a plan, but I need your help.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘He is to be hung at Tyburn tomorrow at noon. I mean to fake his death before he is executed,’ she said, tossing a water skin onto the table before us.

  ‘What has that got to do with it?’ Eliza asked, eyeing it with puzzlement.

  ‘It is filled with pig’s blood,’ Tabatha replied. ‘I can smuggle it to him along with a padded leather jerkin if I can bribe the guards to allow me to see him, which I’ve no doubt I will be able to if I offer them enough. Emerson will strap the skin to his chest under his clothes, and when he walks out onto the scaffold, I will shoot him in the chest from the crowd. From such a distance, the bullet will be unable to penetrate through the padding into his body, but the water skin will rupture, and he will be presumed dead on account of the blood. We can then claim the body, and no one will be any the wiser.’

  ‘What if you miss?’ asked Eliza.

  ‘I never miss,’ Tabatha replied flatly.