The Fortunate Dead (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 6)

by David Penny

  A man stood on the far side of the alley and it was clear he was looking at the house. He was dressed in a leather jerkin and leggings, a short sword on one side, two knives on the other. He wore a hat of some kind with a wide brim which shaded his face. Not another one, Thomas thought, taking him for someone else who had heard the house of a rich man lay empty.

  Diego curled his hands into fists and laid them against the mottled glass.

  “What is it? Are you sick?”

  “Unh,” said Diego, and Thomas put a hand on his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Unh,” Diego repeated, nodding at the man standing below.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Him,” said Diego.

  “You do know him. Is he a friend of your father’s?”

  “Him,” said Diego again.

  As if he had heard, the man’s gaze rose and saw them in the window. Thomas could make out most of his face, clean-shaven, dark-eyed, the distance too far to discern any specific colour. “He kill,” said Diego.

  “He’s the man?”

  “Man.” Diego’s head nodded like it might come off, and Thomas turned away to run down the stairs. When he flung the side door wide the alley was empty. He started down the steps and stopped.

  He couldn’t leave Will and Diego alone, but if Diego was right there was a chance he could catch the man who had killed Zufar al-Zaki. He decided to take them with him and trust nobody else tried to take possession of the house before the locksmith arrived. He returned inside, took the hand of each, and pulled them toward the door.

  Diego resisted, feet sliding across the marble floor, head shaking.

  “You are safe with me,” Thomas said. “I need you to help me look for him. Will you help me, Diego?”

  A harder shake of the head.

  Thomas had an idea. “Why don’t you hold Will’s hand. He will protect you. Won’t you, Will?”

  “Yes. Will fights good, like Pa.”

  Diego looked between them and then made the sensible choice. Of course Will could look after him better than Thomas, and he took his hand and walked outside, leaving Thomas to catch up.

  He stood on the street trying to work out which way the man might have gone, north or south. The fortified gate lay only a little way north, and from there a bridge led to the west. It would be busy now with those abandoning the city. Had the man come that way, would he flee that way too? If he was even fleeing. He had gone, but was that because he had been seen, or had he just decided there was nothing to keep him watching the house? And why was he there at all? Had Diego been seen when he witnessed the death of al-Zaki? It seemed unlikely, because if he had the man would have returned sooner to silence him. And then it came to Thomas. He was there because of his own investigation. His questions had stirred an ants’ nest and brought the man after him, Diego, and his entire family.

  “Here,” said Diego, starting off to the south. Thomas followed, cursing his own stupidity. He should have been more circumspect, instead he had floundered around asking questions of everyone in the hope something might turn up. At least now they had a chance to catch the killer. End it now. Today.

  A right turn followed by a left, another right and the Ataranzana arches lay ahead, together with the tall buildings holding offices, storerooms, and places of trade. No more than a hundred paces to the west lay the room where Diego had witnessed al-Zaki’s death, but there was no man who looked like the one who had been outside the house.

  Twenty-Two

  The roadway was busy, a constant stream of people entering and leaving through the arched gates, and Thomas had to fight his way through the crowds. A smell of burning tainted the air, together with rotting fish. Here could be witnessed people from a score of lands. Here could be bought and sold anything the heart or body desired, and more besides. You wanted a mythic beast such as an elephant? One could be found and shipped across the narrow sea. You wanted a woman or man as slave — how tall would you like them to be, what colour their skin? As well as the exotic there was the mundane. Root vegetables, sides of goat and lamb and beef, crates of spices enough to last a lifetime, because in Malaka there was always spice. Thomas surveyed the men, looking for a specific face, pleased to see Diego’s eyes flicking from man to man too, but if who they sought was here neither found him. He looked toward the towering building. Had the man returned to the place of his crime? Thomas remembered the ring that had been lost, the engraving within it which might identify its owner.

  Thomas entered the Ataranzana through one of the arches, then realised he had forgotten the way and had to ask Diego to show him. He had been here only the once, and the upper floors contained a myriad of rooms. Will trailed along behind. A memory surfaced, and Thomas went to the end of the corridor only to find it blocked off where the linked building had been damaged. The man he sought would know that too. He could not be looking for the ring because that would be lost now, or so he would think.

  When he turned back he found Diego gone and Will with him. A flare of panic ran through his chest. He called their names but there was no reply. He turned and walked fast, glancing through each open doorway, then stopped abruptly as he glimpsed Diego and Will standing at a window, looking out to where rowboats were pulled up on the shingle, unloading boxes and crates from ships anchored beyond the mouth of the river. It was slow, back-breaking work that might take an entire day to unload a single small caravel.

  As Thomas put his hand on Diego’s shoulder, the youth jerked away with a cry and moved backwards so he could no longer see outside. Thomas thought he had hurt him in some way. He turned and went to Diego, who stood with his palms flat against the stone wall, tears in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Thomas said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Man,” Diego said, head nodding. “The man. There!” He pointed, his hand shaking. Thomas went to the window. There were many men, over a hundred, and he couldn’t make out one that matched the figure he had glimpsed outside Diego’s house. He considered running outside but knew his current vantage point offered a better chance of finding his quarry. Except there was no-one there even half likely.

  A group of men emerged from beneath one of the central arches and Thomas saw Ali Durdush at their head, an arm raised to point something out. Two of the figures standing beside him were familiar. Richard Woodville, the Englishman Thomas had met when he visited Fernando and Isabel, and his companion Edward Danvers, both of equal height and build. Woodville was clearly still pursuing his attempts to foster trade between Malaka and England.

  Thomas took Diego’s hand, Will grasping the other. He led them through the corridors and down stone steps, not sure if he was doing the right thing. He couldn’t pursue a killer with these two alongside, but there was no-one else to look after them. He had been wrong to send Jorge off when he did, but it was too late to change that now.

  As they crossed rough cobbles between the building and river he caught sight of Durdush and the group of men standing beside a stall selling coffee and sweet cakes. He sought out Woodville, curious what it was he thought he could negotiate with Durdush, what was worth the risk of entering Malaka for. Not that there was much risk. It was barely believable the Spanish were laying siege to Ballix little more than twenty miles away while here trade continued as it always had, as if this world was not about to be destroyed.

  A man approached Woodville and Danvers, and Thomas narrowed his eyes. A man dressed in leather jerkin and breeches, a wide-brimmed hat in one hand, his head bare to reveal short hair. Thomas drew Diego and Will to the side, not wanting Diego to see the man again. He might become upset and draw attention. Thomas was sure it was the same man, he didn’t need further identification. He led them to a row of tables set with goods for sale.

  “Pick something for yourself.” He held a coin out for each. “Don’t move from here, I’ll be back in a moment. Will, look after him, don’t let him out of your sight.” Thomas knew it was wrong to leave them but trusted h
is son, despite his youth.

  Diego took his coin and turned toward the array of goods. He leaned over to examine a fine silk scarf. It was fashioned for a woman but pretty enough to attract him all the same.

  When Thomas turned the corner the man stood close to Woodville and they appeared to be arguing. Danvers gripped the man’s arm and pulled him away, his protests carrying across the square. They came toward Thomas, and he sunk beneath the cover of an arch, hoping they wouldn’t see him. He lost sight of the pair and risked exposing himself, but when he scanned the area neither was in sight, and he cursed. Woodville was still with Durdush, but their discussion appeared to be coming to an end. Thomas knew enough of Durdush’s ways to recognise the signs — the looks away, the dipping toward a clerk for information, the lack of interest. He had no doubt Woodville would find another meeting difficult to arrange. So intent was Thomas on watching the pair he didn’t hear Danvers approach until it was too late to avoid him. The man came within feet, a smile on his good-looking face.

  “We meet again. Is this where you live? Malaka you call it, do you not, you heathens.”

  “Your master would do well to cut short whatever plans he has with Durdush. The city will fall to the Spanish before the summer ends.”

  “Durdush claims that trade will continue, and I suspect he is right. This is indeed a fine port, with good links to the rest of Spain, to Africa and the East.”

  Thomas reached inside his robe and his fingers closed around the ring Diego had picked up. It had been nestling in his pocket awaiting a moment such as this, but he kept it hidden for now.

  “Even as far as England for a sailor with enough skill,” Thomas said.

  “Indeed.”

  “I saw you arguing with a man. Is he known to you?”

  “No. A stranger a long way from home, is all. Like you and I. A mercenary, I suspect, trying his luck with another countryman. He accosted Richard so I drew him aside. I was close to hitting him, the rogue.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Money. He recognised a rich man and thought he could take advantage of him. I sent him packing.”

  “Another Englishman, you say? You showed courage. He looked as if he would be dangerous in a fight.”

  “I am not without resources. I have fought in the past and will in the future. It is why Richard employed me, before we became friends. If there is nothing else, I should return to him.”

  Thomas watched Danvers walk to Woodville. They leaned their heads together, a curiously intimate gesture, and words were exchanged. When Woodville raised his head he looked directly toward Thomas without expression, as if he didn’t even recognise him.

  Thomas released his grip on the ring. He didn’t want to confront Woodville here. It would need to be done in private, out of view of Danvers, who did indeed look as if he could take care of himself in a fight. He was as tall as Thomas, and twenty years younger. Not a man you wanted close when accusing his master of murder.

  Thomas turned away, aware he had left Diego and Will alone too long, then stopped when he saw someone run toward Durdush. A message was passed and Durdush bustled away, moving faster than a man of his stature had any right to do. Thomas walked over to the messenger and asked him what was happening.

  “The Spanish have taken Ballix,” the man said. “They march on Malaka itself within days.”

  When Thomas looked around, Woodville and Danvers had disappeared. He was unsure whether to believe Danvers that his encounter with the short man was accidental or not but could see no advantage either he or Woodville would gain from plotting against the Guild. If not for the ring he would hold no suspicion of Woodville at all.

  It was late afternoon by the time Thomas returned to the Ataranzana. He had taken Diego and Will back to the house beyond the walls and told Jorge, who had managed to acquire the deed to the house, to prepare to move into the city in the morning. He was unsure why he had returned other than a sense that events were happening he didn’t know enough about, and he needed to know more.

  He found a clerk who agreed to show him where the papers of the Weapons’ Guild were held. Thomas had conjured a story about Diego’s father and needing to find a paper to confirm his ownership of the house that had been purchased. The clerk pointed out personal papers would not be held in his office, but Thomas told him he had looked everywhere else and this was his last hope. Eventually the clerk agreed. He stayed watching Thomas for a while, who worked through the papers as slowly as he could until the man left.

  Thomas knew exactly what he was looking for, but almost missed it among the stacks of records relating to the import of iron and charcoal for the city’s sword-smiths, and the export of finished weapons. Thomas noted some of the sums involved and re-evaluated his measure of the wealth flowing through the city. If what he saw related only to the Weapons’ Guild he knew he could barely judge what value the city’s wealth must be. He was scanning a record of the number of swords shipped to Gharnatah when the next sheet he took was what he had hoped to find. A man like Diego’s father, a clerk, would never send a letter without making a copy for his own records. It had not been at the house, so it had to be here, hidden amongst the minutia of trade, as safe a place for a secret as any.

  He scanned the note, then read it again several times before folding it, slipping it into a pocket, and standing. It told him what he hadn’t known before — who Diego’s father had accused.

  He found Narjis al-Ishraq still in her offices, talking with a slim woman whose long hair fell to touch her mistress’s shoulder. Narjis looked up at the interruption, her frown turning instantly to a smile. She touched the girl on the waist and stood from where she sat cross-legged, her movement easy and lithe. She came to Thomas and laid her hand on his arm, looking up at him.

  “What can I do for you? Did your woman like the spices?”

  “We used the cumin and coriander with some lamb last night. It was delicious, but I’m here on a more serious matter. Do you know Izem Amreqan?”

  “Of course, he is Master of Coin. An important man. Why?”

  “Have you heard any rumour about him being involved in matters he should not be?” As he asked it Thomas was aware he might be trusting this beautiful woman more than he should.

  Narjis removed her hand from his arm and turned away. She folded herself into a sitting position on the scatter of cushions before looking up and patting a space beside her. Thomas knelt and turned awkwardly, feeling her hand on his arm once more, and heard a laugh.

  Narjis’s gaze met his, sharp and probing. “Tell me why you ask. What matters do you refer to?”

  “I’m not sure I know myself yet.”

  “But you are here, so you must know something.”

  Thomas studied Narjis while he decided how much to tell her, and whether to do so might not place her in danger. He wondered if her beauty didn’t make him trust her too much, but then he had no reason to suspect her of any involvement and had to trust someone.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Miguel Jiminez?”

  Narjis frowned before giving a shake of the head. “Should I? Is he a Spaniard? Have I traded with him, or has Izem?”

  “But you do know Zufar al-Zaki.”

  “Of course.”

  “Jiminez was his clerk.”

  “Was?”

  “He is dead. Murdered, I believe, but it’s too late to prove it.”

  “Murdered like Zufar?”

  “Not in the same manner, but killed all the same.” As he considered the facts, Thomas was aware the links he had forged sounded tentative in the telling. “He wrote a letter to his master which accused Amreqan in turn of theft, or planned theft, at least.”

  “Izem a thief? No — it is not possible.”

  “Which is what Jiminez was told, and now he is dead, and so is the master he sent the accusation to. If Amreqan is innocent of what he was accused of, why were they killed?” Thomas studied Narjis’s face, which now showed fear.

  “Y
ou think Izem killed them?” She shook her head. “If you knew him you would be aware of how ridiculous the idea is. He is old, for one. Too old to go around killing people.”

  “He wouldn’t need to do the act himself. In fact I’m sure he didn’t. There would no doubt be another man who worked on his behalf.”

  Narjis frowned. “Are others in danger? Am I safe here? Are my girls safe? That man who came — is he the one you seek?”

  “You said he lost interest when he discovered you were a woman.”

  “Why would he do that? I am a Guild Master, the same as the others. Perhaps he already has a name and seeks a specific person but doesn’t know Malaka or the Guilds.” Narjis stood close to Thomas, breathing hard, the sweetness of her exhalations enfolding him. “I will take you to Izem so you can see the error of your suspicion. Ask your questions, find out if he is involved. If he is I will be your witness. I know I am safe at your side. If he is guilty of a crime, we will go to Ali Durdush.”

  Izem Amreqan’s offices were on the top floor of the Ataranzana. A long corridor ran the entire length. Ali Durdush’s office sat at one end, Amreqan’s at the other. The two lynchpins of trade in Malaka, the Guild leader and Master of Coin. But when they arrived they were greeted by a clerk who knew Narjis but told them his master wasn’t there.

  “A man came for him,” said the clerk, a pen held in ink-stained fingers.

  “What man?”

  “A stranger to me, but my master seemed to know him, which was good because his Spanish was awful. I barely understood a word he said.”

  A sense of dread started up in Thomas. “Where did they go?”

  The man glanced toward Narjis, who offered a brief nod to let him know Thomas could be trusted.

  “The storehouse, I think. I heard the man say something as they left about a consignment of goods which had questionable provenance. If that is true they would be held somewhere in the storehouse.”

  In the corridor Thomas gripped Narjis’s shoulders. “Go to Durdush and tell him what I told you. Ask him to send guards. I’ll go ahead. I fear they may be plotting another death.”