The Fortunate Dead (Thomas Berrington Historical Mystery Book 6)

by David Penny

  “Yes, plot,” he said. “If the city falls, the Guild will want its wealth protected, but you know as well as I that once the Spanish triumph, trade will continue as before. They are not stupid, they always retain those who make the wealth even if they enslave everyone else. Half the administrators in Ixbilya are Jews, even as the Catholic Church persecutes them.”

  “They will take our wealth,” said Padvana. “Steal it all.”

  “And you will make more.”

  “There is so much of it!” Padvana’s voice was a wail of horror.

  “Which means there will be more again. Don’t be a fool. Are you involved in the plot? Tell me now or you are no use to me at all. I will be a good friend to have when the Spanish enter the city, remember that. A good friend or a terrible enemy.” Thomas reached across the desk. It was a stretch which almost toppled him but he caught Padvana’s shirt and pulled him closer. “Are you involved? Who else?”

  “There is no plot!”

  “Don’t take me for a fool. All these papers, the ledgers, you have been looking for something, haven’t you. Was it your master then?”

  “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”

  Thomas hesitated, then unwound his grip. Padvana staggered back and dropped into the chair. His face was ashen and a twitch he was probably not even aware of tremored at the corner of his eyelid.

  “I have had suspicions for some time, but could do nothing about them.” His eyes rose to meet Thomas’s. “How could I? He was my master, and I his deputy. How could I betray him? Besides, it seemed too audacious a plan to succeed.”

  “You could have told Durdush,” Thomas said.

  “No, I could not.”

  Thomas sat on the corner of the desk. “Because you suspect him too?”

  Padvana nodded.

  “Why?”

  “They were always whispering in corners. Izem spent more and more time in Durdush’s office. And then there were other meetings, with people not of the city.”

  “Was one called Woodville? An Englishman, like me?”

  Padvana’s gaze took in Thomas. “He is nothing like you. He is a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman in need of money. Who else?”

  “I don’t know, which is why I am studying the ledgers. There will be a clue in here somewhere. In Malaka nothing goes undocumented.” He leaned over and picked up one of the discarded books. “Give me time, Thomas Berrington, and I will unmask the ringleaders for you.”

  “Durdush?”

  “If it is him. If he is involved in any way.”

  “Who do you know in his office? One of the clerks? They would know everything he does.”

  “And they would be fiercely loyal to him. No, the answer lies in the ledgers. Give me until morning and I will bring you names.”

  “You don’t know where I live. I will return here at dawn.”

  “You live in Miguel Jiminez’s house, it is common knowledge. I will come to you. It is too dangerous here, so close to power.”

  As he made his way toward Diego’s house, Thomas wondered if he had made a mistake to believe Padvana’s claim of innocence so readily but knew it was also a test. If the man did not appear, it would confirm his guilt.

  He was approaching the front door when a tall figure stepped from a side alley, his features obscured in the dark. Thomas reached for his belt only to discover he carried no weapon. They had had to leave them at the entrance to the Alkhazabah and he had forgotten to pick his up when they left, too distracted by the tumbling of his thoughts. He steeled himself for an attack, already planning his moves, when the figure passed through a wash of lamplight from a window and Thomas relaxed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Yusuf smiled. “Olaf sent a message saying he was ready to leave.”

  Thomas shook his head even as he slapped Yusuf on the back, then he knew a slap was not enough and pulled him into an embrace, glad when it was returned, glad that some of the boy who used to worship him still remained.

  “Whatever Olaf has said it’s me who decides when he is fit enough to leave.”

  “He claims he is.” Yusuf left his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, the two of them standing in the night-washed street only a few paces from home.

  “Then he claims wrong. He is Olaf Torvaldsson, so is already stronger than any three men, but knowing him he will want to return to battle immediately. I wouldn’t have him die before he’s ready.”

  “We need him. We need all the men we can get. We are losing this battle. Losing this war.”

  “Then come and tell Olaf you will oust your brother. You know my feelings on the matter. It’s the only way anything can be saved.” Thomas looked at Yusuf. “You have made a decision, haven’t you?”

  “I have.”

  “Do I need to ask what it is?”

  “No.”

  When Yusuf told them of what he planned, Olaf was the first to speak.

  “I have to return to Gharnatah.” He spoke around a mouthful of meat. From the effort he made in chewing, Thomas suspected it was tough. Belia had managed to obtain a haunch of goat from a herder who had found his way through the Spanish and the wall.

  “Ask your daughter if you’re fit enough.” Thomas knew he was a coward for not answering directly. “She spends more time with you than I do.”

  Olaf looked toward Lubna, who was forgoing the meat, using flatbread to wipe up some of the spiced sauce. “Thomas tells me I am too timid in my diagnosis. I would keep you another month at least.”

  Olaf turned back to Thomas and waited.

  “You are not ready yet. Two weeks. I will decide in two weeks.” Even as he said it he knew Olaf would take it as a promise.

  “I cannot wait that long. I will die of boredom. This idleness is driving me mad.”

  “I saw you with Usaden when I came home, helping to train Will. That was not idleness.”

  “I need distraction. Besides, a boy must learn the axe before the sword, and good as he is, Usaden does not know how to use one. He thinks it is to be gripped in the hand.” Olaf shook his head at the foolishness of such a notion.

  “So do I,” Thomas said. “How else do you use one, with your feet?”

  Olaf shook his head and popped another piece of meat into his mouth, started to speak around it. “Everyone knows you use a leather thong. An axe is too heavy to grip. Strike out —” and he demonstrated, his hand a blur until he winced and rubbed at his shoulder, “— and you only tire your arm and likely lose the axe. Have you not seen the leather strap tied to my axe when I fight?”

  “I expect if I have I was too distracted trying to save my own life.”

  “Then come and watch tomorrow when I train Will and you will see how to use an axe.” He smiled, a light in his eyes at the thought of battle. “With a strap, the axe has a life of its own. It moves itself. All I have to do is think about where I want it to go. Usually into a man’s skull or his gut, I admit. So you see, I do not have to be fully restored in order to fight.”

  “Jorge tells me you have a new theory about the killings.” It was clear Belia wanted to change the subject.

  “I do, but I need to wait until morning before I can confirm it.”

  Belia ignored the prevarication and turned to Yusuf, wanting to know what he had been doing since he left them. Will, sitting beside Yusuf, leaned close, wanting to hear the details of every skirmish and battle.

  When the meal was finished, Jorge took Yusuf out on some pretext, but Thomas knew they were going to al-Zaki’s house and the women there. He couldn’t blame Yusuf, nor Jorge, but was surprised when they re-appeared less than half an hour later.

  “We were turned away.” Outrage coloured Jorge’s voice. “Gracia claimed all the girls had gone, but I saw two of them through a window. She lied to us. Why would she lie?”

  “Perhaps she wants them for herself and her lover. Who knows.” Thomas smiled. “Take him out again if you want, there are clean whores close to the Alkhazabah. If Olaf can’
t return to Gharnatah for a month, Yusuf will re-join his men tomorrow. Let him enjoy a woman while he can.”

  But they remained in the house for the moment, and later, when the women and children had gone to their beds, Thomas sat with Jorge, Olaf, and Yusuf, together with two flagons of wine, and tried to explain his thoughts. He found the words hard because he was only just beginning to work out what was happening himself.

  At the end Yusuf said, “Why would this Durdush be involved? You say he is overall Master of the Guild?”

  Thomas nodded, filling his cup again. He had lost count of how many he had drained already.

  “Then surely he can simply take this wealth. It is his to control, is it not?”

  “But the wealth doesn’t belong to him, it belongs to all the individual Guilds.”

  “These are not normal times,” said Yusuf. “If someone doesn’t spirit this gold away then it falls to the Spanish. Gods, I would steal it myself if I knew how.”

  Thomas smiled. “I can probably help with that. I have some theories on the matter.”

  Jorge leaned forward. For once he had drunk less than Thomas, for once he had held his tongue until now while he listened. “Tell me again who you suspect.”

  “Woodville.” Thomas held up a finger, then a second. “And … someone else. Durdush, or Padvana, or … or someone.”

  “I’m glad to see you have solved the mystery so eloquently. Why Woodville? The man is unlikeable, and English, but that is hardly sufficient reason to accuse him. Besides, is he clever enough?”

  “He doesn’t have to be clever, only to know others who are. He has the men he brought with him. He won’t have dirtied his own hands with any killing when they can do it for him. Diego saw one of them strike the blow that killed al-Zaki. He said there were two men present, one taller. No doubt the other man was Woodville.”

  “And his companion, Danvers? He must be a part of it, too.” Jorge shook his head. “Which is a pity, since I like the man, and he is handsome and, I suspect, willing.”

  Thomas frowned, more at the accusation than the observation. “It would make sense, but I’ve spoken with him and always thought him innocent, but how such can be if his master is involved is difficult to believe. So yes, he is likely involved as well, or being used without being aware he is.”

  “Danvers isn’t stupid, but his master is. He would see through any attempt to keep something from him. Unless Woodville is being used by someone else. Do you think his story of a marriage arrangement is true?”

  “I have no doubt he’s here to discuss a pairing between one of Isabel’s daughters and this English prince, but the man is in need of funds, and where better to find them than here in Malaka? It’s even been parcelled up ready for him to take.”

  “Not all of it.”

  “He wouldn’t need all of it. A dozen cases, even half a dozen. Damn, one would be more than he needs. It may be why he’s in Malaka talking to Durdush. He claimed it was to foster trade with England, but even Diego could see through that. There can be no trade between England and Malaka once the city falls to the Spanish.”

  “Unless Spain and England are linked by marriage,” said Jorge.

  “I would like to talk to Danvers,” Thomas said. “The two of us, you to decide if he speaks the truth or not, me to press him. If he is innocent, he might have some suspicion his master is not. If he is not innocent, or confirms Woodville is plotting, we can tell Durdush and let him worry about the Guild’s gold. But how we talk to Danvers is a thing not clear to me. No doubt they reside amongst the Spanish while we are locked here inside the city walls. Perhaps Padvana will offer some clue in the morning.”

  Olaf had fallen asleep. Yusuf looked as if he was about to do the same. Now it was only Thomas and Jorge, and Thomas knew he couldn’t explain exactly why he believed what he did. Could Jorge be right, and his suspicions were based on nothing more than a dislike of Woodville? He needed to link the man to Amreqan and the Coin Guild. Which brought everything back to Cesare Padvana and what information he might bring in the morning.

  Thirty

  It was the crash of falling masonry that woke Thomas. He leapt from the bed, on his feet even before his eyes were open. He stood, tense, but there were no cries, no screams. The missile had landed somewhere else in the city, only sounding loud in his dream.

  Lubna rolled over, pulling the sheet across herself and mumbling. Thomas watched her for a moment, filled with wonder at the perfection of his wife, filled with a love that threatened to tumble him back into bed and tumble with her. Instead, he dressed and left the room, knowing he had kept her awake too long the night before with conversation and other amusements.

  Olaf was already up, sitting at the long table, picking at the remnant of goat from the evening before. He glanced up and grimaced. “Am I really going to help Yusuf overthrow a Sultan?” Olaf shook his head as if in sorrow. “What have I become?”

  “The saviour of al-Andalus.” Thomas sat across from him and picked up a sliver of meat. It was no better than the night before, but he was hungrier now.

  “What if becoming Sultan changes him? Muhammed wasn’t so bad until he sat on the hill.”

  “Muhammed has always been bad. Yusuf isn’t like his brother. We helped raise him, you and I, because his father didn’t care. He wasn’t in line to succeed as Sultan so Yusuf was left to his own devices. The boy has too sweet a soul for politics.”

  “He is no boy anymore, and I see nothing of the sweet in him anymore.”

  “You are right, Thomas, I have changed, and not for the better. It is what war does to a man. Not that there is a need to say such to either of you.”

  Thomas turned to see Yusuf in the doorway.

  “How can anyone sleep through all this noise?” Yusuf picked up a piece of meat, sniffed it, and put it back. “And I do not have a sweet soul, Thomas. Not anymore. War has scourged it from me.”

  “You will find it again. I have to go out to question a man who was meant to come to me. I have a mind to go beat him about the head until he tells me what I want to know.”

  “Can I come?” asked Olaf. “I am of a mind to beat someone, too. Anyone will do. Does this beating concern the fanciful theory you told us of last night?”

  “It does, but best you stay here. You, too.” Thomas addressed the last to Yusuf, who was watching with interest. “I’ll be back before the others are up. If I manage to find something better to eat — no, something edible — I’ll bring it back with me.”

  The Ataranzana was almost deserted. With the Spanish blocking access from both sea and land there was no trade, and without trade the building was nothing more than a huge, empty shell. Some goods remained in store, but people couldn’t eat swords or carts or pots. Thomas felt the gnaw of hunger in his gut and wished he had forced himself to eat some of the goat, disgusting as it had been. Things would come to a worse pass yet, he was sure.

  Durdush’s office remained empty. It looked deserted, abandoned, a few papers scattered across the floor, shelves mostly empty, and Thomas wondered where the man had gone. He had been busy enough while Malaka thrived, was it not his duty now to steer it through more difficult times? Fernando and Isabel were people who could be dealt with, but on their own terms. Thomas had seen it at Ronda. Anger them and the city would suffer the consequences.

  He went to the window and looked out at the stain of soldiers that stretched as far as the eye could see to the west. On the water, a dozen galleys rode a low swell, their oars shipped. They lacked sails, but because of that were more manoeuvrable, not relying on a fickle wind. Watching them, Thomas realised two or three such galleys would be sufficient to move the cache of wealth stored in the Alkhazabah. Sufficient perhaps, but would they stand any chance of escape? It depended, he supposed, on the wind, its direction, and the determination of those manning the oars.

  Another thought came to him. There was a Maritime Guild, concerned with operating and controlling the vast number of ships that sailed to a
nd from Malaka. Its master would be a useful man to know when it came to transporting a vast quantity of gold and silver. He had no idea where those offices might lie, but Padvana would, and he intended to visit him next.

  Nobody challenged him, because there was nobody to do so, as he strode the length of the upper corridor to its far end. He glimpsed a lamp still burning on the desk, but there was no sign of Padvana. Had he left, or gone to join Durdush wherever he might be? Thomas almost didn’t bother entering the office but, as he was about to turn away, he glimpsed something that stopped him cold. A hand showed from behind the desk, fingers curled as if trying to burrow into the wooden floor.

  Padvana had been dead some time, several hours at least. Thomas knelt and felt the neck even as he knew it was pointless. The body was cooling, beginning to stiffen when Thomas palpated the jaw. In one corner papers had been piled to burn, the air acrid even though any smoke had now dispersed.

  He sat back and stared at Padvana’s body. Everything was slipping away from him. The Spanish were at the gates, the city was frightened, and someone planned to spirit away a wealth that would allow al-Andalus to fight for another decade. He knew he should give up his quest, for it was hopeless. He should return to Gharnatah alongside Olaf and Yusuf and help them remove Muhammed from the throne, help restore what could be restored.

  He knew he ought to examine Padvana’s body to discover how he was killed, but that too was pointless. What did it matter?

  Thomas wondered if he would survive the coming assault. If they would all survive. And with the thought, he made a decision. Forget the deaths, forget the gold, forget Malaka — it was already lost. Let Woodville succeed in his plotting and enrich himself. He could buy himself new clothes. Thomas would go to Isabel and throw himself on her mercy. She would take him in, his family too. Some of them, in any case. Olaf and Yusuf would have to find their own path to freedom, but Thomas didn’t doubt they could do so. The rest of them would seek Isabel’s protection.