He clattered down the back stairs and into the kitchen where he quietly grabbed half a loaf of bread and a large lump of cheese, then put them back because he had nowhere to stowe them since he wasn’t on a horse and wasn’t wearing a loose comfy doublet..
In the rear courtyard that led to the kitchen garden, the cobbles were covered in hunting dogs, very happy to be home and already gathering around their dog boy, tails wagging, tongues hanging, waiting to be fed.
“Sergeant Dodd, have you heard…” sang out the dog boy excitedly, but Dodd just waved a hand at him, slipped through the gate into the main garden, and headed down for the orchard and the boatlanding.
All the way there he was quietly praying there would be a boat waiting for him. There wasn’t, of course. Still, Temple steps wasn’t very far away, so Dodd climbed from the boat landing to the narrow strip of land between the orchard wall and the Strand itself, then eased himself along until he came to a fence which he climbed over, followed along until he came to the other fence, climbed over that, and continued through a narrow alley that led to a secret set of steps hidden by a curve in the river. That wasn’t the one so he struggled along the top of a sea wall and then to another alley that passed through a shanty town full of hungry looking children in nothing but their shirts and dogs scuffing hopefully through the mud.
Finally he was at Temple steps, his ears itching in anticipation of the hue and cry that would be made for him once Lord and Lady Hunsdon realised who was missing. Enys was standing there, wrapped in cloak and hat, his expression a strange combination of hope and fear.
“Ay,” said Dodd, not explaining why he was arriving by climbing out of a tiny handkerchief of herb garden, guarded by a ginger tomcat.
Enys raised his arm and yelled “Oars!” A Thames boat arrived quickly, the boatman looking very hopeful—ah yes, of course, the taste of students at the Inns for the fleshpots and dissipations of the South bank.
“Three Cranes in the Vintry,” Dodd ordered, practically vaulting aboard. As usual Enys dithered over stepping in and nearly fell in the Thames again before he sat down.
“Are you sure, sir?” said the boatman. “I heard there’s a good game at Paris Garden tonight…”
“Ye heard what Ah said,” snarled Dodd. The boatman shrugged and started rowing the hard way.
They came up against the wharf which was quiet and Dodd paid the man and jumped out. Jesu he was getting as high-handed with his cash as Carey was—mind, it wasn’t his cash, it was Carey’s. That gave him a warm cosy feeling in the place where the rage was still packed tight.
As before there were a few well-dressed exquisites and one or two prosperous merchants hanging around not doing very much, including the boy in the tangerine paned hose and cramoisie doublet, a walking headache everywhere he went.
Mr. Briscoe was on the door as before, looking haggard with bags under his eyes. He touched his hat sadly to Dodd before stepping forward to stop Enys.
“Do I know you, sir?” he asked very politely.
“Ah, Sir Robert asked me tae bring him to meet Mr. Pickering.” Dodd tried. Briscoe hesitated “It’s Mr. Enys, my lord Baron Hunsdon’s lawyer. He wis at the inquest, ye recall?”
Briscoe allowed them past and they climbed the steps to the gambling chamber with its banks of candles and white mats. Enys seemed quite open-mouthed at the women standing about there, with their strangely cut stays that cupped their white breasts but left them bare so the nipples were visible peeking over the lacy edge of their shifts like naughty eyes, prinking and pinking in the draught from the door.
Dodd dragged his eyes away and swallowed hard. It seemed his kidneys were recovering. Then he stopped one of the comely boys running past with trays of booze, and asked if Mr. Vent was there.
“No sir,” said the boy. “Shall I tell Mr. Pickering you’re here? He has some information for you.”
“Ay.”
Dodd took two cups from the tray as the boy turned to go and gave one to Enys who was bright red again. Dodd knew how he felt. All those round plump tits just begging to be cupped and fondled and licked…
He took a large gulp of brandywine and tried to look at something less entrancing. But the walls were hung with the cloths painted with completely naked people doing lewd things with swans and bulls and such. It was impossible to concentrate, which no doubt was half the intention.
“Mr. Pickering will see you gents now,” said the boy at his elbow, so he tapped Enys on the shoulder and followed the boy into the back room where Pickering sat by the fire with a large plump man in a dark brocade doublet and snowy white starched falling band.
Pickering smiled as they came in and Dodd made his bow to include both of them, reckoning that a bit of respect to a headman on his own ground never did any harm and might do some good. Enys sensibly bowed too, rather more gracefully.
“Welcome back, Sergeant Dodd,” said Pickering. “Sir Horatio was ‘oping to meet Sir Robert. Is ‘e here?”
“Ah. No,” said Dodd, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain further.
“Is ‘e on ‘is way?”
“Ah. No,” said Dodd.
Pickering frowned and so did Sir Horatio. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I haven’t offended him in…”
“Nay sir, nothing like that. He…ah…he found he had urgent business at court.”
The plump man stood up and turned out to be as tall as Carey. He held out a hand to Dodd who shook it.
“Sergeant,” he said in a smooth, deep, slightly foreign sounding voice, “I was hoping to discuss the question of the Cornish lands with your Captain, Sir Robert. I am Sir Horatio Palavicino, Her most gracious Majesty’s advisor on matters financial and fiduciary.”
Dodd wasn’t quite sure what that meant.
“’e’s the Queen’s banker, Sergeant,” said Pickering, spotting Dodd’s confusion. “He sorts out the Queen’s money.”
Dodd’s mouth went dry. “Ah,” he said. Oh God, had the Queen bought some of the worthless Cornish lands? Was it too late to steal a horse and head north?
Yes it was. Much too late.
“Sit down, Sergeant, and you, Mr. Enys.”
They sat on stools noticeably lower than the chairs seating Pickering and Sir Horatio. Sir Horatio smiled genially.
“I assume that Sir Robert has gone to Court to apprise the Queen of what he knows?”Dodd was relieved to be asked something he could answer with confidence.
“Ay sir,” he said, “he couldnae do it safely by letter so he went tae speak to the Queen hisself.”
Sir Horatio smiled and nodded. “As ever,” he said, “Sir Robert is precipitate but correct.”
From flushing an unbecoming shade of red as a result of the ladies outside, Enys had now gone an equally ugly pale yellow.
“Sirs,” he said, leaning forward, “excuse my interruption, but is it true that the Queen does not know of this…ah…this land fraud?”
Sir Horatio sighed. “As far as I know, she does not.”
“Ay she does now,” said Dodd with confidence, “Sir Robert will have left this morning when he gave the huntsmen and falconers the slip and it’s ainly forty miles. He’ll be at court for sure by now.”
“It may take him some time to gain audience with Her Majesty,” said Sir Horatio. “But yes, correctly put. She did not know, Mr. Enys.”
“Ah hope she hasnae bought none?” Dodd asked, voicing his main worry.
Sir Horatio laughed kindly. “Why would she need to,” he asked, “since if there were gold there, she would own it in any case through Crown prerogative?”
Dodd nodded. “Ay,” he said. “That’s a relief.”
Sir Horatio seemed highly amused by this. “Indeed it is.”
“But…sir…” Enys was frowning with puzzlement, “I drafted many of the bills of sales and the deeds of transfer and I told Mr. Vice Chancellor Heneage that I thought the thing was not what it seemed. I told him that I knew many of the places had been assayed for tin many times
and found to be barren of all metals including gold. It was why he dismissed me as his lawyer and then took steps to destroy my practice because he would not have what he called the falsity told abroad. But I assumed he had told Her Majesty at least.”
There was a silence at this. Mr. Pickering seemed the least surprised at it, and in fact had a cynical smile. Sir Horatio turned and stared at Enys with an expression of mixed anger and calculation while Dodd groaned softly under his breath.
“When did you tell him this, Mr. Enys?”
“Months ago. He was very angry. I think because he had bought some.”
“Hm. He was not the only one,” said Sir Horatio. “Mr. Enys, I understand that you were in contact with the assayer, a Mr. Jackson.”
Enys lifted his head. “No sir,” he said, “that was not me, that was my brother whom I came here to find. And it was Father Jackson SJ.”
“Society of Jesus.”
Enys nodded.
“The man that was hanged, drawn, and quartered by Mr. Hughes?” said Pickering with a puzzled frown.
“Nay sir, that wasnae him. It was one Richard Tregian.” Dodd corrected him. “Mr. Topcliffe substituted him for the Cornish gentleman.”
Palavicino was leaning forward, his face full of bewilderment. “Substituted him?”
“Ay sir, and Fr. Jackson seemingly ended up in the Thames wi’ a knife in his back but we dinna ken how or why.”
Enys drew a deep breath. “Sir, my brother has been calling himself James Vent. Do you know where he is? Sergeant Dodd said he thought he had seen him here?”
“Vent?” Pickering’s glittering little eyes had gone hard. “He was here but he ran out of money. Said he was going to the Netherlands again to make his fortune and headed for a ship he knew of in the Pool of London.”
“Do you know which ship, sir?”
“The Judith of Penryn,”
The name didn’t seem to mean much to Enys but Dodd recognised it. Och God, he had to get back to Somerset House after all.
“Thank you, sir,” Enys was saying. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen. I must try and track down my brother and speak to him urgently. Sir Horatio was looking very thoughtful while Pickering was scowling.”
Enys was already bowing to Pickering in thanks and heading for the door, no doubt to find a boat to chase his brother. For a moment Dodd wondered about telling him who owned the ship, then decided he would find out soon enough. As the lawyer clattered down the stair, Dodd had a thought about the now decoded letters. He had been wondering about it but now he made a decision. If Palavicino was the Queen’s banker, perhaps he was the best way for Dodd to get the information safely out of his keeping and into the Queen’s. It clearly all hinged on whoever Icarus might be a codename for and he had no idea, although he suspected Carey did. Icarus had been in normal letters, not numbers, so he supposed it was doubly important. He pulled out the coded letters and his laborious translations and handed them to Palavicino.
“That one,” he said, tapping it, “I found hidden in Richard Tregian’s chamber. The ither one…” He coughed, not sure how this would be received. “…ah, the ither one we found when we had a warrant to arrest Mr. Heneage for assault in my case and we were searching his house for him.”
It seemed both Pickering and Palavicino knew about that because they both smiled.
“As usual, ingenious and appropriate,” said Palavicino, not making a lot of sense as far as Dodd was concerned. “And what have we here?”
“The translation’s there,” said Dodd, quite proud of what he had done in only an afternoon. Sir Horatio looked hard at the writing and his lips moved as he read it. Then he looked up and nodded.
“Sergeant, thank you,” he said. “I shall see the Queen receives this at once.”
“Ay,” said Dodd, thinking it might be about time to be going. Pickering stopped him. “Just a word before we go, Sergeant, about Sir Robert’s enquiry,” said Pickering quietly. “I’ve asked around and I will lay my life on it that not one of my people ‘as lifted that survey out of the Cornish maid’s purse.”
“Eh?” said Dodd, then remembered. “Ay?” He was surprised. “Are ye sure?”
“Certain. I’d’ve ‘ad it in my ‘ands by yesterday night if any nip-purse or foist or any of their friends ‘ad it, believe me.”
Dodd nodded. That left only one place the survey could have gone to and now, he thought about it, made perfect sense.
“As for what the watermen think about whoever did in the Papist priest…It’s only a rumour but they say ‘e was escaping from Topcliffe’s place in south bank marshes when it happened. I haven’t found the man who rowed the boat for them so I can’t say for sure. Unfortunately, he disappeared a couple of days ago.”
“Thank ye, Mr. Pickering,” said Dodd, thinking he knew what had happened to the poor boatman. “If ye hear any…”
There was a thunderous banging on the doors downstairs. Pickering jumped to his feet and stood there with his fists clenching and unclenching.
“What the ‘ell…?” he said.
“Open in the name of the Queen!” came the roar from below. Dodd moved to the window and peered out. The area around the warehouse was full of large men in buff coats, another boat pulling up with more men in it. Out of it stepped Mr. Vice Chancellor Heneage with a very prim and satisfied expression on his plump prissy face. Dodd had forgotten how much he disliked the man. At least he was still sporting green and purple around his eyes and his nose was swollen.
Poor Enys had obviously walked straight into an ambush as he left to find his brother. He was being held with his arms twisted behind him by two men who looked pleased with themselves. Enys looked as if he might be sick and was still struggling.
“Och,” said Dodd, cursing himself for a fool. He looked at Sir Horatio who was still frowning at the letters.
“Get him out o’ here, Mr. Pickering,” he said to the King of London who seemed too shocked to react. “Have ye no’ a bolthole?”
Pickering blinked, shook himself and moved. “’Course I do. Come along, Sir Horatio.”
He went to the corner of the small room and rolled back one of the mats. Dodd lifted the trapdoor, revealing stairs leading down. To his surprise, Pickering did not go down the steps but motioned to Sir Horatio.
“At the bottom is a door into a basement, it’s a bit wet but don’t worry. Open the door and go along the passage and you’ll be in the warehouse over by the third crane, see?”
Palavicino looked out the window and nodded. “Now Sir Horatio,” gravelled Pickering, making the two words sound like “sratio”, “’ere’s the key to the door of the warehouse. The seals is fake and you can put them back. Bring me the key when you can.”
Palavicino nodded, took a candle from the mantlepiece, shook hands with Pickering, and then went down the stairs, moving remarkably quietly for so large a man.
There was more thundering and a banging downstairs and Heneage ordering the door to be opened in the name of the Queen. Pickering, short sturdy and bullet headed, looked at the door, pursed his lips, sucked his teeth, and squared his shoulders. From a mere wealthy merchant he had become something much more dangerous.
“I’m going to welcome in our visitors. I think you should slip away as well as I’m quite sure ‘e’s got a warrant for you.”
Dodd quietly loosened his sword despite what Pickering had said, then followed the man through the gambling room where the players and the half-clad women were staring through the windows. “Mary,” said Pickering to one of them, “put ‘em away, luv,” and the women started pulling their shifts up and relacing their stays so as to look a little bit more respectable. “Start moving out, girls,” he added as he went past, quite quietly. The girls started ushering all the wealthy players to the back room where the trapdoor and secret tunnel were.
Dodd went down the polished stairs. Briscoe and the other henchman were standing on the inside of the barred and locked door as it shuddered to the blows of a ba
ttering room.
“Yerss,” said Pickering, “plenty of time, gentlemen, these doors was put in by the Tunnage and Poundage. The girls are still busy upstairs. Meantime…What would you do if some jumped up court clerk did this to you in your own country, Sergeant Dodd?”
Dodd was amazed Pickering needed to ask. “If it were the Queen herself as did it, then I’d do nowt,” he said, heavily, “but if it were aye one o’ her men, then I’d have the Border alight in two hours, Mr. Pickering, the bells would a’ be ringin’ and the men would a’ be riding. But Ah’m nobbut the Land-Sergeant of Gilsland and Ah could ainly call on the Dodds and the Armstrongs there and mebbe the Bells and the Storeys, four hundred men at best. If it were Richie Graham of Brackenhill that had his tower burned, by God, Mr. Pickering, there’d be fifteen hundred men i’the saddle by daybreak and Carlisle in flames the day after.”
The King of London smiled briefly. “Hm,” he said, “it ain’t quite like that here in London, mind, but I agree wiv you, I will not be treated like this and I won’t ‘ave my men treated like this either. So, Sergeant, wot do you reckon?”
“Me? There’s a man I’d like to talk to first and then…I wantae talk to the owner o’ the Judith of Penryn and find this man Vent. And then, Mr. Pickering, Ah’m at yer disposal.”
Pickering looked consideringly at his men. “ Mr. Briscoe,” he said quietly as the battering ram hammered home again, “would you do me the kindness to come and speak with me…”
To Dodd’s surprise the man called Briscoe suddenly looked hunted and made for the stairs. His mate caught hold of him firmly by the neck and held him there.
Pickering went up to him. “Easy way or hard way?” he said softly through his teeth.
Briscoe licked his lips and started to cry. “Only, ‘e took my Ellie, my missus, what’s gonna have a baby, he took ‘er down to his house and he said to me, ‘e’d have ‘er belly cut open to get the baby out and then ‘e’d make me watch while ‘e…”
A Murder of Crows: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery Page 22