The Crooked Spire

by Chris Nickson

  ‘He was killed in the plot at the back then taken down to the river and left there.’

  ‘Jesu.’ Martha crossed herself, a shocked exclamation on her face.

  ‘With luck they’ll find his killer,’ he said.

  ‘What about the master carpenter?’

  He told her about the red-headed man and the few things he’d managed to learn.

  ‘If he’s hiding away back behind the Shambles you might never find him,’ she warned. ‘They don’t like the law in there.’

  ‘I’d like to see if he’s there.’

  ‘Ask Walter,’ Martha said. ‘He goes back in the Shambles all the time, delivering messages and running errands for people. They won’t even look twice at him.’

  He considered it for a moment. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to involve him in murder. That’s too dangerous. It’s not right.’

  ‘Talk to him,’ she suggested. ‘Let him make his own choice.’

  John shook his head. ‘He’d do it just to please me.’

  She gathered the empty bowls.

  ‘Let the lad make his own choice,’ she repeated. ‘He’s old enough to do that.’

  ‘Katherine wouldn’t want me to put him in the middle of this.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t interested in her,’ Martha said sharply.

  ‘I’m not, but even so…’ he fumbled for a reason. ‘He’s her brother.’

  ‘You said he’s your friend.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Would you ask another friend to help?’

  He bowed his head, knowing he was beaten.

  ‘I know he’s young, but don’t treat him like a child, John. Ask him. Believe in him. Walter will take more pride in that than anything else. He might surprise you, too. He sees things and remembers them. And folk don’t even notice him.’

  He sat by himself for a minute after she left the room, then strode over to the alehouse on Low Pavement. He took the long away around, down Packer’s Row, peering down the small streets into the Shambles, hoping in vain for a glimpse of red-headed Geoffrey.

  The place was almost empty, most folk away at their work. The alewife had spread some thyme among the rushes and the scent rose as he walked across the room. Two old men were settled in a corner, ekeing out their mugs of ale, sitting in companionable silence, their heads bald and their mouths toothless.

  The solitude gave him time to think. He was loath to bring Walter into this business. The boy still seemed so innocent. But perhaps if he just looked out for the man, if he didn’t ask any questions or do anything that might bring attention to him, then it would be safe.

  He finished the drink and found his feet taking him to the house on Saltergate. One of the young girls answered the door, her eyes wide and her face expectant when he asked for Katherine.

  ‘Come in, John,’ Katherine said, wiping wet hands on a piece of linen, her face flushed from cooking, the smells of food filling the small home. She guided him through to the kitchen garden, away from the heat and the noise of the family. ‘I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.’

  ‘I hadn’t expected to be here,’ he admitted, his face serious. ‘But I wanted to talk to you before I speak to Walter.’

  ‘Oh?’ She cocked her head in curiosity. ‘What about?’

  ‘There’s a service he could do for me.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You know he’ll be glad to if he can.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s why I’m hesitant.’ He explained what he wanted her brother to do and she listened thoughtfully.

  ‘Most men would have simply gone ahead and asked him,’ she observed when he had finished.

  ‘I don’t want to take advantage of him.’

  She reached across and took hold of his good hand. ‘I think you’ve just proved you’re a good friend, John. You care about Walter, not just what he can do for you.’

  ‘Would it be fair to ask him, do you think? Just to walk around with his eyes wide when he’s back in there.’

  ‘You’re sure he’d be in no danger?’

  ‘As long as he doesn’t start asking questions, he’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘Dame Martha says he’s often around there.’

  ‘At times, yes.’ She pushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘I don’t understand why you’re involving yourself in all this, though.’

  ‘I’d like to see poor Will find some justice.’ He held up the arm in its sling. ‘And it’s not as if I can do much else at the moment.’

  She eyed him coolly, looking into his face before slowly smiling again.

  ‘I was right about you. You’re a good man. You didn’t just come to ask my advice, did you?’

  ‘I’d hoped for your blessing too,’ he agreed.

  ‘For whatever it’s worth, I can give you that.’ He started to speak but she raised a finger. ‘The only thing I ask if that if Walter seems reluctant, you won’t try to persuade him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe you would,’ she said, ‘but best to have it in the open.’

  He nodded. ‘Do you know where he might be?’

  She shook her head. ‘He leaves in the morning and comes home with the evening with a few coins. Where he goes and what he does is up to him. He helps provide, and that’s all I ask.’

  ‘It looks as if you have enough to keep you busy here.’

  ‘I don’t mind it.’ She raised her head and he could see the sadness in her eyes. ‘I love my mother and my sisters.’

  ‘You’re a good woman, Katherine.’ He mimicked her tone and watched her face brighten.

  ‘Don’t tease me.’

  ‘You are,’ he insisted.

  ‘We’re matched then, sir, wouldn’t you agree?’ she said boldly, her voice light. ‘A good man and a good woman.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He grinned.

  ‘Thank you for coming to ask me.’

  ‘I had to,’ he told her. ‘I value our friendship.’

  ‘So do I,’ she said sincerely. She kissed him on the cheek and once again he felt the smoothness of her lips. He raised his arm to draw her close but she pulled away with a small smile. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  He walked around the town, keeping alert for Walter. But his mind kept drawing him back to the girl. She had a sound head on her shoulders, a pretty one, too, with her long, dark hair and lively face. He respected her and the way she looked after her kin, but he wasn’t seeking a wife. He didn’t even know what he would be doing when this cast came off, or where he’d be after that.

  He finally found the boy by the churchyard, leaning on the wall and watching the men at work.

  ‘Hello, Walter,’ he said cheerily, settling beside him. The lad beamed to see him.

  ‘What’s he doing John? What’s he making?’

  ‘He’s a woodcarver. He’s making some of the decorations for inside the church.’

  ‘Can you carve wood?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Not as well as that,’ he laughed. ‘That’s why I’m just a carpenter.’

  The boy pointed at the men working with the saw. ‘What will they do with that wood?’

  ‘Set it aside for a long time,’ John explained. ‘The wood in a tree is very wet. It needs to dry out before you can use it. It’s called seasoning.’

  The lad look confused. ‘Why does it need to dry?’

  He hesitated, wondering how to explain it. ‘When the wood’s dry it keeps its shape. If you work it before it’s been seasoned, then it’ll twist and warp as it dries. So if you’ve fitted the wood close it could become loose or change its shape.’ He watched Walter nod his understanding. ‘Tell me, would you be willing to do something for me?’

  ‘Of course John,’ the boy answered eagerly. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  He laid it all out, going over it three times. ‘Just watch and tell me if you see anyone like the man I’ve described in there. That’s all you have to do.’

  ‘Do you want me to see where he liv
es?’ Walter surprised him with the question.

  ‘Only if you can do it without anyone noticing you,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want you taking any chances.’

  ‘I won’t,’ the boy promised. ‘I can go over there now if you want.’

  ‘There’s no need to rush,’ John told him.

  ‘But he might be there now,’ Walter insisted. The boy loped excitedly away.

  He made his way home, not convinced he’d done the right thing but knowing he didn’t have any other choice. As Martha had said, the people back in those streets would be wary of any stranger. He’d never manage to find Geoffrey himself.

  ‘Well,’ Martha said as he poured ale in the buttery, ‘did you ask him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And did you talk to Katherine first?’ she asked and he nodded. ‘You like that lass, don’t you?’ she said with a grin. ‘Don’t bother to deny it; I can see it in your eyes.’

  He grinned. ‘Am I that open?’

  ‘All men are.’

  ‘Not all of us,’ he protested.

  ‘When it comes to the heart, all of them,’ she corrected him. ‘My husband realised that early on, God rest his soul.’

  ‘Was he a better man for it?’

  ‘Much,’ she told him with a beatific smile. ‘You men might think you have the charge of things, but if you look closer you’ll see that it’s a woman behind it all.’

  He chuckled and shook his head. ‘If you know so much, what do you see for me and Katherine?’

  She stood and thought for a moment. ‘That girl has plenty of sense. She won’t try to rush things.’ She eyed him carefully. ‘But she won’t let you get too far away either. By Christmas you could be wed and living on Saltergate, if that’s what she wants.’

  ‘Don’t I have a say?’

  She sighed. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you,’ she spoke slowly, as if he was a child. ‘It’s up to the woman. It has been the whole length of creation and it always will be.’

  ‘I might surprise you yet,’ he laughed.

  ‘You might,’ she agreed, raising her eyebrows, ‘but you won’t.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Walter didn’t return that day, or the next. The hours passed with desperate slowness, as if they were reluctant to leave. With nothing to do, John chafed and roiled, moving around the house and garden like a restless ghost. His arm itched devilishly as the bone began to knit together, but he couldn’t reach to scratch it. He remained acutely aware of the injunction the coroner had placed upon him not to leave Chesterfield. The man hadn’t lifted that and he wasn’t about to take any risks.

  He became familiar with the streets, walking them so much he felt he could find his way around with his eyes closed. He saw the coroner and Brother Robert walking out along the Newbold road, and for a moment he was tempted to run and join them. But if de Harville had needed him he would have sent word.

  He felt useless, without purpose in the world. He emptied the tools from the bag and cleaned them with the oiled rag, balancing each one awkwardly in his left hand, even the slight weight making him wince, then rubbed slowly with his right, relishing the feel of the metal and wood on his fingers and wishing the time away until he would be whole again.

  Finally, in the late afternoon of the third day, there was a knock on the door. He was sitting in the hall, thinking of nothing in particular. He lifted the latch and the boy was there, breathless from running, his hair wild and his eyes glittering.

  ‘I’ve seen him John!’ he said excitedly. ‘He’s there!’

  ‘Come in, come in.’ He poured Walter a mug of ale and sat him on the bench. ‘Tell me what you saw.’

  ‘I had to deliver a message to someone in the inn above the butcher’s shop,’ he began, the words rushing out quickly. ‘I did that then I started to go around, up and down Middle Shambles. He came out from one of the yards and walked right past me!’

  John smiled. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well,’ Walter grinned, proud of himself, ‘I followed him.’

  ‘Are you sure he didn’t see you?’

  ‘No,’ the boy answered with certainty. ‘He went into a tenement. I waited but he didn’t come out again and then I ran over here.’

  ‘You’ve done very well,’ John told him. ‘Now, did you see his face?’

  The lad nodded.

  ‘Can you remember what he looked like?’

  ‘Of course. He was a little taller than me.’

  ‘How tall?’

  Walter thought and held a hand a few inches above the top of his head. ‘Like that,’ he said.

  ‘What about his face?’ He tried to keep the urgency out of his voice.

  ‘His nose was flat.’ Walter tried to squash his own to show what he meant.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I saw him smile at a girl and most of his teeth were missing.’ He laughed. ‘She looked away from him.’

  ‘What about his hair?’

  ‘It was red, just like you said.’ Walter ran a hand through his own until it stood out from his skull. ‘Like that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ John said with relief. ‘That sounds like the man I’m looking for.’

  The boy smiled at the praise. ‘Do you want me to follow him again?’

  ‘No,’ he answered after some reflection. ‘Best not. We don’t want anything that might make him suspect you. You’ve done enough.’ He clapped his hand on Walter’s shoulder. ‘You’ve helped me a great deal.’ He stood, ready to go and find the coroner, then said, ‘Come with me.’

  At the house on the High Street they found de Harville and Brother Robert in the parlour. The coroner was dictating a report to the monk, the scratch of the quill on vellum loud in the room. Robert kept a short, stubby knife in his left hand, sharpening the quill after each line.

  The serving girl showed them in and de Harville held up his hand to silence them until he’d finished speaking his thoughts. Walter gazed in amazement around the room, taken by the rich furniture and especially the bright, colourful tapestry that hung on the wall, a lifelike hunting scene with a man galloping on a horse.

  ‘Put that in the rolls,’ the coroner ordered finally, then turned. ‘Now, John Carpenter, what brings you here?’

  ‘You said to come and see you if I found Geoffrey. We’ve found him.’ He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Walter saw him a little while ago in the Shambles.’

  De Harville looked at the boy. ‘You’re the Walter that Mark beat badly?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He bobbed his head nervously.

  ‘What made you look for Geoffrey?’

  ‘Master John asked me, sir.’

  ‘Did he now?’ the coroner asked quietly, turning to the carpenter. ‘And why did you do that?’

  ‘Walter goes in there to deliver messages. I thought no one would notice him.’

  The coroner nodded slowly. ‘You saw the man?’

  The lad explained hesitantly, overawed by the authority and the splendour of the surroundings. De Harville paced as he listened while Brother Robert sat quietly at the table.

  ‘You’re convinced it’s the same man?’ the coroner asked when Walter finished.

  ‘From all I’ve been told, it must be,’ John answered.

  ‘I’m reluctant to send men in there to apprehend this Geoffrey,’ de Harville said, after long thought. ‘If we find him and try to take him, there could be violence and a riot. If we miss him he’ll be gone before we know it. What do you think, Robert?’

  ‘I agree, Master,’ he said, then added, ‘Or I could go in there and observe. A monk would be as unnoticed as a boy.’

  ‘They’ll know you’re my man,’ the coroner objected. ‘I’ll have the bailiffs look for him. If they spot him outside that area I’ll have them arrest him.’

  John said nothing. He’d hoped for more, some decisive action, a willingness to find Geoffrey and question him about Will’s murder.

  ‘You look disappointed, carpenter.’

>   ‘I am, Master,’ he admitted. ‘You said you’d do something if I found him.’

  ‘I am doing something. I’ll give the bailiffs their orders.’

  ‘They can’t be watching for him all the time. If they find him it’ll be pure chance.’

  ‘It’s not for you to tell me my job,’ de Harville told him coldly. ‘I’ve more things to consider than you can imagine.’

  He knew this was a battle he could never win. The coroner had power and he was no one. He was less than that, a stranger here, without status of any kind in the town. He bowed his head and nodded, then asked, ‘What about Mark’s murderer? Have you had any joy there?’

  ‘Not yet,’ the coroner admitted with irritation.

  ‘Two dead and no killers.’

  For a moment de Harville’s pale face flared into anger. Then it vanished and he gave a deep, heartfelt sigh, raising his hands.

  ‘You’ve made your point, carpenter. You can help me.’ His look took in both John and Walter. ‘I won’t send the bailiffs in for your Geoffrey, but you can find Mark’s killer for me. You know what to do.’

  ‘And if we find him?’

  ‘Arrest him,’ the coroner answered flatly. ‘I’ll give you my authority for that, the pair of you. What do you say, boy?’

  ‘I’d like that, sir,’ Walter answered, the words close to a stammer as he spoke.

  ‘There’s not much I can do with one arm,’ John said.

  ‘Work together, then. You wanted me to do something, and I have. The brother will prepare something that shows you’re working for me.’ He nodded at the monk and left the room.

  ‘I’ll send the paper to Dame Martha’s,’ Robert said sympathetically. ‘You goaded him, John, and he outfoxed you.’

  ‘So it seems,’ he replied ruefully.

  The monk lowered his voice. ‘He has plenty on his mind besides murder. He and his brother are in the courts over their father’s will. They were always an argumentative family.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘All that’ll happen is that they’ll make the lawyers rich.’

  ‘Then we’ll do our best to ease his load,’ John said, ‘won’t we, Walter?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the lad said eagerly.