Fire Catcher

by C. S. Quinn

  Lily frowned in thought.

  ‘You were of the Sealed Knot too,’ she said. ‘Surely if they could make vast riches, you would know of it.’

  Amesbury shook his head.

  ‘We fought among ourselves, after the King’s death,’ he said. ‘Fine brave men that we were,’ he added. ‘Blackstone and his troops were held under siege during the war. There are only whispers of what happened. They ate cats, candles. Some say worse. I didn’t recognise Blackstone when he returned. His starved body had grown gross. And his eyes . . . He wasn’t the man I knew.’

  ‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’ asked Lily. ‘If his men are making fireballs . . .’

  ‘Every man of the Sealed Knot was dangerous,’ said Amesbury. ‘We protected the monarchy at all cost. There was nothing we wouldn’t do. But Blackstone . . .’ Amesbury considered. ‘He wasn’t the bravest. But he was the most ruthless and fearless. There’s a rumour he survived plague and it unhinged him. Confused his thoughts. Robbed his memories.’

  ‘If Blackstone has switched loyalty,’ said Lily, ‘his skill at warfare could now threaten the King.’

  ‘I don’t know if Blackstone is dangerous to the King,’ said Amesbury. ‘Certainly he is one of those who has reason to be. If Blackstone has those papers, then he could be the destruction or salvation of England. Whichever he wills.’

  Amesbury stood.

  ‘The King needs me,’ he said. ‘The fire spreads. This will be another blow to his authority. Perhaps the last.’

  Lily nodded as he moved to the door.

  ‘I will discover what I can,’ she promised.

  Amesbury nodded and left. Lily sat for a moment, watching him. Then she pulled out the same handkerchief that had been in her lap in the carriage.

  This time Charlie had a clearer view. There was a siren, or a mermaid, picked out in simple stitching with long hair flowing down her back. Something about the stitching made him catch his breath. He was suddenly sure he recognised the seamstress. Charlie tucked the revelation away for future use.

  Lily stared at the handkerchief.

  ‘I will find you,’ she said. And then she folded it up and tucked it back in her dress.

  Chapter 25

  A commotion sounded from the back of the Candlemakers’ Guild. Three guildsmen were wielding an eighteen-foot iron firehook with difficulty.

  Blackstone moved towards them.

  ‘I come from the King,’ he said, showing his royal seal. ‘The palace says the fire will be out by morning. There is nothing to fear.’

  The nearest chandler eyed Blackstone with suspicion. His hair was cut short in the Puritan style and his plain clothes suggested he would rather Cromwell had stayed in power.

  ‘What would the King know?’ he said. ‘We hear His Majesty has not even been to see the blaze.’

  ‘The King must call for buildings to be pulled down,’ intervened a second chandler. He was a young apprentice of the kind Blackstone was familiar with. A Catholic slaving for the lowest guild privileges. ‘The gale has whipped the flames too high to save Cheapside,’ said the apprentice. ‘If buildings are pulled our hall will be spared.’

  Blackstone smiled. ‘On the King’s instructions every guild is expected to buy a fire engine. Where is yours?’

  The Puritan looked uncomfortable.

  ‘It was an expense we meant to meet next year,’ he admitted.

  Blackstone looked meaningfully at the elaborate ceremonial hall. ‘A fire engine you should have,’ he said. ‘If your guild keeps only an old firehook, then you only have yourselves to blame. Only the King may grant authority to pull buildings and he does not,’ he concluded.

  The guildsmen watched with dismay as he walked away from them. Blackstone smiled to himself as they began bickering about the best course of action. Moving to the north-western corner of the hall, Blackstone’s gaze fell on three barrels.

  His guild contact had obeyed all of his instructions. The consignment had been left in the allotted place. The barrels were marked as containing bales of candlewick. But Blackstone knew different. Each held six pounds of gunpowder.

  Carefully he took out his bottle and unstoppered it. Then, checking he wasn’t being watched, he dropped the chunk of lead into the open mouth. The bottle began to hiss loudly. Blackstone stoppered it quickly and placed it on the ground.

  Then he turned and walked out of the guild.

  As Blackstone made his exit the guard made a mocking sign of the cross and spat.

  Blackstone hesitated. He judged he had a few seconds to spare. In a smooth movement he grasped the guard by the throat and wrenched his head up and back. The guard’s neck snapped cleanly. His head lolled, an expression of shock frozen on the dead features.

  In an easy movement Blackstone slung the corpse back into the guild. A few chandlers were looking at him open-mouthed. Blackstone moved swiftly down the entry steps and on to the safety of Lothbury. A chandler had just started to shout for his arrest when the explosion hit.

  The first blast blew a cloud of splinters and fire from the entrance of the guild. Then a deep rumbling came from the belly of the hall. As the other barrels fired the building twisted, shook and then exploded in flames.

  Turning on his heel, Blackstone’s vast bulk swung away on to Ironmonger’s Lane. He vanished into the shady backstreets as the Chandlers’ Guild continued detonating behind him. A cloud of smoke had risen high above the city and was settling fiery dust and ash over the surrounding wooden roofs.

  The crackle of flames brought another feeling, a purity. Blackstone felt sure Teresa’s sin would be purged. Burned away. He could not quite get his mind around the memory. Blackstone grasped at it and it twisted away, dancing at the edges of his conscious. The nearest he could describe it was a taste or a smell. Something bitter on the back of the tongue. Dry, papery.

  Chapter 26

  Charlie watched Lily tip water on the brazier, sending up a plume of angry smoke. He debated the next best step. Wait until she was in the stairwell, he decided, and catch her there. The enclosed space would muffle any noise and he could take back his key without risk of the house guard.

  Lily exited the room and Charlie listened to her footsteps make their way down the corridor. Then he quietly opened the door to the fumigation cupboard and slid out.

  A rustle of skirts alerted him just in time to a powerful kick aimed squarely towards his groin. Charlie dodged to the side and the foot connected hard with his thigh, lifting him from his haunches and sending him sprawling to the floor.

  He looked up to catch a glimpse of Lily’s furious face before she descended on him in a tumult of blows to the side of his head. Charlie raised his arms to protect his head, hoping to wait out the assault, but as the violence rained down, it became clear she had no intention of slowing the attack. Instead she began to layer the volley of kicks with a vocal crescendo built mostly of profanities.

  Charlie rolled to one side as her tiny foot cracked repeatedly into his collarbone. He needed her to ease up the attack before he could press his advantage.

  ‘Does Amesbury know,’ he gasped, ‘you carry Blackstone’s handkerchief?’

  The onslaught abated slightly. Charlie lunged his legs forward, wrapping them bodily around Lily’s skirts and bringing her tumbling to the floor. He caught a flash of pure hatred in her expression as she fell past him. Charlie turned quickly, pinning her down with her arms tightly beneath her and placing a hand over her mouth.

  He looked back and forth along the corridor but all was silent. Lily was quiet suddenly, as if the fight had gone out of her, and very slowly he took his hand away from her mouth so she could speak. She looked oddly limp, her dark eyes trained on his. Then he saw the knife.

  ‘Get off me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll consider sparing your life.’

  Charlie’s hand shot out, pressing at the tendons of her wrist. She gasped and her fingers opened, letting the knife fall. She glared at him furiously.

  ‘I told you
before,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m not one of your perfumed lords.’

  ‘The house is guarded,’ she said, glaring. ‘I need only scream.’

  ‘So scream,’ said Charlie, balancing his weight to pin her down and working off the key at her wrist. ‘And,’ he continued, waving the freed key and refastening it around his neck, ‘you’ll never get to keep half of what this key opens.’

  She was silent for a moment.

  ‘You’re offering to give me half of what your key opens?’ she said eventually.

  ‘You have information which could help me,’ said Charlie. ‘I heard you. You’re working with Amesbury to find Blackstone.’ He dangled the key. ‘I’m looking for Blackstone’s chest.’

  Lily thought about this. ‘So you need my help?’

  Charlie smiled. ‘I don’t need your help. I need your information.’

  ‘How do I know the key opens anything of value?’

  ‘Because you already know what it unlocks,’ said Charlie. ‘Amesbury told you.’

  A cycle of emotions flitted across Lily’s face.

  ‘The secret of the Sealed Knot?’ she said finally. ‘Lead into gold. But you said the chest contained marriage papers.’

  Charlie hesitated, wondering whether to admit there was no tangible treasure in the chest.

  ‘Alchemists speak of a universal marriage,’ he said. ‘They are obsessed by it. Amesbury told you himself. And alchemists use allegory and codes.’

  Lily looked unconvinced.

  ‘The chest is a Dutch sea chest,’ persisted Charlie. ‘It holds papers which Blackstone has killed to discover. Does it not make sense that those documents hold the sacred secrets of the Sealed Knot?’

  He waited for this to sink in.

  ‘Let me up,’ she said. Carefully he shifted his weight, keeping a close eye on her knife hand.

  ‘Swear it then,’ she said, sitting up. ‘Swear you will give me half.’

  ‘I swear it.’ He extended his hand.

  She took it, seeming pleased with the arrangement.

  Lily rose to standing, examining her red dress for damage.

  ‘How did you know about my handkerchief?’ she asked, adjusting the low front.

  ‘Because I know who stitched it.’

  Lily’s dark eyebrows furrowed.

  ‘It was embroidered a long time ago,’ said Charlie. ‘By my mother.’

  Lily’s eyes snapped to his.

  Charlie nodded. ‘I’ll tell you all I know,’ he said. ‘Only if you swear there’ll be no double-dealing. You’ll tell me true in your part.’

  Her face darkened in affront.

  ‘Is that what you think of gypsies?’ she demanded. ‘Perhaps you think we steal babies as well?’

  Charlie said nothing. He’d heard they ate them.

  Chapter 27

  Charlie took the handkerchief and smoothed it out. He tried not to be disconcerted that it was warm from Lily’s skin.

  ‘I recognised it the first time I saw it,’ said Charlie, turning it in his hands. ‘I just wasn’t sure why.’ His hands ran over the threads. ‘I must have seen it as a boy,’ he added.

  ‘Who was your mother?’ asked Lily sharply. ‘Why was she embroidering for Blackstone?’

  ‘She was a maid in his household,’ said Charlie. ‘I didn’t think I remembered anything about her. But I remember seeing this mermaid.’

  ‘Your mother was Blackstone’s maid?’ Lily’s mind was working. ‘The maid who hid his secret papers?’ she guessed. ‘So the stories were true?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘That part at least.’ He turned his key thoughtfully.

  ‘Where did you get the handkerchief?’ he asked.

  Lily swallowed, then her jaw jutted out defiantly.

  ‘Blackstone used it to blindfold my father,’ she said, ‘before executing him.’

  The handkerchief lay accusingly in Charlie’s hand.

  ‘My father spied for the Republic,’ explained Lily. ‘He got information to win against Blackstone’s men. But Blackstone could not bear to be bested by a gypsy. After the war he came back to take his revenge.’

  Lily swallowed, picked her knife up off the floor and stowed it in her skirts.

  ‘My brothers got back my father’s body. He had been blindfolded. With that.’

  She nodded towards Charlie’s hand.

  ‘But then my brothers vanished. So it falls to me.’

  ‘It won’t bring your father back,’ said Charlie. ‘Revenging yourself on Blackstone.’

  Lily’s eyes flashed. ‘Gypsies have always been persecuted,’ she said. ‘My mother died at the hands of a lynch mob. But we always pay our dues in the end.’

  ‘So you hope to find Blackstone and kill him?’

  ‘I don’t hope,’ corrected Lily. ‘I will serve him the same as he did my father. And I keep this handkerchief to close his eyes in the last moment.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘That’s why you spy for Amesbury?’ he said. ‘To find Blackstone?’

  ‘One of the reasons.’

  ‘Blackstone killed my mother,’ said Charlie after a moment. ‘For hiding his papers. It’s why I can’t read so well,’ he added. ‘She taught my brother letters, but died before it was my turn.’

  ‘A maid who could read?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Some learn.’

  ‘So you seek your own revenge?’ asked Lily.

  Charlie shook his head.

  ‘I’ve had done with thoughts of that kind. But I mean to discover the secrets of this key.’ He held it up. ‘I think it’s what my mother would have wanted.’

  Lily took back the handkerchief.

  ‘Do you know why your mother sewed it?’ she asked.

  Charlie shook his head. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No. I don’t think it matters.’

  Charlie looked back at the handkerchief. The mermaid’s tail was stitched with seven letters cascading downwards. They were the same style as on the London Stone.

  He tilted his head.

  ‘Roman numbers,’ he said. ‘The mermaid’s tail is a date.’

  Lily nodded. ‘1649. The year the old King was beheaded. It commemorates something. Perhaps a battle.’

  ‘1649 and a picture of a mermaid,’ said Charlie. ‘Does it mean anything to you?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘I never thought about it. Would it tell us anything about Blackstone?’

  ‘Women stitch handkerchiefs for all kinds of things,’ said Charlie, handing it back. ‘It could be a battle as you say. Most likely it doesn’t mean much. Just a work to employ idle hands. We should go find Torr. Where did Amesbury say he was?’

  Lily eyed him warily.

  ‘First tell me what you made of this,’ she said, removing the round robin.

  Charlie glanced at it.

  ‘Not so much,’ he said.

  Lily raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Perhaps something about the names,’ said Charlie grudgingly. ‘Working men all. How came they to write?’

  ‘The handwriting isn’t good,’ Lily pointed out.

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘What of that?’ asked Lily, pointing to the number four. ‘Alchemy?’

  ‘I asked an apothecary about the symbol,’ said Charlie. ‘He says it represents lye. Thinks alchemists wouldn’t use such a low substance.’

  ‘You didn’t ask an alchemist?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do you know any?’

  ‘A few,’ said Charlie. ‘They cluster on Nile Street. No one wants an alchemist in the city walls,’ he added. ‘They cause explosions. But they’ve managed to hold their ground.’

  Charlie looked back at the round robin. Nine names.

  Something was buzzing at the edge of his brain. There was a pattern. A pattern he could not quite see.

  He pushed the round robin back to Lily impatiently.

  ‘I’ve told you what I know,’ he said. ‘We lose time. Where is Torr?’

  ‘Fleet Street,’ said Lily. ‘In a tav
ern called the Cheshire Cheese.’

  ‘Fleet Street,’ said Charlie. He eyed Lily. ‘The marriage street,’ he added. ‘Where a minister will marry you for a few pence.’

  ‘I know what a Fleet Wedding is,’ she snapped.

  Charlie raised his eyebrows at the uncharacteristic slip. Perhaps Lily had fallen foul of a Fleet Wedding. She didn’t look the type. Her composure returned so fast he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  ‘Will the fire reach Fleet Street?’ she asked.

  ‘It could,’ said Charlie. ‘The Fleet River is a good firebreak between east and west. But with the fire so high and the wind so fierce, cinders could drop. Many roofs are wood shingle. And plenty of old soldiers keep gunpowder.’

  ‘Then we should go now,’ said Lily.

  Chapter 28

  Clarence greeted Louise Keroulle with a wide smile. He ushered her in quickly, lest they were seen. The King’s French mistress was enchantingly pretty up close. Much younger than Barbara too, Clarence noted with pleasure.

  Clarence allowed his eyes to roam the plump rounded breasts and tantalising shape of her body.

  ‘You think the tide may turn against the King?’ asked Louise, pouting her little lips. She didn’t sound as unhappy as she might have.

  The Earl of Clarence flinched.

  ‘I said no such thing,’ he said.

  Louise pointed. ‘Your clothes say it,’ she said. ‘You wear Royalist pomp. But you keep your collar the old Republic style. In case the political tide turns again.’

  Clarence concealed his surprise with a cough.

  ‘But of course you are French,’ he murmured. ‘You have a talent for fashion.’

  Louise smiled. It was the first kind thing which had been said to her since Barbara Castlemaine’s return.

  ‘I can help you?’ she asked. ‘That is why you send for me?’

  Clarence’s rounded features shifted to a calculating expression.

  ‘You dislike Barbara Castlemaine?’ he asked.

  Louise’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hate that woman.’

  Clarence nodded. He moved to place a hand on the white skin of Louise’s delightfully plump arm. She didn’t recoil, but her face suggested it took her some effort.