by C. S. Quinn
‘The leftovers will be sent to the poor side?’ asked Charlie, whose thoughts had lingered on the starving common debtors since entering the prison.
The woman gave a bored nod and began clearing. Charlie met her eye.
‘Truly?’ he asked, knowing how corrupt the Marshalsea prison was. Judge Walters had recently taken it over. His gruesome convictions had earned him the nickname ‘the Bloody Judge’, and his lack of charity to the poor was legendary.
Her expression changed and she leaned closer. ‘If you really mean them to have it,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘best you take it yourself. Judge Walters pays no mind to the commoners. Things go missing,’ she added, ‘on the way to the poor side.’
Charlie took out his handkerchief to wrap the scraps of food.
Riley gave a low gasp of excitement. He’d sprung a catch on the side of the ring. Charlie and Lily watched in amazement. A tiny hook now stuck from the side of the jewellery.
‘Well hidden. Lovely workings,’ said Riley in acknowledgement of their amazement. He picked up the first ring. ‘They fit together.’
Riley examined Charlie’s ring and sprung a second hidden catch. Then before their eyes he pushed the two rings together. They fitted seamlessly with a click, the two rubies set next to one another.
‘Beautiful,’ breathed Riley. ‘Such craftsmanship.’
Lily took the conjoined rings into her own small hands. She turned them this way and that.
‘They’re not complete,’ she said.
Charlie looked up at Riley, disappointment growing fast after the sudden hope. ‘It’s not just two you need?’
Riley shook his head. ‘I think four,’ he said, taking the conjoined rings back. ‘Two more would fit here and here. The rubies would make the shape of a cross,’ he concluded, ‘and the gold bands would hang underneath.’
Riley took a pull on his pipe. ‘Do you have a code for the rings to solve?’ he asked. ‘Any papers or letters found with the ring?’
Charlie shook his head. His mother’s bundle had held only simple maid’s possessions.
‘There was a . . . a kind of story,’ continued Riley carefully, reading the despondency in their expressions, ‘told amongst jewellery men shortly after the war. I don’t know how much truth is in it,’ he added, sucking his pipe. ‘But it was said a set of special rubies were set as codebreakers after the old King was beheaded. The rumour was they unlocked something old. Something powerful.’
‘Treasure?’ suggested Lily hopefully.
‘The stories were different. Some said treasure. Some said a weapon. But mostly people said they led to an All-Seeing Eye.’ Riley gave an uneasy laugh. ‘You hear sailor’s tales about it mostly. This year’s eclipse is said to be when the Eye will be revealed.’
Lily’s hand dropped thoughtfully to her almanac.
‘Of course,’ added Riley, adjusting his magnifying lens, ‘I assumed the Eye was just a story. But that was before I’d seen these rings.’
Chapter 4
‘I told you,’ said Lily jubilantly as they left the close air of the debtors’ prison. ‘I told you the rings uncovered something important.’ They walked out on to The Borough. Along St Oleff’s Street prostitutes lounged against mouldering buildings, lifting their skirts when a likely prospect passed.
Clustered on every corner were astrological almanac sellers, shouting their wares. With All Hallows’ Eve days away, stargazing and prophecy had risen to fever pitch in London. Stalls had been hastily erected to sell talismans and lucky charms to protect against a forecast eclipse.
‘Who would have thought the rings fitted together?’ continued Lily, buoyed into unusual cheer by the discovery. She reached into her red silk dress to take out the ring.
Charlie stopped her, eyeing a nearby coach house heaving with degenerate drinkers.
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘If you take out a ruby this side of the river, we’re liable to end up floating in the Thames.’
Charlie’s eyes settled on a grating in the wall, from which emaciated debtor hands waved. ‘It might just be a story,’ he added, deliberately casual as he took out the parcel of scraps from the chophouse. He didn’t want to admit it to Lily, but Charlie had the stirrings of excitement he always had before a big mystery began to open.
He began passing food, settling larger pieces on the smallest hands.
Lily thought for a moment. ‘Riley said the rings were very fine,’ she said. ‘Could we discover more from other jewellery makers? Surely Thorne would have had to buy tools and jewels from someone.’
‘Cromwell’s reign wasn’t a time for fine jewellery,’ said Charlie. ‘The best men fled to Europe or changed profession. We were lucky Riley lasted here.’
‘Do you think the rings have something to do with the bodies at Deptford?’ asked Lily.
‘They both bear astrological symbols,’ said Charlie, remembering what he’d heard about the murders.
‘Let’s go over what we know,’ he decided. ‘My ring,’ he continued, ‘was amongst my dead mother’s possessions. Riley told us the rings weren’t given to women. So most likely it belonged to my father.’
Lily nodded at the logic of this. ‘Your father was killed at sea,’ she reasoned, ‘but if he knew something of all this, he must have been an important man. You could have some great fortune awaiting you. Lands.’
‘I’ve no interest in great fortune,’ said Charlie. ‘Only to know if I’ve any family living. The ring was with my mother’s belongings. Perhaps it’s some clue to my family story.’
A sudden pain seared through him. His brother, Rowan, had now been missing for a year and a half. Charlie had never given up hope, but some days were more difficult than others. He’d always suspected his older brother knew more about their mysterious past than he let on. They’d been orphaned together after their mother’s murder, with only Charlie’s key as a clue to their past.
‘You still hope to find your brother?’ Lily’s face bore pity for his misplaced optimism.
‘You don’t know Rowan,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s irresponsible and inconsiderate. But he’s good deep down. He could easily be hiding from a bad debt with a long-lost relative.’
‘Why would your brother know of a relative that you don’t?’
Charlie’s forehead creased. He rubbed the scar on his lip.
‘He was older than me when we were orphaned,’ Charlie explained. ‘I think Rowan might remember things . . . perhaps dark things he wants to forget about. He didn’t speak for a year in the orphan home. But perhaps he’s overcome some demons and it’s led him to some part of our past I don’t know about.’
‘I thought your brother was always in some kind of trouble,’ said Lily.
‘He is,’ agreed Charlie. ‘But Rowan and I look out for one another. Always have.’
Lily maintained the tactful silence of someone for whom the other’s false belief is to their advantage.
‘He might be dead of plague,’ admitted Charlie finally. ‘Dead in some commoner’s grave. He might not.’
Lily looked away with an expression that Charlie was all too familiar with. Everyone knew what it meant to vanish during plague time. Charlie was the only person in London who chose to believe Rowan was still alive.
‘The bodies at Deptford,’ Charlie decided. ‘You could be right. There might be something in that.’
‘But they already know who the killer is,’ said Lily. ‘Ishmael Boney.’
‘London’s most revered astrologer incriminates himself in his own almanac?’ said Charlie. ‘It seems a foolish act for such a famously clever man.’
‘Not if he’s turned to dark ways,’ said Lily. ‘Perhaps he’s in league with the Devil. Taken leave of his senses.’
‘Maybe,’ said Charlie. ‘But Ishmael has become phenomenally successful since his predictions on fire and plague. If I were selling a thousand almanacs a month, I’d have no cause for dark arts. I think it’s worth a visit to Dead Man’s Curve.’
‘What is it?’ Lily whispered.
‘Maybe nothing,’ said Charlie. ‘I have a bad feeling someone is following us.’
‘Someone overheard us?’ suggested Lily. ‘In the Marshalsea?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Charlie. ‘The prison is stuffed to the gills with pirates and smugglers. The Bloody Judge keeps spies inside. And he doesn’t like me.’
Lily rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve made an enemy of the most brutal judge in the city?’
‘We don’t share the same views on what should be a hanging offence,’ said Charlie.
‘Maybe someone there saw us showing Riley the rings,’ said Lily.
Charlie caught something in her tone. ‘Or some other reason,’ he said, looking carefully at her face. ‘You’re hiding something. I know treasure isn’t your only interest, so try again.’
Lily looked away, twisting the ring on her finger. ‘Very well,’ she conceded. ‘The Bloody Judge is looking for the Eye. He was the drunk man I stole the ring from him.’ She glared a challenge at Charlie.
‘So we likely have the Bloody Judge on our tail?’ Charlie surmised, not hiding his outrage. ‘You’ve made me a wanted man.’
He let out a deep sigh of frustration. Nothing with Lily was ever straightforward.
‘We’ll switch back on London Bridge,’ he said, ‘and lose them in the crowds. Then we’ll walk back to Dead Man’s Curve. And on the way,’ he concluded with a threatening glare, ‘you’d better tell me the whole truth about how you came by your ring.’
Chapter 5
In the old fort, Amesbury regarded his prisoner. The man seemed to be dressed in a sort of disguise, with a black handkerchief pulled over the bottom half of his face and tricorn hat brought so low, his eyes were in complete shadow.
He reminded Amesbury of an English highwayman, with high leather boots and long dark cloak, and his demeanour, considering his circumstances, seemed impressively calm.
‘Take off his mask,’ said Amesbury.
The officer stepped forward to remove the mask, but the prisoner held up a gloved hand.
‘If you want to know the Dutch plans,’ he said, ‘I stay masked.’
Amesbury hesitated, translating the Dutch.
‘I’ll decide when I hear what you have to say,’ he agreed begrudgingly, speaking slowly as the Dutch language came back to him. ‘You are Janus?’ he affirmed. ‘The fireship pilot who flamed the Queen Catherine?’
The man gave the smallest of nods. ‘You are the Earl of Amesbury,’ he confirmed. ‘The turncoat?’
Amesbury smiled at the description and nodded.
‘Then I must speak with you alone,’ said Janus.
Amesbury considered the request. Then he signalled the officer should leave. As his colleague departed, Amesbury removed a flask of wine from his coat, filled a tankard for Janus and passed it across. Janus took the cup with a nod of thanks. Amesbury swigged from the flask cradled in his enormous hands.
‘In the last few months you’ve destroyed some of our finest ships,’ he said. ‘You got a flaming ship attacked in the dark. Reports from our men say you’re the best fireship pilot they’ve ever seen.’
The prisoner acknowledged the compliment with a slight smile.
‘So my first question,’ said Amesbury carefully, ‘is how much to make you work for us?’
Janus’s mask rose slightly with his eyebrows beneath it. ‘You offer me money to fight for the English?’
Amesbury nodded.
Janus considered. ‘You don’t have enough,’ he said finally.
Amesbury swigged from the flask. The strong wine was helping his Dutch speaking skills.
‘What makes you think that?’ he replied.
‘King Charles doesn’t have enough money to pay his sailors,’ said Janus. ‘I should know. Enough of your men defect to Dutch ranks for pay.’
Amesbury acknowledged the truth of this.
‘Money would be found,’ he said shortly.
Janus sat back. ‘And what if I don’t want money?’ he said. ‘What if I want something else?’
‘Jewels?’ suggested Amesbury warily. ‘Gold?’ He thought he knew what was coming.
Janus shook his head. ‘I want a ruby ring,’ he said.
In the gloom of the small prison cell, Amesbury hoped his surprise didn’t show. If Janus knew about the rings . . . Was it possible he was looking for the Eye?
But Thorne was dead. The rings had been lost long ago. Amesbury remembered the last time he’d seen the astrologer, walking to his death.
Thorne’s thick dark hair had waved in the breeze as he approached the executioner’s block. He tucked it behind his ears in a nervous gesture, but his face gave no sign of fear. His expression suggested he was working through a complicated calculation in his mind. Thorne was tall and slight. His long limbs had a scarecrow quality that was softened by his expensive appearance but never quite dispelled. The silk stockings were bunched and awkward, his shoe buckles slightly askew and snowy lace collar too large for his neck.
Thorne was always moving, Amesbury noticed, drumming his fingers, pulling at his large cuffs. As though his genius couldn’t be contained in a normal body. Even taking his last steps, Thorne’s wiry frame pulsed with pensive energy. But his great mind was soon to be stilled forever.
What a great loss, Amesbury thought. What a great, great loss.
He realised with a start that Janus was looking at him keenly.
Janus smiled. ‘I’ve been told the rings lead to the Eye,’ he said.
Amesbury shrugged his great shoulders. ‘Only stories. Each of the four ring bearers is long dead,’ he lied. ‘The rings are most likely melted down, the jewels traded. The Eye is lost.’
‘Then you can’t give me what I want,’ said Janus, his jaw tightening.
Amesbury gave a weary sigh. ‘You’re our captive,’ he said bluntly. ‘Your choices are few. Let me outline them for you. Join us for gold, or be hanged as the enemy.’
Janus looked amused. ‘I always heard of you as a clever man,’ he said. ‘Do you really think the Dutch will let me fall into your clutches so easily?’
As he spoke, he drummed a quick little tattoo on the wall of the cell with the ring on his index finger.
‘And do you think,’ Janus continued, ‘I am your prisoner by chance?’
It only took a split second for Amesbury to realise he would react too slowly. The cell door was flung aside, and facing him were two men dressed in Dutch clothes. Each held a heavy flintlock gun pointed squarely into the cell.
Janus stood and straightened his cloak, still holding the tankard of wine.
‘It was a great pleasure,’ he said with a short bow. ‘I’ll be sure your enemy knows you as a general of honour.’
‘It’s not what my countrymen know me as,’ retorted Amesbury gruffly.
Janus and the men exited the cell, closing Amesbury in behind them. The general heard the door being bolted from outside. Sighing, he picked up the remainder of the wine and thoughtfully awaited rescue.
Janus knows of the Eye . . .
The more he considered it, the more he thought Janus’s eyes above the mask had been familiar. Had he met him before? Long ago? Before the war? His fingers tightened around his cup. He’d underestimated his opponent. And it might cost England dear.
Chapter 6
The way to the deserted palace was overgrown with thorns and creepers.
Betty followed Janus through the broken door. She thought he was a kind man. He’d set her free from the Marshalsea prison and given her wine.
She hiccupped, staggered, then righted herself. As they emerged into the ransacked chamber, Betty stopped and stared. It was a palace. A forgotten palace. The room was large and grand, with what had once been a tiled floor. The remains of an imposing staircase stood wrecked and broken. Windows were s
hattered, gilt ripped from the walls and beams torn away for firewood.
There was a flapping sound up ahead, and Betty scratched her scabbed arms nervously.
‘What’s that noise?’ she asked.
‘Only crows,’ said Janus. ‘They’ve made parts of it their home.’
They moved further inside, through to an adjoining room, equally grand, but now with signs of occupancy. Smoking embers, a palette bed.
‘You live here?’ she said after a moment. ‘It must have once been magnificent.’
‘I was once apprenticed near here,’ said Janus. ‘The King wants to rebuild but has no funds.’
Two large black crows were tussling over a sinewy scrap of bone. Betty noticed a blanket strung across a far corner, concealing something. She hoped wine. Then her eyes settled hungrily on a small barrel sat by the plain sleeping arrangements.
Betty stared at it. Her wine-induced stupor was beginning to slip away. She didn’t like this room so much. It smelled like a butcher’s shop.
‘I didn’t realise fine folk were apprenticed,’ Betty said, her eyes never leaving the barrel.
‘My master was a great man,’ said Janus. ‘I loved him deeply,’ he added, his eyes burning with a fierce animal intensity. ‘Feared him too.’
He saw the direction of Betty’s gaze and fetched wine. She held out her tankard and watched delightedly as he filled it.
‘Masters can be cruel,’ she agreed, drinking deeply. ‘My brother was apprenticed to a carpenter. Came home with bleeding hands.’
‘Thorne kept me confined in the dark,’ said Janus, nursing his tankard thoughtfully. ‘Punished me for the slightest transgression. But he taught me the power of the stars. I thought him a god.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Hard, merciless and all-powerful.’
Something flickered deep in his eyes, like a long-forgotten pain.
‘Why did you free me from the prison?’ she asked.
She was looking at the bed.
‘I heard in the Marshalsea,’ he said, ‘about a commoner named Charlie Oakley.’ Janus looked into the tankard. ‘He is searching for something,’ he continued. ‘Something rightfully due to me, as a noble.’