Dowling pointed into the trees. ‘A flame.’ A small fire burning on level ground in front of a squat wooden cabin. What strangeness compelled a man to live in such isolation? I imagined all the creatures of the night poised in a wide circle about the dwelling, all sat just out of the light. We stayed on the path, crossing the front of the small house, behind a clump patch of trees. Our footsteps shattered the silence no matter where we placed our feet.
‘Hold!’ Dowling beckoned me again, crouched behind a thick bush. ‘Someone is busy.’
A hulking giant, broad and crouching, moved across a small square window.
‘Mary Hancock described the Mortens as an old couple without children,’ Dowling whispered, ‘I reckon this is their house.’
‘Then that is not Morten,’ I concluded.
A loud crash sounded from within the cabin, like a boulder fell through the roof, then three muffled blows sounded against the wall or the floor.
Dowling stretched his neck out further. ‘I think we have found our vandal,’ he murmured.
We sat listening to the violence, while I pictured the inside of Buxton’s house. The man I glimpsed was a giant, fully capable of pushing over a dresser or throwing a cot against the wall. A man to be avoided.
Then at last, peace. An unnatural silence while we waited for something to happen.
The front door opened and the big man emerged, leaning forwards, carrying a lamp in his left hand, tugging on a rope stretched over his right shoulder. I ducked behind the bush as he stepped into the clearing, facing in our direction. I heard a strange slithering noise, loud and rough, like a giant serpent wriggling on its belly.
A light shone between the branches of my bush, the lamp, flickering, swinging from side to side. As I watched, unbreathing, the giant walked past us, twenty yards to our left, pulling on the rope. Attached to the rope was a corpse, the body of a woman with a noose tied round her neck. I watched aghast, the vile beast tugging her body through the dirt.
The woman was old, her long grey hair spread loose. Her head strained against the rope as if her neck might snap off from her body at any moment. Her face was scarlet, eyes black and protruding.
‘What in God’s name,’ I whispered, my voice protected by the sound of the woman’s body sliding over the ground.
‘Marshall Howe,’ Dowling said. ‘He who buries the last corpse of every household. He ties the rope about their necks so he doesn’t have to touch their bodies.’
Marshall Howe dragged the dead woman six feet behind, her body shrouded in darkness.
‘How do you deduce that?’ I challenged him. ‘The fellow is a brute and a beast. How do you know he hasn’t simply robbed her of her belongings and takes the body away for some nefarious motive?’
‘It’s Marshall Howe,’ Dowling repeated. ‘When Mary Hancock mentioned his name the boy cried. He ransacks the houses to claim his reward.’
‘A scavenger, then,’ I said. ‘The villagers praise him for his heroic deeds, yet he does it only for greed. Another evil demon with a black heart. He smashes dressers onto the floor when all he need do is open a drawer.’
‘He doesn’t want to touch the furniture,’ suggested Dowling, standing up and brushing the debris from his trousers. ‘Perhaps he is a good fellow, perhaps not. Only God knows which, for the dead do not miss their possessions.’
Howe plodded off into the distance, back towards the village. I watched the lamp swing and lurch, my courage wobbling with it.
Dowling headed off the other way, into darkness. ‘Come on, Harry.’
I hurried after him before we reached another black tunnel. This time I gripped a handful of sleeve. To bump into Dowling would be no less painful than bumping into a tree.
I counted aloud, another hundred paces before we again emerged into a ghostly circle. I breathed deep and placed my palm upon my beating heart. It was not the dark I feared, rather what lay beneath.
Dowling stared into the trees, eyes watchful, face unmoving. He leant forwards, nose twitching. ‘They grope in the dark without light and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man.’ He thumped me on the back, his attempt to encourage me.
The track sloped gently downwards in a long curve. We stepped off the path into low, spiny bushes, thorns stabbing at my legs. If the house stood in a clearing, there must be an expanse of sky above it. It shouldn’t be possible to walk past it in the dark. I couldn’t bear the thought we might get lost. How did we know we hadn’t passed a fork in the path that might lead us astray? A thick ball of fear threatened to burst inside my chest.
‘Ahead,’ Dowling exclaimed, excited.
I prayed his enthusiasm was not misplaced. Tears welled up in my eyes when I saw he was right. The cottage was a tiny grim abode, shrouded in shadow, sinister and mysterious. Yet I was delighted to see it.
Dowling pulled me forwards, faster than I wanted to walk. ‘Hurry.’
I dragged my heels in the dirt. ‘Why?’
‘Someone else is with us,’ he said, jerking me so hard I almost stumbled.
I flung myself behind the wall and stared across the grass. Nothing. I strained my ears, but again could hear nothing above the sound of Dowling’s heavy breathing.
I placed a hand against the stone wall of the cottage, cold as ice despite the warmth of the breeze that swelled through the forest. No sound from within, nor the slightest shard of light. If Elks lived here, why no light, no candle in the window to guide him?
Then a branch snapped, like a musket shot, clear and loud, cracking against the silent backdrop. Whoever followed tracked us by the sound of our footsteps. Elks wouldn’t be so subtle.
‘One of them and two of us,’ Dowling growled. ‘He’s followed us from the Morten house. I heard him when Howe reached the treeline.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ I grumbled.
‘It wouldn’t have helped,’ he said. ‘You were shaking like an old woman.’
I clenched my jaw and scowled, furious.
Something rustled across the clearing on the other side of the path, an animal, something small.
I stared ahead while my mind absorbed the quietness of the surrounds, the likelihood we were at the wrong house. The possibility that this nightmare trek was in vain. I felt like punching something. Dowling’s chin.
‘See,’ Dowling hissed, grabbing again at my sleeve. I wrenched his hand free and bent round to peer past his great arse.
It was the same fellow we saw earlier in the day. A skinny man with naked bony head, attempting to hide himself in the shadows of the trees as he sidled about the edge of the clearing. He carried a sword in his left hand, held afore him as if he expected to be ambushed at any moment.
‘You think Elks and his dogs again?’ I whispered.
‘I doubt it,’ Dowling answered. ‘Six of them patrol the village, and all must sleep sometime. So I suspect no more than three of them come out at night, determined to guard the main roads in and out.’
The thin man stopped and cocked his head, no more than twenty paces away. Dowling crouched, muscles taut. He clearly intended to throw himself upon the poor unfortunate, sword or no sword. His only chance was to run for it, for Dowling was slow, yet he kept advancing. Then he made a dash across the blue terrain, towards the front door of the house and out of our view.
Dowling stepped about the side of the house and I followed, scanning the ground as we tiptoed. A small pile of logs sat at the front of the cottage, left over from winter. Dowling lifted two logs from the heap, handing one to me. A weapon.
The front door stood ajar. Inside I heard shuffling, the sound of our pursuer stumbling in the dark. Dowling put a finger to his lip, and slipped inside. I followed, darting quickly to my right into the depths of the deepest shadow. A floorboard creaked. Then a much quieter sound; the deft step of a lighter man. Dowling’s head appeared in the moonlight shining through the window and I saw a flash of silver. I leapt forward and aimed my log at a black shadow to my left. A man shouted and so I
hit again at the same space. Something hit the floor with a heavy thud.
‘Why did you do that?’ Dowling exclaimed, furious.
‘You have the ears of an elephant,’ I replied, ‘but you walk like one too. He would have run you through before you blinked.’
‘Nonsense.’ He gripped the man’s shirt and dragged him out into the moonlight, practically choking the fellow.
I picked up the fallen sword then knelt next to the intruder. ‘You are old and heavy, Dowling, which is why he heard you and didn’t hear me.’
‘It was the noise you made attracted him to the door,’ Dowling protested.
‘Look in a mirror,’ I snapped. ‘You are what you see.’
I had hit the man just above the ear, and on the back of the head. Both wounds bled freely, but he was still conscious, though pained. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded.
‘Who are you?’ he slurred, dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
He was quite young, about the same age as me. A layer of black stubble carpeted his head. His eyes were clear and blue, his demeanour sharp and determined.
‘I asked you first,’ I replied, ‘and if you don’t answer, then Dowling will rip your arms off.’
‘Galileo,’ he said, which was obviously a lie.
Dowling looked suitably annoyed, but the young man eyed him dispassionately, seemingly unafraid.
I fingered his fine-cut shirt. The look in his eye was that of a seasoned campaigner, one experienced in the ways of the court. ‘You are not of this village,’ I said. ‘So I wonder how you walk so freely? Elks’ men trailed you with their dogs earlier. How did they not find you?’
‘I walked up the stream,’ he replied, disdainfully. ‘Dogs have sharp noses, but these villagers have dull brains.’
He levered himself onto his elbows and looked about, assessing the situation calmly, despite the blood dripping down his cheek. ‘Why did you hit me twice?’ he complained, wiping at the blood with his palm.
‘You were about to stab Davy in the stomach,’ I replied. ‘Of course I hit you twice. You are lucky to be alive.’
‘Hah!’ he exclaimed, sitting up straight. ‘So you say.’
He clambered to his feet, much to my alarm. I jumped up before him and held the sword towards his chest.
He held up a hand before turning back into the cottage. ‘I am looking for a cloth, to hold to my skull where you hit me with that log.’
‘Marshall Howe has been here,’ he remarked, picking his way carefully through the debris. He stopped, attracted by the edge of a tablecloth. ‘Someone’s finest,’ he said, jerking it clear of the table that lay atop of it.
‘Do you work for Lord Arlington?’ I asked, for he had the arrogance of another Withypoll.
‘Not I,’ he replied. ‘Nor you, judging by your appearance. Yet if you speak of him you must have some connection with the court.’ He wiped at his head. ‘For my part I intend to tell you nothing.’
I handed the sword to Dowling. ‘Tell us at least how you walk so freely.’
‘I didn’t tell them I arrived.’ He shrugged. ‘You two wandered into the middle of the village and stood waiting for them to find you.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘Simple fellows, I told myself, but I would understand your intentions.’
‘Not so simple we didn’t spot you following us this morning,’ I pointed out. ‘And relieve you of your sword tonight.’
‘Aye,’ he grimaced. ‘I am simpler than you.’
‘If you have no connection with Elks then we have nothing to hide,’ Dowling growled, ‘and since we are so simple, why would you seek to hide anything from us?’
‘A good point,’ Galileo said. ‘And I am feeling dizzy. Would that Howe might leave furniture to sit on.’
‘We are here to find James Josselin,’ Dowling said. ‘I think you are too.’
‘True enough,’ he replied. ‘Though I have been unable to find him. This was a likely place to look.’ He nodded, impressed. ‘Though not the right place. Why did you come here?’
‘If you have travelled the whole journey as cautiously as you entered Shyam, then you have not spoken to the same folks we have,’ Dowling replied. ‘We are confident we know where he stays.’
‘He doesn’t stay here.’ Galileo waved a hand at the silent shadows. ‘So why come all the way out here in the middle of the night?’
‘No more questions,’ Dowling said. ‘Not until you tell us something of yourself.’
Galileo shrugged. The blood on his head formed a thick clot. ‘Since you have been so open with me I will be open with you. Tell it to Arlington, though, or indeed any other, then you will be killed. Not by me, you understand. By Arlington.’
‘Go on,’ Dowling urged.
Galileo dabbed at his head one last time before throwing the cloth to the floor. ‘Josselin didn’t kill the Earl of Berkshire. They were best friends.’
I frowned. ‘We know that already. Josselin’s mother told us.’
‘They were both part of the mission that went to Holland to negotiate a peace,’ said Galileo.
‘I didn’t know there was a peace process,’ I exclaimed. ‘Arlington told us Josselin sabotaged any chance of peace.’
‘The peace mission was not public knowledge,’ said Galileo. ‘Nor was Arlington sincere in pushing for it. His fondest wish was that the House of Orange would rise up and depose De Witt, and make peace with England on our terms.’
It seemed complicated to me.
‘And yes,’ he jabbed a finger at my chest, ‘Arlington is telling everyone that Josselin sabotaged the peace process, which makes no sense, for Josselin was personally committed to it, believed in the coming together of two Protestant nations. Which is why I must find Josselin, to discover the truth of it, to know what he knows.’
‘And you work for the Earl of Clarendon,’ I surmised, my own head as thick as his.
He nodded.
‘Then we are on the same side,’ I worked out. ‘All of us working for the King.’
He cast upon me a withering glance. ‘No man is so simple as that.’
‘No, indeed,’ I winced. As well the darkness hid my red face. ‘Whether we be on the same side or not, we are as keen as you to discover the truth. Though no one seems to know Josselin is here, we found his boots and coat in a chest in Elks’ house.’
Galileo stood away from the wall. ‘Elks has him imprisoned, and you came here because this place is remote.’
‘Aye.’ Dowling agreed. ‘And there cannot be many cottages so remote, where the occupants are dead.’
There didn’t need to be many if it took us all night to visit every one. Yet Galileo seemed impressed. ‘Then we shall find him soon,’ he declared, resolute. ‘Now, shall we return to Shyam or do you have more houses to visit tonight?’
He walked the fastest of the three of us, pausing impatiently when he approached the pond. He squinted as if blinded, the purple lump upon the side of his head swollen to the size of a tennis ball.
‘I will meet you at the cottage where you are staying, sometime in the morning.’ He touched the bump gingerly. ‘Don’t follow me.’ With which he slipped into the undergrowth and was gone.
‘He seems like a worthy fellow beneath it all,’ I reflected.
‘Bright-eyed and full of intent,’ Dowling replied. ‘That doesn’t make him a worthy fellow.’
‘Aye, then.’ I was too tired to debate the matter further. ‘I am glad he is gone, though, for we have work to do.’
Chapter Seventeen
The Moon applying into Mars prenotes the degrading, or lessening the honours of some in Authority.
The water on the pond lay flat, polished black and blue beneath the moonlight, not a ripple upon its surface. The gibbets on their posts stood black against the pale night sky. In the cage ahead I made out five bodies. Two sat huddled, moving occasionally, the other three lay motionless next to each other, in a row. A goatsucker s
ang loud from somewhere to our right, a strange trilling sound, like a giant grasshopper. Some called it the corpse bird.
I sighed and stared out upon the quiet scene afore me. We watched from beneath a tall hedge that marked the boundary with the field behind. It was my idea to wait here for Elks. I had no desire to spend another day in this infected hole and was determined to leave as soon as we were able, no matter Dowling’s objections. Elks was at home or at the barricades tonight, which meant that sometime around dawn he would likely arrive or leave. If we could establish the direction of his coming or going then it would greatly help our search. The darkness was a mercy, a comforting blanket beneath which to hide. Then Dowling began to snore.
Rather than disturb him I took off my jacket and laid it over his face. The chill helped me stay awake. I wearied of sneaking about this village. I wearied of the fear that suffocated my heart and froze my wits. I struggled to dismiss the presence of Death from my thoughts, but it was impossible.
I shivered. What I wouldn’t pay now to walk into the Mermaid and sit myself by the fireplace with a cup of wine and a plate of oysters. I thought again of Jane and her strange behaviour. I recalled the softness of her skin, wide green eyes and open face, glimpsed only for a moment in Cocksmouth. After we recovered from the discharging of our carnal lusts, she regarded me with renewed ferocity, angrier than before. It was like I was the thief and she the victim, which seemed to me like the spider blaming the fly for giving it a stomach ache. But since we returned to London she was different, like she entertained the notion of a different way of being.
I was too cold to sleep. I marvelled at Dowling, lain upon his back, my coat upon his face, gently rumbling. He was not a fat man. To touch his body was like prodding a rock. What kept him warm? His faith, would be his reply. Thick hide and a fat head would be my guess.
First light crept over the horizon just as I thought I would freeze. New birds sang lustily, to warm themselves up, obscuring the jarring song of the goatsucker. At their cue the first strands of red crept above the horizon, slowly infiltrating the skies above us.
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