The Inquisitor

by David Penny

  When the cold penetrated his body he rose, glancing around for a final time and seeing nothing that offered even the slightest hint of being evidence. It was the place itself that carried significance. Its selection deliberate, here in the heart of the Inquisition.

  Jorge had not waited at the castle gate but Thomas found him wandering along the straight road that led away from the river.

  “Why are you working with that man?”

  “He claims to have changed.” Thomas said.

  “And you believe him?” Jorge shook his head. “Can we go back to the city now? I have been searching for an inn but there is nothing I would want to go into this side of the river.” He nodded as the rumble of cart wheels came from the bridge. “And those carts keep coming. How many dead are there?”

  “Too many.” Thomas stepped into an alley as the cart approached, the stink like a punch to the chest. “But not as many as there will be before the end of the year.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “Because I believe I cannot catch it again, and that if we keep ourselves clean we have some protection. Besides, there is plague in Gharnatah, too. It is a year for plague throughout Spain.” He watched as the cart turned into a dirt track, then was hidden behind a stone wall. “Let us see if we can find you an establishment worthy of your sensibilities.”

  “Did Mandana show you anything useful?”

  “I am not sure.”

  Jorge laughed. “Well, there’s a first. Thomas Berrington is not sure.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The rooms allocated to him in the palace lay empty when Thomas returned. There was no sign of Lubna or Will. Someone had been to clean and there was fresh bedding even though the previous was barely slept in, but this was a different world he had been invited into and it would be best to accept the small luxuries of life within its walls. He went in search of information.

  Theresa was where he expected. He had worked out she lived and slept in a small room near the royal chambers, always on call, always available. She was reading when he arrived and looked up sharply, surprised until she saw who it was. She put down the papers she had been studying and stood, coming across to him.

  “How is she?” Thomas asked, having no need to explain who.

  “Improved yet again. All the better for having something to take her mind off herself.”

  “Matters of state?”

  “Matters of friendship.”

  “Fernando is back?”

  Theresa laughed, taking another step to close the distance between them. Thomas had become accustomed to her ways and could ignore the teasing, sure that was all it was. Or would be until he made some response, which he was determined would never happen.

  “Not the King. Your wife and son. Juan brought your son to meet his mother and she in turn sent for… Lubna, is it?”

  Thomas nodded. “Where are they?”

  “In the courtyard. It is cooler there, and she is weary of being locked indoors. I made sure she was strong enough, do not fear.”

  Thomas knew Theresa took her duty of care seriously, and her diligence pleased him. He glanced beyond her. “What were you reading?”

  She put a hand to her mouth, surprising him. “Do not reveal me, Thomas, please.” Two more steps, closing the space between them to a foot and her palm touched his chest. She had bathed, and the clean scent of her came to him.

  “Why would I do so? What is it?” He brushed past her and picked up the pages, unbound and written by a rough hand in Spanish. He read the words slowly, his lips moving at the unfamiliarity, and then smiled as he recognised them. “This is a translation of an Arabic text, one I know well.” He dropped the papers. “There is no sin in knowledge, Theresa, none at all.”

  “They are not of Spain,” she said, eyes downcast. “If some in the palace knew I was reading them I would be expelled. The Queen’s spiritual mentor would not allow it. And if Samuel were to discover them he would betray me.”

  “Why would he? He told me himself he studied in Malaka. The texts there would almost all be in Arabic.”

  “He does not like me. I think I make him afraid.”

  “Afraid? I can think of no-one less likely to do so than you.”

  She lifted her gaze, smiled. “Ah… but you and I almost have a past, do we not?”

  “Perhaps.” The memory of it still troubled him, a reminder of his weakness as a man. “Now how do I reach this courtyard?”

  “I will take you, but you must enter on your own.” Her smile broadened. “Then I will return to continue my illicit reading.”

  “Do you know how Lubna is? She complained of feeling unwell this morning.”

  “In what way?” Suddenly Theresa was all seriousness.

  “Nothing more than a bellyache, most likely something she ate. The food here is different to what she is used to.”

  “She seemed well enough when I saw her, but I was not close to them.” The smile returned. “Your son is handsome, like his father.”

  Thomas scowled and turned away before she could inflict more of her teasing.

  When he found them the Queen was almost dozing. Sitting beside her in an ornate chair Lubna seemed hardly less awake. Thomas hesitated a moment, watching both, loving both but in different ways. Isabel touched him as few others had, with her friendship and her discipline both, but Lubna touched him as only one other ever had, and that other was long lost. He saw their future together, stretching into the years ahead, more children running around, growing, having children of their own while Thomas’s hair greyed and his skin began to wrinkle but somehow, in these visions of his, Lubna remained unchanged, as beautiful as he saw her now, forever preserved.

  “Pa!” Will saw him and came running. He skipped onto the raised edge of a pool, his feet a blur. Thomas caught him as he launched himself and swung him around. Close behind came Juan and Thomas lifted him too, one in each arm, Juan too heavy if he was honest but the boy clung to him as if he was father to both.

  “I like Will,” said Juan, “but he talks so oddly.”

  “He is young,” Thomas said, “and has too many languages. He makes sense to me, but not to many others, not even those close to him. But you speak at least three tongues that I know of.”

  “Yes, but not all at the same time! Can he play with me again?”

  “Is he not too young for you, my prince?”

  “Do not call me that, Thomas. You know my name. Are we not friends?”

  “I like to believe so, and yes he can play, for as long as we are here, and I will fetch him when I visit your mother.”

  “He showed me how he is learning to fight,” said Juan. “Not with a sword, he says, but a shield and axe. I am good with a sword now. I have a man who trains me every day. Will can come too and we will see which is better, a sword or a shield and axe.”

  Knowing who had been teaching Will, Thomas knew the answer but chose not to share it with the youngster. “A wooden sword and axe, I hope. And you must remember he is half your age.”

  “But tall and strong. He will be fearless when he is grown. I do so hope this war is over by then. I do not want to fight your son in battle, Thomas.”

  “I would not wish that either, Juan.” He kissed the boy on the cheek and put him down, his arm beginning to ache. When he straightened it was to find Isabel staring at him, an indulgent smile on her face.

  “He has not forgotten you,” she said when Thomas approached. “He does not talk of you when you are gone, but look at him now, you are a hero to my son. A renegade English hero to a prince of Spain. What are we to do about such a thing? Shall I take your head to teach him a lesson?”

  “It would be hard lesson on him, your grace, and an even harder one on me.”

  “If you continue to forget my name I will be most tempted.”

  Thomas looked around, saw a chair set against the wall and fetched it. “How are you?” He reached to touch her neck, her forehead, satisfied with what he found. When he glance
d up he saw Lubna watching without expression.

  “Your medicines are a wonder of the world.”

  “They are not all mine. A woman in the city helped.”

  “Then she must be employed here.”

  “I will ask, but expect she will refuse.”

  “Is she another Moor?”

  “She is…” Thomas paused, thinking. “She is not a Moor, nor a Jew, but she is closer to Jew than Moor.”

  “We have many Jews employed here, the palace could not operate without their skills.”

  “I will ask, as I say.” But Thomas knew Belia would not work in the palace. There was something otherworldly about her, something alien to anything he had ever encountered before. It was no doubt what drew Jorge to her. “I see you have met Lubna.” He smiled. “My almost wife.”

  Isabel tried to look stern but the effect was marred by the turning up of one side of her mouth. “And she has been telling me what a terrible man you are.”

  “Of course she has.”

  “How could you abandon her at the altar?”

  “In Gharnatah we do not marry at an altar.”

  Isabel reached out and slapped him lightly across the cheek. “You know what I mean. You abandoned her on your wedding day.”

  “For good cause,” Thomas said. “You called me and I came.”

  “I could have waited another day.”

  “I did not know that, and Martin offered me little choice in the matter. We will marry another day, but if something had happened to you or your child I would never have forgiven myself.”

  Isabel gave a snort of derision. “And Lubna will never forgive you.” She sat back as if suddenly tired.

  Thomas glanced at Lubna, who continued to watch them with a blank expression. It was not like her. She could be short with him, angry at times, but always there was emotion in her eyes. Isabel, who knew her less well, had not seen it.

  “I have made it my business to correct the situation.” She held up a palm as Thomas began to protest. “No, there is no need to thank me. You will marry here, in the Cathedral.”

  “Lubna is not–”

  “It is all taken care of. There is a side chapel that remains as it was before the rebuilding, part of the original mosque. The service will be there. We have spoken of it and Lubna has agreed. She says you will have two weddings, one here and one when you return home. If you return home.” Isabel leaned close and lowered her voice. “I will not have your child born illegitimate.”

  Thomas pushed hair back from his face, knowing he had no say in the matter, no say at all. When he glanced at Lubna the faintest of smiles showed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jorge and Belia had managed to obtain a bed from somewhere and insisted on showing it to Thomas before they would allow him to leave. It was a dark, ugly piece of furniture, too small for comfort. When Jorge lay on it his feet stuck over the end and they had placed a wooden box there to support them, but he did not appear to mind.

  “Was this the best you could find?” Thomas said.

  “I told you, furniture is in short supply. But your idea was sound. This is the bed of a ship’s captain.” Belia glanced at Jorge’s oversized frame. “Hence the size. But it is untainted and will do until we get something better made.”

  Thomas did not want to point out they were unlikely to remain long enough for a bed to be commissioned, but he did mention it to Jorge as they made their way through streets starting to cool as the sun set. There were less people about, many staying indoors to avoid the plague, but Thomas knew they would emerge in their thousand to witness the next burning.

  “Belia knows I will leave,” said Jorge. “We have discussed it, and she is content for us to have what we do for as long as we can. I told her she can return with me but she says her place is here.” He shook his head. “I have no idea why. This city stinks and is tainted by death.”

  “All Spanish cities stink,” Thomas said. “I forget that when I am in Gharnatah so it always comes as a surprise.”

  “What do you want with Mandana again so soon?” asked Jorge. They were approaching the square where al-Haquim’s house sat. Thomas had explained their destination, but not the reason.

  “I have questions, and I want to probe harder to see if he has truly changed.”

  “You will want me to do what I usually do, observe?”

  Thomas nodded. “It is what you are good at.”

  “Of course. That and other things, but the others are of no interest to you, I know. Why do we come to this house? Has Mandana no place of his own?”

  “I asked, and was told he has rooms in Castello de Triana, but how often he uses them is open to question. This is not his city. At least it wasn’t, but that may have changed.” Thomas slowed as they approached a new guard at the open doorway. Light remained in the sky but already lamps had been lit in expectation of the coming night. “Let me do the talking.”

  “As if I could stop you.”

  The guard had been told they were expected because he nodded them admittance without comment. Thomas led the way through to the inner courtyard, half expecting to find it empty, or for al-Haquim to be alone and unwelcoming, but three men sat at a table laid with food: lamb, chicken, pork, sauces and rice and lentils. The smell of the food scented the air and made Thomas’s stomach grumble.

  Mandana kicked at a spare chair with his foot. There was only the one, so Jorge moved to a sit on the low wall edging a pool of water. Thomas knew he would watch from there, silent, missing nothing. He took the offered chair, also a cup of wine when passed to him by Samuel, who he had not expected to see, particularly in light of what Mandana had said to his son.

  “Eat if you wish,” said Mandana, but despite his hunger Thomas did not reach out.

  “You have sent no word about those I can question, so I have come to question you.” He glanced toward Samuel, who sat without expression. “That includes you, too.”

  “Then ask them while we eat.”

  “You said the deaths have been going on for a while. A year, did you say?”

  “Near enough. And–” Mandana cut himself off, about to say more but thinking better of it.

  Thomas waited, glancing between Mandana and Samuel. He ignored al-Haquim as nothing more than a convenience to the others, a place of safety.

  “You may as well tell him everything,” said Samuel. “There is no point asking for his help then withholding information.” Samuel turned from Mandana to Thomas. “Yes, the first killing we know of was near a year since, but what we do not know is how many may have come before.”

  “Why would you say that?” Thomas asked.

  A glance at Mandana, but the man was content to allow Samuel to take over the tale, such as it was. “I was asked to look at the bodies.”

  “Were they cut like the ones I saw?”

  Samuel nodded. “With skill. Great skill, I would judge. The kind of skill that only comes with practice.”

  “So are we looking for a physician, like you and I?”

  “Or someone who has killed elsewhere, who has honed his evil craft.”

  Thomas studied Samuel but saw no deceit, but he knew Jorge would also be watching and report to him later if anything was amiss.

  “How many?”

  Samuel shook his head. “It is impossible to tell. So many dead in the city this last year how could anyone know?”

  “You said the method changed. The bodies used to be hidden but recently they are displayed. So when did that happen, and how many since?”

  “Two months, perhaps a little longer. And ten bodies.”

  “Ten! A death every five or six days? Why is Sevilla not in uproar this man be caught?”

  “You have seen how it is,” said Samuel. “The pestilence, the Inquisition. But there is fear. You have heard what they call him, and a name only comes when the mob fears something, but the killings are simply more death among death. And not every five or six days. The bodies always come in pairs. As far as we
can tell they have always come in pairs. At first a month, two months might pass. More recently the interval has grown shorter. This last pair come within days.”

  “Why a pair?” Thomas said.

  “When you catch the killer you can ask him, for I do not know the answer.”

  “You said a medical man, like you and me. How many physicians reside in Sevilla with that level of skill? It is something you would know, I am sure.”

  “And physicians who came here around a year ago,” said Samuel, smiling when Thomas nodded. “There are more than before, come to treat the pestilence, for the little good they do, that any of us can do, but they ease the pain of some and offer a form of comfort to others. There must be half a thousand who call themselves physician within the city walls, but I can think of only a score who might be capable of what you have seen.”

  “And those who have been killed – you said they died in pairs. Side by side, or separately?”

  “It cannot be determined.” Mandana took up the conversation, as if now medical matters were decided he could make a contribution. “But I suspect so.”

  “And names? You know the names of the victims and their backgrounds?”

  “Some. Not the early ones, for many came from among those who sleep outside the city walls, who reside outside of society. But more recently, yes. Which is why my interest, Berrington.” Mandana leaned forward, a single arm across his knee. “More than a few were men of God. Priests, workers on the Cathedral, monks. Not all, but more than makes sense if they were picked at random. And Abraham’s interest is because many of his people have also been chosen.”

  “Let’s start with the two most recent victims,” Thomas said. “Do you know who they are?”

  “Both of them,” said Mandana. “One worked as an administrator for the Cathedral. The other was a tailor, a Jew known to both Abraham and Samuel.”

  “They have family?”

  Mandana looked toward Samuel. “The administrator, none. The other man?”