by Hall, Ian
“Yes, sir.”
He sped off again, and I walked to the front of the building, took a quick look around, and unbuckled my sword. I needed quiet for climbing, not a clattering behind me. Then I climbed easily to the next floor. Warm night, and the window lay open, just a smidge, just enough to hear conversation inside.
“… must write cypher quickly.”
The words were thick with a rough Spanish accent.
“Charles would know how wet she is for him.” They laughed.
“Prepare the cypher.”
“Yes, Monsieur Renard.” A French voice, much more fluid.
I clung to the wooden frame of the window, and settled myself down to wait. Then suddenly the curtain opened before me, and I tumbled backwards, afraid to be seen. The fall of maybe twenty feet could have been deadly, but I landed fully on my back, and let out a muffled, winded cry. Above me, hands pulled the large window closed.
I sighed in relief, just as Steve came running back.
“Here!” I gave a whispered call.
“What happened?”
He pulled me stiffly to my feet. “I fell. What did you find out?”
“Pretty chit, serving maid or something, she’s working in the kitchen right now.”
“Show me.”
The back of the house had been added to many times, and sprawling outbuildings gave us cover almost to the kitchen door. Inside, working under candlelight, a girl worked on pastry or bread, kneading it heavily.
“Nice looking,” I said quietly. “If a little big for my taste.”
The door lay open, and seeing no one else, I moved to the doorway. “Excuse me?”
She jumped in fright, and I hope I smiled my best.
“Sorry, love. Is this the Farmers’ house?”
She dusted her hands on her apron. “Farmers?”
“John Farmer and his wife. Have I got the wrong house?”
“I’m afraid so, sire, there ain’t no Farmer here. This is the Ambassador’s residence.” As she approached, I backed off, until her foot crossed the threshold. I caught her by the arm, put a hand over her mouth, and pulled her away from the house. Once behind a wall, I pulled her close to me. I could sense Steve close by.
“Listen, dear, we’re not going to hurt you.” She looked from me to Steve. “You’re going to answer some questions, and answer truthfully, okay?”
She nodded under my hands.
“No calling out for help, okay? You’re fine with us.”
She nodded again.
“How many people are in the house?” I let go of her mouth.
“More than twenty.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it. “Why so many?”
“Well, there’s the five Ambassadors, their secretaries, their maids, and the household staff, like me, the butler, and three cooks. I can’t think of any more.”
“And where are they all?”
“Staff’s all abed, except me, I’ve got to make the morning croissants.”
“Secretaries?”
“Probably with the Ambassadors.”
“Invite us inside.”
“What?”
“Invite us inside the house.”
She looked at me strangely. “Why don’t you two come in?”
That proved all I needed. “Keep her here. Ask her more questions.” And I walked inside.
I quickly became accustomed to the dim lighting from the candles on the walls, and walked the corridors. The ground floor seemed to be deserted, but the next floor, the one with the Ambassadors, proved a playground. Behind half-open doors, I caught conversation, dictation in Spanish, and the fevered sounds of at least one sexual dalliance.
Now familiar with the layout, I retraced my steps to the kitchen to hear the sound of another rutting couple.
Steve had the serving wench against the wall, her legs held in his hands, and pumping himself home with every stroke. I watched from the doorway as they completed their tryst in the dark shadows.
As he came, she squealed, and he pounced on her neck. Good boy.
“Forget this happened,” he whispered as he lowered her sleepy form to the ground. He looked around to find me watching, then shrugged his shoulders and gave me a cheesy grin. “Just couldn’t help myself.”
Chapter 8
August 7th, 1553
The Spanish Inquisition
We got a couple of rooms in a nice inn on Elmhurst Street called the King’s Head. I mean, we didn’t actually need the sleep, but we did have to have somewhere to plan, somewhere we could call our base, somewhere to keep stuff.
I mean, I’d bought a couple of nice longbows, and a plethora of arrows, and we couldn’t just store them in an alleyway, could we?
The next night, Steve returned from his scouring amidst the Spaniards.
“Jean Scheyfre seems to be the second in command in Haxtun House.” Steve read from his notes. “Ambassador for three years, he’s been one of the Queen’s regular visitors for some time. He’s been sniffing around Elizabeth, too.”
“So he’s in the mix,” I said, making my own mental notes.
“Giacomo Soranzo’s from Venice, Jean de Montmorency has a Spanish title that means not a lot; Sieur de Courriéres. Jacques de Marnix, the Sieur de Thoulouse makes up the rest of the rotten barrel.”
“But Renard is the top guy?”
“He’s acting like it. No one says a word against him in the house. And he’s French, not Spanish; the whole arrangement is quite weird.”
I looked at the paper in front of me. A copy of the message before they’d put it into cypher.
“Mother is a good listener, but very easily influenced, she will be like the potter’s clay. She is inexpert in worldly affairs and a political novice all round. Her choices in the PC will be easily moulded.”
“And this came from the house?” I asked.
“It’s the kind of information you get when you’re fucking the maid. She’s pretty friendly with one of the secretaries, called Etienne Quiclet; also a Frenchman.”
I grinned at the depth of his information. “When does the real message get sent?”
“Not quite certain on that one. They don’t seem to have a regular system going.”
“They’ve been out of commission with Edward; too many handlers, maybe?”
“Difficult to say.”
“But it gives me something to report to Fakenham.”
After finding my spy-master’s new rooms in the Tower, it only took five minutes of waiting before I got shown into a small room, deep in the damp dungeons.
Fakenham took the news under a heavy frown. “We need more.” He rose from his seat, and approached. “Much more. I’m not saying you haven’t done well, but now we know that there’s a possible power shift, and Renard may be the main push against Her Majesty, we need more.”
So I left, hardly the better for my meeting, and with only the feeling of a couple of days wasted. It felt so frustrating; I had to get to Fallon, but I also had to consolidate my position before I acted.
Steve seemed pleased with the verdict, but probably only because the randy sod would get another chance to get his dick wet. “I can go tonight.” He grinned.
“I’ll bet you can.”
In the end, I accompanied him to Haxtun House, and made my way to the third floor, which lay mostly deserted. Using only the meager light that came in the curtainless windows, I found little of any use, but I did lie for a while, my ear on the floor, listening to the goings on below. I heard Renard’s distinctive voice dictate a letter to his wife, who seemed to be living across the channel in Brussels. There seemed little doubt in his tone or choice of words he missed her.
“Quiclet? Is the missive finished?” I heard him say after footsteps came into the room.
“Yes, sire. It is ready to be sent.”
“Fetch de Montmorency.”
A few minutes later, it seems de Montmorency arrived. “The cipher is ready.”
“I will leave i
mmediately.”
My heart coursed, ready for flight, yet wanting to hear more.
“Will Brummold be in place?”
“He is always in place, sire. That’s what he’s paid for.”
I could stay no longer. I sped to the top of the stairs, and crouched in the shadows, waiting on de Montmorency. A moment later, he flowed twenty feet past me, black cloak wafting theatrically behind him, making for the front door.
In two seconds, I’d run out the back, and around the house. De Montmorency proved easy to follow. After a few cursory glances over his shoulder, he soon gave up any thought of being followed. I ran in zig-zag flashes, cutting across the road time after time, landing in dark doorways. I doubt if he’d have seen me even if he’d stood and watched out for me.
He walked north for about a half mile, where the buildings began to space out more, then up the walkway to the front door of a small cottage, where he gave four sharp distinct knocks.
I hid behind a tree, just ten feet from the door.
It opened. I could not see into the shadows beyond. “This goes tonight.”
And as de Montmorency turned and walked back towards me, the door closed.
“Follow the money,” I whispered to myself as the Spaniard walked away into the darkness. But in that, I had a problem. On further scouting, the house had a back door. Which would he, presumably Brummold, use?
Then I heard the whinny of a horse. “Round the back,” I said, grinning.
I’d mistook the small stable for an outhouse, but on further inspection, in the dimmest candlelight, two dark figures were quickly saddling and bridling a black horse. But they were hardly going about it in silence. I couldn’t get close enough to hear everything, but they argued about who would go, which saddle to use, how tight to fasten, I mean man, these acted like bitches to each other.
Again, I just crouched in the shadows, and waited on the pathetically slow humans to go through their rituals.
There, at last they pronounced the horse ready, and the smaller man got aboard. “Typical spy,” I whispered to myself, then remembered Sam Axe’s line from ‘Burn Notice’. “Bunch of bitchy little girls.”
I almost laughed out loud.
I readied myself for a race, but I needn’t have bothered. He hardly broke the steed out of a walk. It wasn’t until he’d cleared London that he increased speed, then he kicked the horse into a good gallop, and set off heading east.
But he’d hardly gone a couple of miles when he turned into a post house kind of building. Men were outside almost immediately, grabbing the reins and horse. “Message for Charles,” he said brazenly. The man took the message and galloped off back to London.
It all seemed far too bizarre. But I had to get inside before the two disappeared.
“Gentlemen?” I called over the small courtyard.
Their swords were drawn before I could blink.
I waved my hands in front of me, then fished a couple of gold coins from my pocket. Even in the dim light of an early dawn, they glimmered as I tossed them to the men. “I am a friend.”
“Yeah, they all say that,” the taller one said, looking at the coin carefully. I had no need to tread carefully with these strangers. I took the slightest diversion, raced forward, slashed his sword wrist, and back to position. The man cursed in pain, dropping his sword to the ground.
And as the other looked at his friend’s predicament, I did the same to him.
In seconds, both swords were on the courtyard floor, and both men clutched bleeding and painful wrists. I closed the distance. “I am a man to be feared, gentlemen. But I can be a friend.” I looked from one to the other, but saw no further sight of resistance. “Why don’t you invite me inside, where we can talk?”
It seems the wayside post house had a staff. A very ugly servant girl placed warm mead on a table in the dining room. The smells of cooking wafted from a distant kitchen. It didn’t entice me to eat there.
“Sit.” I indicated the table.
I placed another gold coin in the center of the table, snapping it down loudly. “I pay for information,” I said, looking from one to the other. “Or we can do it the hard way.”
Suddenly I heard a click behind me. I didn’t hesitate. I’d leapt from my chair before the man had put a finger on the trigger of his oversized musket. I grabbed the weapon from his busy hands and smashed it into his face, making such an impression, such a terrible smashing of bone, I knew he’d not be rising for some time. I’d almost killed him.
I turned to see the two men in the motion of rising. “No sense in letting your friend spoil our friendship, is there?” I tossed the gun across the room into a dark corner, where it fell with a loud clatter.
Okay, another thing to look out for; Tudor England now had primitive guns.
The men sat down.
“The letter. Let me have it.”
The taller one sighed, but pulled the missive from inside his jacket.
It simply said ‘Charles’ on the front, and on inspection, it hadn’t even been sealed. “How often do these get delivered?”
“Once a month, perhaps,” the smaller one said.
“Do you get letters for other people?” The two of them looked suddenly very guilty. I leant forward. “Listen up. You’ve got two choices; either work with me for a few months, and get pretty rich, or I’ll run you both through right now, and I’ll replace you with a new crew.”
They exchanged glances, then the taller one spoke. “How rich?”
I opened the letter, and felt instantly disappointed. Numbers. Hundreds of them, in groups of four. I obtained paper and a pen.
Well, they called it a pen.
A stick with a small split at the end, and an ink pot.
Damn it if I didn’t make a total hash of it.
By mid-morning, I’d got the numbers accurately down, and sufficiently dried the parchment, boy I would have paid good money for a ballpoint pen.
Once I got back to Steve at the King’s Head, we compared our findings, and I think together we struck gold.
“You’ve got the numbers,” he said, comparing our pieces of paper. “And I’ve got the original message and the middle letters.”
“So they go from a simple message, to twice the letters, then to numbers. Quite complex.”
“So now we can read anything they write.”
“Probably,” I said, taking a good look at the letters in front of me. Shaking my head, it seems Steve had a better grip of this than I did. “I just don't like them taking control of the Queen. It makes us a tad vulnerable.”
“But these guys have been doing this for years.”
“Yes, they have.”
Considering the importance of the information I now held, I made my way to the tower, and asked to be admitted to Fakenham quarters.
“I take it this is important?” He looked up from the papers on his desk.
“Oh, you’ll like this, boss.” I handed him the whole pack of papers, and stood back, very smug.
In the papers were Steve’s notes explaining the cypher process. Although sleepy, I could see he looked interested.
“My man has a good handle on the system,” I said as Fakenham read carefully. “The letters get broken up into a pattern, but even an ‘a’ is never the same twice.”
Fakenham nodded his head slowly. “I’ve seen this kind of stuff before, but never quite as complex as this. I don’t even know if I can take this to the Queen. It would undermine her.”
“Perhaps we can use this discovery to drive them out,” I offered. “If we can’t go to the Queen, then we find some way to disgrace the spies, and they be recalled.”
Fakenham rubbed his chin and looked up, although his demeanor looked tired, his eyes were sharp. “They’ll only be replaced with others. But perhaps by giving them false information, we can bring attention to the mismanagement of the system. If we can get Renard recalled, it would really undermine their effectiveness.”
“I like it, boss.�
�
“So what false information can we give them?” Fakenham roughly scratched his beard. Flecks of dandruff fell onto the chest of his doublet.
“How about Lady Jane Grey? We could use that situation,” I suggested.
“Or the Princess Elizabeth? They seem to want to steer clear of her.”
“Yes.” He grinned widely. “Let’s start a rumor about Elizabeth.”
I returned to the King’s Head and settle down for a rest. Although I didn’t need to sleep, it came anyway, and I dreamt of Queens, Princesses, and ladies of the night.
Chapter 9
August 8th, 1553
To Exeter
We kept watch over the Spaniards, and with some withheld laughter, we watched them panic over our contrived crisis.
Protestant Princess Elizabeth would be reinstalled in the succession.
Of course the story was complete bullshit, with the virulently Catholic Mary in power, I could no longer see a Protestant Elizabeth in the order of succession than I could fly, and the story got little further than the court, but in the end it proved enough.
It sent the Spaniards into a tizzy. Boy did they do that cipher quickly. I sat in the back house of the way station, and waited for the letter to be put into my hands. Again it had not sealed. Such amateurs.
A new King or Queen had a tradition to hold court at the Tower of London until their coronation, and only then would they take residence at Westminster or any of her other palaces in town. So in the coming days, as Lady Jane Grey’s belongings got removed from the Tower’s residential rooms, Princess/Queen Mary’s retinue settled in.
I got called to the Queen the next morning. Just me, no others in the room.
“What do you think of Renard?” she asked. The directness of the question shocked me.
“He’s the Spanish ambassador.” I chose my words very carefully. “He will never have the interests of England at heart, so therefore I will never fully trust him.”
“He has confided in me.” She wrung her hands together nervously. “And if the information he has given me is correct, then I daresay we can trust him with my life.”
“Information, Your Majesty?”
She hesitated slightly. “Renard has given me the location of Lady Jane Grey.”