The Silence of Stones

by Jeri Westerson

  If the abbot had not stood there, Crispin would have thrashed the man within an inch of his life. He knew something! It was evident in his eyes, the way he held himself. He knew something, dammit! And while he kept his council, safe and sound within the abbey precincts, Jack was suspended in Purgatory where he did not know whether a reprieve awaited or death. How could this be happening to him again?

  He clenched his fists and stopped his restless pacing. ‘Control,’ he hissed. ‘Must not lose control.’

  He breathed, staring upward toward the spire, the church rooftop. He had given the man one day and he would wait. And the monk would relent, for he had no other choice. Face the torturers or face Crispin. Which was the better part? The man would confess and give up the other.

  The idea of wine or ale seemed very good to him, and he threw himself forward to search out an ale stake.

  The people on the streets were dwindling as the day wore on. They were returning to their houses, seeing the workday come to its end.

  But there were not so many people on the streets that he did not notice the little man. To be fair, through his ranting, he hadn’t noticed him at first, but caught his movement through his peripheral vision; that stuttered, jerky movement, the hesitant steps that shadowed his own.

  He walked on, still looking for that ale stake, and when he found one, he turned quickly to duck inside the alehouse.

  The small twitchy man sat a few tables behind him.

  Once served, Crispin took only a cursory drink of the ale before he rose, making as if to leave. But he circled and found himself behind the little man, who was looking about, presumably trying to catch a glimpse of Crispin.

  Crispin leaned over him, placing both hands on the table on either side of him. Close to his ear he whispered, ‘Are you by any chance looking for me?’

  The man froze at first before he slithered about and tried to slip away. Crispin clamped a hand to his shoulder. ‘I think you are following me.’ He slid onto the bench beside him. But he canted forward and angled, not quite facing the table. ‘If you have something to say you had best say it.’

  The man wet his lips with his darting tongue. His dull gray eyes flicked once to Crispin’s before he lowered them again and kept them directed toward the table. ‘M-Master Guest … I meant no harm …’

  That northern accent again. ‘Good. Then you have a message.’

  ‘Aye. If it please you, you are to come with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To meet Master Deargh.’

  ‘You simply could have said so. Well, if you are to lead me then there is no time to waste.’ He stood and hovered over the man.

  The little fellow rose shakily to his feet. He looked up once at Crispin again before he ducked into his stooped shoulders and shuffled toward the door.

  The man said nothing more as he hurried in skipping strides through the muddied lanes deep into Westminster. There wasn’t much to the city. In fact, it could be more characterized as a village, with its sparse shops, houses, and wharfs. A suburb of London, it had yet to embrace the grandeur of that noble city. But Crispin had no doubt that someday it would. Its shops were serviceable, its houses for servants and shopkeepers, with a few noble houses for those that could not be retained within the palace walls, were sure to spread out like a tributary of the Thames.

  The little man stopped at an inn and did not hesitate to go inside. Crispin followed, alert and engaged with every shadow, every dark corner. He followed the man up the stairs, across a gallery, and up to a chamber door, where the man knocked. The door opened, and the man standing in the doorway glanced at Crispin with an almost bored air.

  Inside the room, Crispin noted that it was an antechamber, with another door toward the back. Men stood in one clutch at the other end of the room and, when they parted, revealed a table at which a man sat, playing at cards by himself. After a moment, he set the cards down and looked up. His dark brows lowered over brooding eyes and he took in Crispin with a calculated inspection. The man with the mustard-colored cotehardie who had tussled with John Rykener. There was still mud stains on his chest.

  ‘You are Master Deargh?’

  The man gestured to the empty seat in front of him. ‘Take a chair, Master Guest.’

  FIFTEEN

  Jack found his prison too confining. For one, he quickly realized that any sort of investigating would be severely hampered by the necessity of his staying indoors. And two, he needed to talk to the queen again.

  He could not pester Lady Katherine. Surely she had her own tasks to attend to. He knew he was also keeping her from traveling back to Essex to be with Henry’s wife and child, and he did not know how much longer he could depend on her beneficence and her presence. It was time to act on his own.

  Suddenly he heard the admonishing voice of his master in his head, just as clear as if he were standing in the room with him. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Jack!’ he heard him say. But with an apology on his lips and a prayer sent heavenward, he knew that he had no choice but to be as foolish as his master well knew he was.

  Where would the queen be at this hour? He hoped against hope that she might be in the garden. With a quick look around to make certain no servants saw him, he made for the door to the little outdoor space and ventured outside. No one was about on Henry’s side and he quickly went to the wall separating them. He climbed, using a twining vine here, a tree branch there. When he was at the top with a view of not only the churning Thames and all the business of boats and skiffs spearing their way over the squat whitecaps, he saw the queen’s garden laid out before him. Carefully trimmed trees were situated in squares surrounded by low hedges whose flowers had only just gone to seed. Little paths and even a fountain delighted the eye. It all must have been a sight in the spring when it was in full bloom.

  He knew he’d have to chance it. He swung his legs over the wall, measured how far it was, and leapt down.

  ‘I can hear you well, Master Crispin,’ he muttered when he landed. ‘There’s no need to shout.’

  He crouched down, measuring where he was and scanning to see if he could catch sight of anyone in the distance. It was a large garden, larger than Henry’s or even Lancaster’s, which was very large of itself. It was a luxury extended to the wealthy, to the royal. He recognized it as a fine thing, though all he could think about was the work it took to get it this way and maintain it. A score of gardeners probably made a fine living at it, and Jack wondered idly how much they earned at such a task.

  He would have a better chance of not getting caught if he found the door and stayed clear of it while still keeping it within view.

  Skirting the path for his own way through the foliage, he maneuvered himself behind a late-flowering plant and watched the portal, hoping it wouldn’t take long.

  ‘You there!’

  Jack froze. Maybe they didn’t mean him?

  ‘You! Boy, I see you.’

  God’s blood! He slowly rose, standing amid the bushes like a lonely sunflower.

  A maid frowned at him and stomped toward him. She wore the horned headdress that the queen had made popular, its veil fluttering behind her. ‘What are you doing here? You are not a gardener.’

  ‘Am I not?’ He tried to chuckle, but his throat was thick with fear. ‘Aye, well. No. I … I …’ He shrugged. ‘Demoiselle, I am a harmless lad. Truly. And you would scarce believe my course should I explain it to you. But might you tell your mistress that … that her “Goat” waits without?’

  Her eyes widened and a smile replaced her scowl. ‘You are Goat?’ Her manner changed. She slid toward him almost seductively, eyes full of brightness and warmth. ‘Master Goat, I must say, I approve.’

  He was not mistaken. She was all but leering at him. He tried a smile. ‘Now, now, demoiselle. You must, er, deport yourself. Wouldn’t do to, erm, delay my meeting with the … with your mistress.’

  Disappointment swept over her features, but she offered a dimpled smile in return. ‘Well, th
ere’s always later.’

  ‘There is indeed!’ he said with a wide grin, and brushed down his coat. In his head, he thanked Master Crispin profusely for procuring Jack his stylish new cotehardie of blue.

  With a kittenish smirk, she wheeled and passed through the little arched garden door and Jack waited, smoothing down his hair and wiping at his face to make sure no crumbs marred his cheeks.

  When the door opened again, the queen emerged. He bowed low and she reached forward to grab his hand. ‘Not here. Let us go farther in.’ She dragged him and finally pushed him to a bench, hidden by trees, bushes, and a trellis covered in yellowing leaves.

  She sat beside him and Jack held his breath. Jack Tucker, you are sitting next to the Queen of England. Did you ever!

  ‘Why have you come, my Goat? Have you found out anything?’

  ‘I am sorry to say, your grace, that I have scarce begun my investigation. I have more questions to ask of you. I was afraid that I … that I was overcome by your presence and that of Lady Katherine, and my tongue was tied.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sank but lifted her chin to face him. ‘What do you need to know?’

  Jack rubbed his palms over his thighs, trying to dry their dampness. ‘I need to know the names of those who were closest to you while you were in the abbey. Can you recall?’

  Her expression turned thoughtful. ‘There was my Lady of the Chamber, Margaret, John Lincoln of Grimsby, Sir Baldwin Raddington, Henry Derby, and assorted retainers and monks.’

  ‘Who was closest to you when the explosion happened?’

  ‘I don’t remember. There was such confusion.’

  ‘Try, your grace. It is a matter of some importance.’

  She screwed up her face, thinking. ‘When … when the explosion occurred, we all got to our feet. My lady’s maid was beside me, but she was soon crowded out by the monks and the king’s household guards.’

  ‘And … are you acquainted with these knights, your grace?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, was any of them a stranger to you?’

  ‘Oh, I see. No. Not that I could recall … Wait. There was one man. I did not recognize him.’

  Jack squirmed excitedly. ‘What did he look like? Did he speak?’

  ‘He was dark-haired, with a dark beard. I saw little of his face with his helm and aventail.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘I do not think so. Perhaps … yes, perhaps he said simply, “Your grace, come with me.” But then the king was beside me in the next instant.’

  ‘What did his voice sound like? Did … did he sound as if he was from London?’

  ‘No. Not as Londoner’s speak.’

  ‘Perhaps … a northerner?’

  She bit her lip, angling her head in thought. ‘I … yes. He could have been.’

  Another damned Scot! They were crawling all over England, apparently. ‘Was there anyone else beside you, your grace? Anyone besides this knight?’

  ‘John Lincoln, but he was quickly thrust to the opposite side of his majesty and I.’

  ‘And who is he, my lady, for I am not as familiar with the court as I might be.’

  ‘Why, he is the king’s secretary. And the Keeper of the Jewels.’

  ‘Keeper of the Jewels?’

  ‘Yes. There are many official pieces that the king must wear for certain ceremonies, as well as his personal accouterments.’

  Jack’s mind whirred. What if this man wished to help bring down the king? Could he be trusted? He had the keys to the wealth of the kingdom. Maybe he had a bone to pick with Richard. One never knew.

  But this other knight. This was suspicious. How could Jack ever find him? And in almost the same instant he wondered, a spark of an idea lit in his mind.

  ‘Your grace, we need to find this knight, this guard. I propose that you ask the captain of the king’s guard to assemble them in the courtyard for your inspection.’

  She looked at him aghast. ‘But I have never done such a thing.’

  ‘But … you are the queen. Can you not order it?’

  She smiled gently. ‘You have a very unique perspective of what I can accomplish as queen.’

  He reddened. ‘Forgive me, your grace, but I know so very little about you and what you may do. I assumed too much.’

  ‘Never fear, my Goat. All is not lost. Perhaps I may send my lady’s maid to inspect them. She can concoct a story to seem plausible.’

  ‘That would do very well, your grace. Does she … does she know …’

  ‘No. But she is discreet and will do what I ask without question.’

  ‘If this can be done soon and with all haste, I might be able to get somewhere. That is … I can pursue this line of attack and find your jewel all the quicker.’

  ‘You are a marvel, my Goat! Such ideas! I pray you can help me.’

  ‘But we must be swift about it, your grace. We cannot delay.’

  She jumped to her feet. Jack scrambled to do so as well. ‘Lady Margaret!’ she called.

  And the dark-haired beauty that had at first caught Jack appeared. She curtseyed to her queen and smiled at Jack. Jack could not resist grinning back.

  ‘Lady Margaret, Goat and I have an assignment for you.’

  ‘Your grace?’

  ‘It is a secret thing. You mustn’t tell anyone you are doing it and for whom. Do you understand?’

  Her bright face paled. ‘Yes, my lady. Of course.’

  ‘Very well. Then you are to go to the king’s guards. Look at each one of them and tell me if any of them are from the north.’

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jack, ‘and especially if they are knights you do not recognize. Perhaps newly come to court. And they would have been in Westminster Abbey when the explosion happened.’

  She looked equally perplexed at Jack but nodded. ‘Yes. I can do that.’

  ‘Then go now,’ said the queen. ‘With all haste and get back to me. Then you can get a message to my Goat. He is in the employ of our dear cousin Bolingbroke.’

  She nodded. Jack could see the new determination on her face. She spun and hurried away.

  ‘That is my signal to leave, my lady.’ He bowed low to her and headed back to the wall.

  She called after him, ‘God keep you, my Goat.’

  He walked backward, looking at the figure of the queen as she caught a falling leaf from the tree above her and studied it in her palm.

  He almost took the main path but remembered in time to travel through the bushes along the Thames-side wall. He broke through the hedges and turned a corner … and found several guards waiting for him.

  SIXTEEN

  Crispin sat facing the muddied man. ‘You simply could have said. Why did you evade me?’

  Deargh reached across the table to pour Crispin some wine into a ceramic goblet. Some sloshed onto the tablecloth, which absorbed the golden liquid.

  ‘I wanted the measure of you. A traitor.’ Crispin scowled. ‘A former traitor, then. A mystery, more legend than man. A disgraced knight. I wonder if anyone truly knows you.’

  Deargh sipped his wine and studied Crispin over the rim.

  Crispin leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘It’s interesting … how you happen to know me.’

  ‘Who has not heard of the Tracker?’

  ‘In London, yes. In parts of Westminster, even. But in Scotland?’

  Deargh chuckled. ‘Some news travels farther than others. A man who was once exiled for treason and who now catches criminals and finds lost relics? That is the stuff of legends, Master Guest.’

  Unconvinced, Crispin studied him. ‘Where is the Stone?’

  ‘You don’t waste words, do you?’

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  ‘Aye, your apprentice. Word travels quickly from court.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘I would tell you to keep out of it as no your business, but I have
the feeling that would be wasted breath.’

  Crispin leaned on the table. ‘It is my business. The king has made it so. And so have your compatriots.’

  ‘Commissioned by Richard personally.’

  ‘You seem to know a great deal of the doings of the English court. One wonders if you have spies there.’

  Deargh grabbed his goblet again but did not drink. Instead, he turned the stem in his hand and stared into the tawny liquid. ‘Every court has spies.’

  ‘No doubt. But let us get down to it. I’ve been tasked to find the Stone, and you have been tasked to take it. We are at the same task but at cross-purposes,’ sighed Crispin. ‘There must be some mutual agreement we can come to on the matter.’

  ‘I doubt that, Master Guest.’ Deargh drank.

  Crispin threw himself back into his chair. ‘Can you at least tell me when it was taken?’

  ‘I canna say.’

  ‘If you have heard anything about me of late it is that I don’t have time to waste.’

  ‘I know you are a fair man. And negotiating with you would be a reasonable enterprise.’

  Hope surged in his chest, but he was careful not to show it on his face. ‘So you mean to return the Stone for a ransom?’

  ‘Possibly. But it is worth more than money to my countrymen.’

  ‘Was this your plot, then, or devised by another? A lord, perhaps?’

  ‘I am a laird, Master Guest. In Scotland. You think of us as barbarians, but we have lands and manor houses and courtiers … and wealth. Just as the English do. And great honor to be appeased.’

  ‘Yes, and you win battles and lose them. Just as we do. So is the Stone for sale or isn’t it?’

  Deargh leaned back, matching Crispin’s posture. His eyes quickly flicked over his men standing in the perimeter of their table’s candle glow. ‘It is no for me to say. I am merely an errand boy. My superior would have the Stone and gave instructions as to when and how to obtain it.’

  Crispin waited. The man was hedging.

  Could it be? This couldn’t be happening. Heart sinking, Crispin loosened the arms over his chest. ‘You don’t have it either?’ he ventured.