Death Comes Hot

by Michael Jecks

  Since Westmecott was alive, it must be another man on the floor. And I thought it logical that he was looking for something Westmecott might have kept hidden there.

  There was a flash of a slim figure. Suddenly, my attention was focused. I slipped through the crowds like a knife through a sack of flour, head held low, until I was at her side.

  ‘Hello, Peggy,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. She didn’t seem terribly glad to see me.

  She stood and eyed me warily, rather like a woman accused of filching a spare apple from a greengrocer. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘An apology would be pleasing,’ I said hotly. ‘You could have had me slaughtered there. I was trussed like a chicken ready for the pot! All I was doing was—’

  ‘We know what you were trying to do. Well, you won’t get him, nor her neither, so you can go back to your master and tell him that!’

  I was at a loss. It is true that I have the acuity of a man many years older than me, but this was a surprise, I do not mind admitting. After all, my master had only just told me that he wanted this boy dead, and Peggy seemed to think that it had been a long-standing arrangement. But then, perhaps, she was talking about Westmecott wanting the boy and his mother? ‘You mean the executioner?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s likely, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘As if you didn’t know!’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like Westmecott and were trying to keep Molly from him?’

  She sneered a bit at that. ‘So you thought you could help us by having him killed? You’ll have to try harder than that!’

  ‘In truth, Peggy, I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘In truth! For sooth! You think I’m just a pair of legs and a bust with no brain, don’t you?’ she said, but this wasn’t so much a sneer as a snarl.

  ‘I really do not know …’

  ‘She’ll protect him to the end of her life,’ Peggy said, moving to me quickly and glaring up into my face. ‘You think whores only think about one thing, but we care, too! You tried to get him from her, but she’ll see you in the gutter before she gives the poor mite away.’

  ‘I have no desire to hurt the boy,’ I protested with honesty. Which was a surprise to me as well. Generally, I’m not overly bothered by life affecting other people, and this was a boy who had not created a very good impression, squealing when he opened the door and almost making me fall over as he fled the scene. And yet here I was, already commissioned to execute the lad.

  ‘So you say! What will they pay you to get him, eh? A hundred marks? He must be worth at least that.’

  ‘Who? Who would pay for him?’

  ‘So, you want to trap me like that, do you? You think me such a fool that I’d fall for that?’ She spat, rather accurately, on to my boot. ‘Get away! Go and fondle a man’s arse! You’ll get nothing from me!’

  And then, to my horror, she gave a piercing scream and slapped my face. A number of fellows turned in time to see me lift a hand to a cheek that smarted, and she suddenly screeched, ‘He accused me of being a harlot! He wanted to drop his cods in the alley and have me play with his pizzle!’

  One man, to whom I felt an instant dislike, hawked and spat. ‘You think to come here and insult clean women, you poxed Spaniard?’

  Another fellow, whose face I rather liked, and who seemed eminently the more sensible of the two, gave a loud guffaw. ‘Don’t you recognize her? That’s Peggy, known as Peg the penny, since she’s so cheap. Come on, Peg, I’ll pay you for a knee-trembler in the alley!’

  I was suddenly alone. The men had ignored me and were all making their own offers to Peggy, who stood torn and irresolute: after all, she had expected the men to tear me limb from limb for my alleged insults to a well-to-do woman, but since her little attempt had failed, she was left looking from one man to another with an eye to profit. It was a hard moment for her, I have no doubt, but the idea of profit was far too tempting for the mercenary wench, and she gave a rueful grin before beckoning her following into the alley. Soon all that could be heard was the grunts and pleased groans, one by one, of her companions.

  It was enough for me. I took my leave.

  My route homewards took me up past St Paul’s; while there, I could hear shouting from Smithfield. On a whim, I followed the sound.

  At the field there had been a wide enclosure set out, ringed with a fence. Men with pikes wandered or stood with their weapons in their hands, watching the onlookers, and with good reason. Even at this distance, I could see angry fists raised, women sobbing into their skirts, men standing with firm, fixed gazes, staring at the two men in the ring.

  They were priests. Both had been bound to a post, and now one stood with his hands clasped before his chest, praying, while the other bellowed his innocence to the heavens. About them both faggots were piled high. I think I mentioned that I had once heard it took two cartloads of faggots to utterly destroy a man in a fire, and now I could see the truth of it. These two were at the centre of the bonfire, and as I watched, a man appeared. From his build, I guessed it must be Westmecott, who held a barrel of liquid, which he splashed liberally over the gathered wood. He tossed the barrel aside, and then bent to a little horn lantern. Removing the candle from within, he crouched at the nearer pyre. While priests intoned from a good vantage point, Westmecott set light to the oil he had sprinkled, and flames began to rise. The priest at his post opened his eyes and gazed down in horror.

  I could imagine his feelings. The idea that this foul creature was setting fire to the wood was appalling. No man could help his bowels emptying at that thought. Westmecott walked about the fire and touched his candle to the oil at six places, and as I watched, coils of smoke began to rise lazily in the grey light. One of the men – I couldn’t see who – was babbling as though he was driven mad by the sight. Meanwhile, I noticed that Westmecott had set small charges in leather pouches at their breasts. With luck, the two would die long before the torment had grown too foul.

  The two men warranted pity, and didn’t deserve to have their end witnessed by hundreds of men and women seeking an easy and inexpensive entertainment.

  I left them and turned back towards my home. As I went, there was a sudden roar from the crowds. I imagined that a purse of powder had exploded in the heat. It struck me as odd that people could cheer the death of a poor priest who could not have done any of them any harm. That was a sad reflection.

  But I had things to be doing. Much though I disliked the idea, I knew I must tell my friend, Humfrie, that he had work to do. It was regrettable, but necessary.

  ‘A boy?’ Humfrie said, and shook his head.

  We were sitting at a table in a tavern atop Ludgate Hill in full view of St Paul’s. Humfrie was a fellow of about two inches taller than me, with the rangy, sinewy build of a man who had worked all his life. His head was set low on his shoulders, and he had a barrel chest, and for all that he was responsible for more deaths than I could count, yet he was fond of me. I had spent some months with his daughter, and he appreciated the fact that I had always tried to behave as a gentleman should towards her. It had little to do with my respect for the harpy, and a lot more to do with the fact that her father terrified me. But there was a mutual respect between us, I like to think. That and the knowledge that both of us knew enough to see the other tortured and executed in short order.

  ‘Yes, a youngster. Only eight or nine years old,’ I said. I recalled the face in that chamber in Seymour’s house. He had looked so scared when I had arrived with Anthony, and now I was supposed to cure him of fear forever. I felt a little rebellious stirring in my belly at the thought, but not enough to make me offer open mutiny to John Blount.

  Humfrie’s face was grave. He had deep tracks scored into his cheeks and brow, and they seemed to deepen as he absorbed this. ‘I don’t like killing young ’uns. Don’t seem right when they haven’t had a chance to earn themselves the punishment.’

  ‘Perhaps thi
s fellow has,’ I said hopefully. ‘Look, I don’t enjoy this any more than you do, but we’ve been commissioned. The order says that if the mother gets in the way, there’ll be a bonus for removing her, too.’

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘Wife, of a sort, to the executioner, Hal Westmecott.’

  ‘He got married?’

  ‘Yes, I was surprised, too. Although not fully legally in a church. Perhaps before he started taking people’s heads from their shoulders,’ I guessed.

  ‘I hadn’t heard that. A woman living with a man like him. Any case, this boy: it don’t seem right,’ he rumbled, and sipped his ale, shaking his head.

  ‘No. And all because of something his mother has done, I daresay,’ I said, and told Humfrie about my encounters of the last days.

  ‘Two Seymours, eh? Anthony and Edward, you say? That could be interesting.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Their uncle, the Admiral of the Fleet, married Queen Catherine after King Henry died, and she and he were set to looking after Elizabeth during the Protectorate. That was another of their uncles who was Lord Protector. So the Seymours had good relations with Lady Elizabeth. They were looking after her.’

  ‘Right.’ I wasn’t following any of this.

  ‘So if the boy is being sought, it’s possible that he could be a danger to someone in power. Or someone who doesn’t want to be thrust into the light.’

  ‘Someone to do with the Queen, you think?’

  He took a long pull at his ale. ‘Depends what the boy is supposed to have done,’ he said judicially. ‘If he knows something about the Queen or her husband, he could be the target of their anger, but how likely is that? Especially since our master works for her half-sister. That must mean that the boy is sought by her or her people. Which means he could do her harm. Perhaps he knows something about her, and the Queen’s men want to hear it?’

  ‘You mean the Lady Elizabeth might be involved in some plots again? Surely she could not be so foolish?’

  Humfrie looked at me with the sort of look a dog might give his master when a careless effort had thrown a prized toy into a thorn bush. ‘She’s royalty, Jack. It’s all she knows.’

  I left him, still mulling over the idea that the boy could be the target of ill-will from Lady Elizabeth. When I had met her, she had been an anxious but stern young woman. I could not imagine why she might want to command the death of a young boy. She had not seemed particularly vindictive.

  My feet took me home by the shortest route, and it was a weary and chastened Jack who reached my door and knocked twice.

  For once there was no barking and befuddlement from Hector. I wondered whether the brute had been sent away, or perhaps had been run over by one of the regular carts which plied their trade up and down this road. But no, my luck was not running quite that high.

  For, when I entered my parlour, the dog was lying on his back before the fire, all his legs in the air. And tickling his stomach was young Ben. I knew it was Ben. I recognized the triangular face, the dark features. More to the point, I recognized Peggy, who was sitting on my best chair and watching the boy with a small, sad smile.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded, not, I think, unreasonably, bearing in mind the injuries that woman had put me to, or tried to.

  ‘We thought it would be good to see you,’ Peggy said. She stood, smoothing down her skirts, and I was forced to eye her approvingly. When the wench was not accusing me of unforgivable offences, suggesting that I existed solely to murder this boy or his mother, or leading me to a trap where I could be held, she was capable of looking quite becoming. I had a sudden vision of my head resting on her soft thighs, just as it had with Moll, and the thought made me grin.

  She caught sight of my look. ‘You can stop leering,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m only here to ask you to help protect Ben. We can pay you, and when all is done, we’ll take him back.’

  ‘Oh, no! No, no, that is not possible,’ I said quickly. There was no possibility that I could look after the boy, not now that my master had ordered the fellow’s death. A man had to be realistic and understand that there were limits to anyone’s abilities to evade disaster. Being found to be harbouring the boy whom I was supposed to be murdering, I reckoned, was disaster enough. I wanted nothing to do with him.

  Peggy looked at me, and there was a calculation in her eyes. ‘We could make it worth your while.’

  ‘There isn’t enough money in London,’ I said gamely.

  Between us, Ben was watching the interplay with interest. Peggy motioned to him, and he turned his attention back to the dog. He probably thought the dog infinitely more interesting than the debate going on over his head.

  ‘I could make it more enjoyable. And all for no fee.’

  ‘You mean you would …’

  She cast a look down at the boy with deep meaning.

  ‘Oh, yes, I see. Um. So you would … how long for?’

  ‘A night?’

  ‘A night? I don’t think you understand the scale of the danger I would be put in,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Then several nights.’

  ‘Every night.’

  ‘Every night? You think you’re—’

  I held up my hand. ‘I think you are desperate for somewhere safe for this boy. Only a short while ago, you were accusing me of—’

  She shook her head sharply.

  ‘Well, you accused me, and refused to let me see him or his mother. Why should I suddenly wish to help you now?’

  ‘If you won’t do it for a small boy who needs safety and calmness, then do it for the important lady who is his mother,’ she said, swift and quiet.

  ‘Who? Moll?’ I asked with confusion.

  ‘His real mother.’

  ‘I don’t understand!’

  She looked at me with that calculating, shrewd expression that I was starting to recognize. ‘You truly do not, do you?’

  I grimaced. ‘What made you realize I was not his enemy?’

  ‘The way you behave. You don’t behave like a violent man, like someone who would agree to hurt a small boy.’

  It was fortunate that she did not know of my conversation with Humfrie. I pulled my face into what I hoped was a sympathetic grin. Then it hardened. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You didn’t trust me before. What has happened to make you believe me now?’

  She looked down, and now her voice was suddenly quiet. ‘I have no choice. Moll’s disappeared, and the men who were seeking to protect her and Ben have gone with her.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘Stolen away, I think.’

  ‘The Seymours?’

  ‘Edward, yes. He was looking after her.’

  I said nothing. She was avoiding my gaze, and if there is one thing I know, it is that someone avoiding you like that is surely up to something. Peggy was trying to conceal something from me.

  At last she chewed at her lip and then gave a gasp of despair, throwing her hands into the air. ‘Moll has disappeared! I don’t know what’s happened to her, but I think … I think they want to …’ She looked down at Ben. When she glanced up at me again, I saw her mouth the words kill him.

  It did not take long to winkle out the rest of the story. She shook her head at first, and then went out into the hallway, gesturing for me to follow her. There she told me the rest of her tale.

  After she had finished with the men in the alley, she had set off to make her way back to the Cardinal’s Hat, where she had intended to take a rest until evening, when she must be ready to work again. On the way, she became aware that there was someone behind her who appeared to be dogging her steps. She hastened, but the man behind her increased his own to suit, and she cast a look behind her, only to see that the man behind her was Seymour.

  ‘Which Seymour?’ I asked.

  ‘Anthony. He’s dangerous, Master Blackjack, an evil man. I don’t trust him, and when I saw it was him behind me, I panicked. I couldn’t get over the river to the Cardinal’s Hat if I’d wanted to.
Not with him right behind me. I had to escape, and then I realized that if they were trying to catch me, only Molly could speak for me and save me, so I ran all the way to the house where Ben and Moll were staying, and barred the door to him. He started banging on the door, demanding that I let him in, but I wouldn’t, and I ran through to find Moll. I shouted for her up the stairs and down into the basement, but she wasn’t there. But Ben was, and he looked so scared.’

  She had pulled him out into the small garden behind the house, and there she had slipped through a gate into the next-door’s yard. It was a cloth merchant’s house, and she had pulled Ben with her through the kitchen and into the shop at the front. There, she had peered into the road, but there was no sign of Anthony, so she had pulled Ben with her out into the road, and ran all the way to my house, reasoning that she didn’t know any other place to go. It was too dangerous for her to go to any of her usual haunts. The only thing she could think of was getting a message to Piers to come and help her, but when she suggested that Raphe should go to fetch Piers, he was reluctant. I was surprised that the boy had shown such good sense. It’s never a good idea to leave a light-fingered whore alone in a house.

  ‘What can I do?’ she said plaintively, looking up at me with her eyes grown huge with fear.

  I smiled down at her. ‘First, we need to get you fed, and the boy, too. You need rest and quiet. And then we can start to plan what to do.’

  ‘Where is Molly?’ she said, starting to worry at a loose thread on her skirt. ‘I’ll never forgive myself if it’s something I’ve done.’

  ‘What could you have done to cause her to disappear?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps taking you there spurred them to act in a hurry? I just don’t know.’