A Plague of Sinners (29 page)

He followed her out into the corridor without replying.

I followed after. ‘Where is the Earl, Lady Wharton?’

She walked away from us down the corridor, towards the staircase, waving a hand in the air. ‘He is not here,’ she called before disappearing.

‘Would you have us tear down your house brick by brick?’ I shouted, hurrying after, butchers in tow.

She reached the hall before rounding on us, legs astride like a cat that has its tail pulled too often. ‘Get out of my house, now!’ she spat. ‘Else I will get the village to tear you to pieces, King’s men or not!’

Dowling cleared his throat. ‘The villagers we spoke to bear no love of your husband.’

‘You will not find him!’ She held her arms out wide. ‘Search all day and all night if you will.’

‘But neither can you leave while we still linger,’ Dowling pointed out. ‘And we will not leave this house until we have found him.’

‘Sooner or later the King will send soldiers,’ I assured her.

As if waiting for summons, a fist crashed against the door in furious knocking. Conroy hesitated a moment before striding across the tiled floor to unbolt it.

‘Good afternoon!’ Lord Arlington walked across the threshold. He surveyed the scene afore him, hands on hips and chest protruding. Despite the heat he wore a flowing periwig. A trickle of sweat dripped down his red cheek and the black plaster upon his nose was sodden. ‘Lady Wharton.’ He smiled broadly.

She sighed, body relaxing as though glad to see him. I was so amazed I could think of nothing to say.

‘Lytle.’ Arlington shook his head regretfully, approaching me close, fears of plague apparently allayed. Up close I saw for the first time how grey his eyes appeared, how dead. He regarded the butchers with amusement. ‘You fetched your own little garrison.’

‘I thought you were returning to Hampton Court,’ I said.

His gaze lingered on the knives the butchers wore at their
belts. ‘I decided you might need some assistance.’

He called out in French. Four great brutes appeared in the doorway, tall and wide. They wore strange thin tunics with peculiar cut about the neck, belted at the waist. All were dark, swarthy and large-lipped. They appeared foreign. Between them they carried an ugly assortment of weapons; two muskets, three broad swords and a heavy axe. They stood silent, casual and callous.

‘Did you find Wharton?’ Arlington asked me.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘He is well hidden.’

Lady Wharton stared at Arlington, hard blue eyes staring out against the chalk white of her painted face, holes in the ice. She nodded her head at the five of us. ‘What will you do now?’

‘I don’t want to kill them.’ Arlington regarded me sadly, like I was some prodigal son. ‘I need men such as these.’

Lady Wharton’s body stiffened. Only her mouth moved, a doll’s mouth, with stiff, wooden lips. ‘They know you collaborated with Thomas.’

Arlington blinked as if astonished. ‘Lytle. Are you under the impression I collaborated with Thomas Wharton?’

I shook my head, watching the four beasts frown and lick their lips. ‘I don’t know what is going on.’

‘Indeed.’ Arlington looked back over his shoulder, pleased, as though he searched for one of his scribes. ‘I will write that in my report.’

Lady Wharton stared at Arlington as if she feared a terrible deception.

He slapped me upon the shoulder. ‘I urged you to fly here, did I not?’

I nodded.

He stretched out his arms in magnanimous gesture. ‘And now I come to ensure your success.’

Lady Wharton drew back her crimson lips and snarled. ‘You promised us safe passage.’

Arlington placed a hand upon his chest. ‘Promised whom? You imply that I, Lord Arlington, hath entered into some unholy alliance with a murderer? A beast who hath killed a man of God and two trusted confidants of Lord Chelwood?’

Lady Wharton breathed heavily through her nose. Fear thawed the ice in her eyes.

Arlington turned to me. ‘Did you witness such a pact, Lytle?’

‘No, your lordship,’ I assured him.

‘Yet I see you doubt me.’ He turned to Dowling, upon whose face disgust was clearly writ. ‘The lady hath persuaded you, has she not?’

‘What did you do?’ I blurted out.

His head jerked forward and I felt warm breath upon my neck.

‘Did you promise them safe passage?’ I asked, dry-mouthed.

‘It seemed like a good idea,’ Arlington grimaced. ‘He guaranteed to rid me of his little band and indicated an interest in working overseas.’ He shrugged. ‘He can be of great service to his country overseas.’

‘All in the name of the King,’ Dowling growled.

‘In his
name
, indeed,’ Arlington affirmed. ‘Though he would not want knowledge of it. I will finish my report of your excellent endeavours. It will be a grand tale, ending with your deaths upon Wharton’s sword.’ He bowed to Lady Wharton. ‘Then his death upon my sword.’

I looked into the faces of the monsters behind, giants with arms thick as tree trunks. The butchers could not hope to hold them off. They would slaughter us all.

‘What of your warriors, Arlington?’ I said. ‘Will you not kill them besides? Now they know your secret.’

Arlington tutted. ‘They don’t speak English, Lytle. They are French.’

He turned back to Lady Wharton. ‘Come with me, your ladyship.’ He raised his voice. ‘I shall escort you to the garden, where I shall slice your throat, should your cowardly husband not emerge from his hiding place.’ He raised a finger and one of his mercenaries descended upon her with sword drawn.

Conroy jumped in front of Lady Wharton, his own thin blade aimed at the monster’s chin.

The Frenchman turned a puzzled face to Arlington afore plunging his sword straight into Conroy’s belly. Conroy collapsed upon his knees, hands clutched to his stomach. A thick, red circle of blood spread across his shirt. He panted twice, then was silent, still kneeling, the top of his head rested against the wet floor.

The Frenchman wiped his blade against his trouser while Lady Wharton stared at her dead servant, mouth open, aghast. Arlington turned back to us.

‘
Tuez-les
!
’ he demanded, crooking a finger.

‘Run!’ I roared, headed for the stairs.

Over my shoulder I saw the biggest of them pursue me, axe hanging from his right hand. Fortunately the axe was heavy and he ran slowly. I reached the landing afore him and darted left, back the way we came. He appeared at the top of the stairs, barely breathing, while I panted like a fat puppy. I still had the key, I realised, the key to the Earl’s study. I dashed down the corridor and up the three stairs, flung open the door, stepped through quick, and slammed it behind me, locking it. I succeeded only just in time, for the Frenchman smashed his fist against the door, screaming out in his own tongue some obscenity I didn’t understand. Then all was quiet.

I trod silently to the window and looked out upon the
fields and forest. Arlington and one other of his guard dragged Lady Wharton away from the house. That meant Dowling and the other three butchers must be fighting against just the two Frenchmen. They might stand a chance.

Something crashed against the door, shaking it upon its hinges. Then another blow, slamming against the thick oak like a hammer. It would take him a while to cut through, but only a while.

I opened the window and stuck out my head. It was a drop of thirty feet onto the stones below, I reckoned, the fall guaranteed to break a man’s leg. There was no ledge on which to climb, no escape. The axe thudded against the door again, this time leaving a deep crack from top to bottom. I looked down again and imagined the fall. Could I somehow roll upon landing and cushion the impact? Too high.

The axe crashed against the door, splintering it. Light shone through the gap. I whisked off my jacket and lay it upon the ledge of the window, as if it tore from my back, and stepped back against the near wall where I could not be seen. The mercenary hoisted his axe two more times, then was through, running to the window. I tiptoed fast behind him and waited for him to turn. He leant out as far as he could, scanning the ground beneath, muttering to himself. Then he turned, and I plunged the astrologer’s stick straight into his right eye.

He screamed so loud I feared his fury, but I aimed well. He fell against the wall, mouth open wide and hands splayed. I turned away, horrified at what I did. I clenched my fists, then put my hands to my face, unable to rid myself the feeling of the metal stick crunching into his skull. I stumbled out of the little room into the passage.

The noise of men shouting sounded from deep within the palace. I hurried down the dark corridor into the brighter space
at the top of the stairs. The voices were louder now, interspersed with the sound of metal upon metal. Dowling and the butchers resisted. I bounded down the staircase, two steps at a time, and followed the noise, back through dust-filled passage, past panelled walls and ancient portraits, into the banqueting hall.

Dowling stood toe to toe with one of the mercenaries. They danced ponderously, shoulders heaving, gasping for air, shirts wet. The Frenchman lifted his heavy sword and swung it sideways in the direction of Dowling’s ribs. Dowling lifted his sword vertically and parried. The second Frenchman lay sprawled across the long table, unmoving.

Luke and Isaac stood either side of Dowling, Luke with a cleaver and Isaak a boning knife. They shuffled from foot to foot, looking to Dowling for guidance. The Frenchman’s sword was long, offering no opportunity for them to engage.

Dowling glanced at me. The Frenchman followed his eye and shifted sideways, back to the wall where he could see us all. He shouted something in French, and beckoned with his hand as if bidding us attack him all at once.

Dowling crouched, white-faced. Spittle bubbled upon his blue lips and he stared at the Frenchman like he hated him. What stirred the butcher to such frenzy, I wondered, for he preached love for all men, including the Dutch and the French. A raging fury indeed, to enable him to combat a man half his age. He crept forwards, sword arm outstretched, left arm held out for balance. The mercenary scuttled to his right and brought his sword hard down at Dowling’s head. Dowling leant away, too slow, for the blade sliced into his left arm. He shrieked in pain, but maintained his footing. He was exhausted, and the younger man saw it.

I hurried to the table where the dead man lay. An ugly gash cut deep into the side of his throat. His eyes gazed sightlessly
at a musket on the floor. I picked it up and strode towards the battle, muzzle raised. I had little idea how to fire it, but I aimed it at the mercenary’s head anyway. He muttered and shambled to one side, but I followed him with the musket barrel. I lifted it high and pretended to take aim. He kicked aside a chair, shouted at me, then turned and ran, back into the house.

Dowling dropped the sword to the ground and clutched his left arm. Luke rushed to his side and pulled the shirt from the wound. The cut was eight inches long but not deep. Dowling grunted, pushed him away, and turned his back on us. He shuffled away towards the far corner, where lay two chairs, smashed into pieces. I followed his gaze and saw Gyles.

Dowling dropped to one knee, rolled Gyles over, then released a deep sigh of misery and despair. A huge splash of bubbling scarlet covered Gyles’ guts and his eyes stared dull out of his shaven head. I placed a hand on Dowling’s shoulder but he knocked it away. His eyes filled with tears and he clutched the dead man’s head with both hands, one on either cheek. Luke and Isaac fell to their knees, grief writ thick upon their young faces.

I tiptoed away and fetched the sword that Dowling dropped. Much as I resented the notion, someone had to attend to Lady Wharton’s interests. Quite what Harry Lytle would accomplish against two monstrous troglodytes, I could not imagine. I only prayed Dowling’s God would watch over me. I trod silent through the corridor, wary of ambush, until I reached the hall and Conroy’s still corpse.

Outside was quiet. I stood still beneath the yellow sun and listened. All I heard was the melody of birds singing from the tops of the trees. I turned towards the arch leading to the gardens and made my way cautiously about the side of the red-bricked palace, feet crunching on the stones. I scanned the
gardens from beneath the archway, a wide view of overgrown bushes and tangled weed. All was still save the trees swaying in the breeze. My attention was drawn to the ornamental pond beyond the lawn. In the middle of the green pool protruded something white and flaccid, streaked with black.

I made my way cautiously to the bank, anticipating an attack from any direction. From the edge of the pond I recognised a man’s arse, poking out the middle of the water like a strange island. I waded out into the green filth, up to my knees, and leant down in search of the man’s legs. The pond floor was slippery and dragging him out was almost beyond my strength. I slipped and slid, and with much effort, succeeded.

I pulled him out onto the grass and rolled him over. The corpse was white all over, flecked with black mould and sheeted with vegetation. His forehead flapped open where someone had sliced across the top of his head. Bone gleamed white beneath, and a thick flap of skin fell over his eyes. The first of the mercenaries.

Only Wharton could have killed him. I proceeded down the path, low bushes to either side, higher bushes beyond. A statue peeked out from atop a white column, a half-naked woman holding a harp in one hand and pointing yonder with the other. I followed the line of her finger.

Ahead, the path opened into a wide circle, the ground worn and level. A vast oak tree stood at the back of the clearing, branches reaching out to cover the earth below in a cavern of gloom. Roots, thick as a man’s leg, rippled through the earth, and between those roots lay slumped the body of Lord Arlington, curled up in a little ball, his back to me, motionless.

‘Are you on your own?’ a familiar voice sung in my right ear.

I twisted fast, almost losing my balance. ‘Aye,’ I replied,
without thinking if it was the right response.

Wharton stood at my shoulder, the tip of a blade visible behind his foot. He smiled ruefully. ‘You are clever, Lytle, clever and persistent.’ He sighed gently and gazed up through the dense canopy to the tiny glimpses of blue sky. ‘I should have been more careful.’ Then his eyes fixed upon mine. My heart felt cold and wet inside my ribs. ‘How did you know I was still alive?’