Dark Fire (58 page)

Barak nodded. ‘You were right to go back to the beginning after all.’ He frowned. ‘If you’re right.’

‘It’s the only reconstruction of events that makes everything fit.’

He stood a few moments, nibbling thoughtfully at his knuckles. I watched him anxiously, frightened he might see some hole in my theory that I had missed. But he only nodded. ‘And poor
Bathsheba was killed lest Michael Gristwood might have told her something between the sheets. As he had.’

‘I suspect they fired Goodwife Gristwood’s house with what little of the stuff they had left to show Cromwell it still existed. And as a warning of what it could do; everyone who saw
that fire remarked how the house was aflame from end to end in a moment. If there was an enquiry, that would come out. Imagine how the king would react.’

Barak gave me a look of horror. ‘But if you’re right, there can never be another demonstration. The earl will have to tell the king anyway.’

‘Yes, yes. But he can tell him the whole thing was a plot by his enemies, that the king was deceived as well. Cromwell could still turn it to his advantage. If we can find who’s
behind it, if he can give the king a name.’

Barak ran a hand over his shaven skull. ‘Marchamount? But Marchamount may be only a victim.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘He may.’ My enthusiasm started to wane.

Barak looked at me eagerly. ‘If we can uncover who the earl’s enemy is, they may still have some Greek Fire. Surely they’d keep at least a little back. If that were given to
the king, he could set a troop of alchemists to make it and he might have it after all.’

I had forgotten that possibility. Of course they would keep some back. I cursed inwardly, then took a deep breath.

‘Why does nobody think of the death and destruction this thing could wreak? You most of all, Barak – you’ve seen it, you were nearly killed by it! How can you be so disturbed
by what was down that well, yet face the death of thousands by fire without a second thought?’

My appeal fell on deaf ears. ‘They would be soldiers. Soldiers expect to fight and die for their country.’ He looked at me fixedly. ‘If it will save my master, he shall have
it.’

I said nothing. Fortunately he was too excited to notice the depth of my concern. ‘You should write a letter to the earl at once,’ he urged. ‘I’ll take it to Grey. He
should know about this.’

I hesitated. ‘Very well. It’s too late to go to Lincoln’s Inn now, but we’ll go tomorrow and see what we can find in Marchamount’s rooms.’

‘If it turns out he’s behind it, and we can bring proof, the earl is safe.’ He smiled eagerly.

I nodded. But if we find more Greek Fire, I said to myself, Cromwell shall not have it. If I have to, I will prevent Barak from giving it to him.

D
ESPITE EVERYTHING
, I slept peacefully that night. I woke towards six refreshed, although my back ached when I got up. I
changed the bandage on my arm, pleased to see it had almost healed, then for the first time in days I did Guy’s exercises, carefully lest I do more harm than good. It was the eighth of June;
we had two days left now.

After breakfast Barak and I walked up to Lincoln’s Inn, where the lawyers’ day was just beginning. A carousing student lay collapsed on the bench where I had met Lady Honor. He sat
up and winced at the light; barristers walking past with papers under their arms gave him disapproving scowls. We passed my rooms and headed for Marchamount’s chambers.

The two clerks in his outer office were agitated. One was anxiously explaining a case where Marchamount was due to appear that morning to another serjeant. The other clerk was leafing
frantically through a pile of papers; he gave a groan and sped across to Marchamount’s room, the door of which was open. We followed him in. He glanced up from searching through another pile
of papers and gave us a harassed look.

‘This room is private. If you’re here about one of Serjeant Marchamount’s cases, please wait. We have to find the papers for this morning.’

‘We’re here on Lord Cromwell’s orders.’ I said. ‘To investigate his disappearance. And make a search.’ Barak produced his seal. The man looked at it,
hesitated, then shook his head in despair. ‘The serjeant will be angry, he has private things in here.’ The clerk found the paper he was looking for, grasped it and hurried out. Barak
shut the door behind him.

‘What are we looking for?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Anything. We’ll search his living quarters after.’

‘If he’s gone of his own will, he won’t have left anything incriminating behind.’

‘
If
he has. Look in those drawers, I’ll search the desk.’

It felt strange to be rifling through Marchamount’s possessions. A locked drawer roused our hopes but when Barak prised it open we found nothing inside but a genealogical chart. It traced
Marchamount’s family back two hundred years. Occupations were scribbled under the names; fishmonger, bell-founder, and worst of all ‘villein’. Under one name from a hundred years
back Marchamount had scrawled ‘
This man was of
Norman
descent!
’

Barak laughed. ‘How he lusted after that title.’

‘Ay. He was always a vain man. Come, let’s try his living quarters.’

But there was nothing there either, only clothes, more legal papers and some money, which we left. We quizzed the clerks but all they could tell us was that they had come in to work the day
before to find Marchamount gone, with no message and a hundred jobs waiting. Defeated, we left and crossed the courtyard to my chambers.

‘I’d hoped there would be something,’ Barak said.

I shook my head. ‘The people involved in this wouldn’t leave evidence of Greek Fire in their homes. Even the Gristwoods kept that apparatus out at Lothbury.’

‘They kept the formula at home.’

‘And look what happened to them. No, everything’s hidden away somewhere.’

‘But where, if not in a house?’

I stopped dead. ‘What about a warehouse?’

‘That’s possible. But there are dozens along the river bank.’

‘There was a warehouse conveyancing among the cases I lost. Near Salt Wharf. It struck me at the time that the transaction was conducted in the name of people who looked like nominees and
I wondered who would want to keep ownership of a warehouse secret.’

‘But it was Rich who took those cases away from you.’

I paused a moment, then hastened into chambers. Skelly was sharpening a quill into a nib; he squinted up at me.

‘John,’ I asked. ‘Is Master Godfrey in?’

‘No, sir.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He has another hearing before the committee.’

‘Will you do something for me? You know a number of cases have been taken away from me recently – half a dozen or so. Would you make a list for me now? The names, what they were
about and the parties.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Wait.’ I looked into his red eyes. ‘I have wondered, John, if you see as well as you might.’ And then I was filled with guilt, for he looked mortally afraid.

‘Perhaps not, sir,’ he murmured, shifting from foot to foot.

I made my voice cheerful. ‘I have an apothecary friend who is experimenting with spectacles. He is looking for subjects. If you would go to him he may be able to help your sight, and as
you would be aiding his work there would be no fee.’

I saw hope in his face. ‘I’ll be glad to see him, sir.’

‘Good. I’ll arrange it. Now, go and make the list.’

He scurried away.

‘Do you think that warehouse could really be where they are storing the Dark Fire and the apparatus?’ Barak asked.

‘It seems a long shot, I know. But it’s a possibility; we have to follow it up.’ I looked into his sceptical face. ‘Unless you have a better suggestion.’

Barak nodded. ‘All right, then.’

‘I’ve never heard of a warehouse bought through a nominee before. It stayed in my mind, it was so unusual. Could that be the explanation? It was the last of my cases to go –
just after I took Cromwell’s assignment.’

‘Anything’s worth a try.’ Barak had crossed to the open window. ‘What’s going on out there?’ he asked suddenly.

I joined him. A small crowd of people, servants and barristers and clerks, had gathered round one of the students, a stocky young fellow with fair hair. He stood gesticulating wildly in the
middle of the crowd, his eyes wide with shock. ‘It’s murder,’ I heard him say.

Exchanging a look, Barak and I hurried outside. We shouldered our way through the crowd and I grasped the young fellow by the arm. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Who’s murdered?’

‘I don’t know, sir. I was going rabbit hunting, up by Coney Garth, and in the orchard I found – a foot. A foot in a shoe, cut off. And blood everywhere.’

‘Take us there,’ I said. He hesitated a moment, then turned and led us towards the gate to the orchard on the north side of Gatehouse Court. Part of the crowd followed us, nosy as
sparrows.

‘Stay back,’ I said. ‘This is official.’ People grumbled, but they remained outside as we passed through to the orchard. The apple and pear trees were in full leaf and a
carpet of long-fallen blossom lay all around. The student led the way through the trees.

‘What’s your name, fellow?’ I asked.

‘Francis Gregory, sir. I wanted some rabbits for the pot. I came out early, but I ran back when I saw that – thing.’ I studied his face. He seemed none too bright and very
frightened.

‘All right, Francis. There’s nothing to fear, but a man is missing and we have been ordered to find him.’

Reluctantly young Gregory led us on into the trees. In the middle of the orchard, on the blossom-covered ground, we found a gruesome chaos. A wide patch of ground was covered with blood, black
and sticky-looking. One tree had had a branch hacked off and a great gouge cut in its side. The mark of an axe, Wright’s weapon of choice. And, lying at the bottom of the tree, was a shoe
with an inch of white leg visible above.

I stepped on to the bloody ground to look at the severed foot, my stomach churning a little at the sight. It had been shorn off like a pig’s trotter. Flies were buzzing around it.

‘That’s a gentleman’s shoe,’ Barak observed.

‘Ay.’ I saw something else among the blossom and, taking my dagger, brushed the delicate petals aside. Then I jerked upright in disgust. Three fingers from a man’s hand lay
there, sliced off like the foot, little black hairs standing out against the waxy skin. And on one of them a large emerald ring.

‘What is it?’ Barak called. He stepped across to my side. I had been steeling myself to pick up the finger, but Barak did it without flinching. ‘That is Marchamount’s
ring,’ I said, in a low voice so the student could not hear. He had not ventured onto the patch of bloody ground.

‘Shit,’ Barak breathed.

‘He must have come to meet somebody by arrangement and they went for him with an axe.’ I took a deep breath.

‘Toky and Wright.’

‘Ay. He must have struggled, tried to escape. They probably swung at his foot to bring him down. Then he tried to defend himself with his hands. Poor Marchamount.’

‘Why did they take the body away and leave these remains?’

‘If it was dark, they may not have noticed the fingers or the ring.’

‘I thought this place was patrolled to keep the lawyers and their gold safe.’

‘Only the inner court, not the gardens or the orchard. There are ways in here over the wall from Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’

His back to the student, Barak pulled the ring from the severed finger and slipped it in his pocket, letting the finger fall to the ground again. We walked over to the boy.

‘There’s no saying who this is, lad.’ I said. ‘Best report to the authorities. Go on now.’

He was happy to run from the place. Barak and I followed more slowly. I was glad I had sent a note to Lady Honor last night, warning her not to go out without servants.

‘So Marchamount
was
involved with Toky and Wright,’ Barak said.

‘So it appears. Perhaps he was worried I was going to have him before Cromwell and told his master. Who decided to stop his mouth.’ I stopped on the path. ‘God’s death,
he should have known the risk he ran, enough mouths have been stopped already. The two Gristwoods, the founder, Bathsheba and her brother. And now him.’

‘Perhaps he was the master,’ Barak said.

‘What?’

‘Perhaps he had been running the whole thing with Toky and Wright, told them things were getting hot and they decided to kill him and make off with the Greek Fire.’

‘You could be right,’ I said. ‘In that case, they’re the ones we need to find.’

‘Toky knows how things work. An education from the monks and years soldiering. He could arrange to sell Greek Fire to the highest bidder. Perhaps a foreigner.’

‘But where are they? Where have they taken Marchamount’s body? Where are the apparatus and the formula? Come, let us see if Skelly has done that list.’

By the time we reached the courtyard young Gregory was back at the centre of a crowd, declaiming about what we had found.

‘They’re bound to connect this to Marchamount soon,’ Barak said.

‘They won’t be able to prove it’s him, not without the ring.’ I saw Bealknap on the fringe of the crowd, his eyes wide, and wondered if he had guessed who it was that had
been killed.

Back in chambers Skelly was waiting for us, a paper in his hand.

‘It’s all done, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ I laid it on the table and Barak and I looked over his untidy scrawl. Four pieces of litigation over land, one over a will, and the warehouse conveyancing. Pelican
Warehouse, off Salt Wharf.

‘What’s a pelican?’ Barak asked.

‘A bird from the Indies. It has a huge pouch in its beak, to hold fish. Or secrets.’ I looked out of the window. ‘Ask Bealknap to step in here, would you? Tell him, quietly,
that we believe the dead man is Marchamount.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘John, would you add a couple of cases to the bottom of this list. Any cases of mine, choose them at random. Then
bring it to me.’

Skelly, who had been standing open-mouthed, nodded and went into my office. A minute later Barak returned, Bealknap beside him. The rogue’s eyes were full of fear.