Gideon's Angel (13 page)

“Billy, can you wield a sword?”

“Aye. I’m no Ajax but I can hold my own in a fight... Tell me you don’t see no fairy handprints on that window, I beg you.”

I moved closer to get a better look. “Possibly a dog-ape, a monkey of sorts. I don’t know.”

“But looking for what? And sweet Jesus, what the hell was holding it up there outside?”

I started stuffing my satchel with my shirts and hose. “We’re moving lodgings. Get your rig.”

Billy swore.

“Here,” I said. I dropped a handful of silver into his palm that I had dug out from my belt pouch. “Get to an ironmonger and buy us two blades—nothing heavy, mind. Hunting hangars will do. Bone grips.”

Billy swore again. “I felt safer in the shitting army.”

“It’s not your army anymore, Billy. Just you and me. Hurry along and then meet me at the Mitre down the street.”

It was clear to me that whatever was tracking us was doing so with sympathetic magic. I had long heard tales of how objects held their ties to their owners, even separated by miles. There was once even a corpse that bled anew when the knife that had slain the man was brought in contact with the body again. I believed now that my Scottish dirk, left next to Israel Fludd’s body, had proved a lodestone pointing straight to me. It was guiding my pursuers just as surely as if I was leaving a bloodstained trail myself.

If Fludd knew his brother’s killer was in Exeter, he could be on me within the day. I could not know for sure, but it was bad enough just knowing that I was facing someone who practised dark arts. Or was this all my own conjuring, disturbed as my mind was with my secretive undertakings? No, in my heart if not my head, I knew what was befalling me. I knew all too well from years ago the peculiar sensation once one is touched by the unnatural, the otherworldly. And it was cold dread. That goddamned black dog was too real. It was as if my own Beast, ever to rise up without warning inside my breast, had been made flesh.

We found another inn and with it another suspicious innkeeper, and this house even closer to the Bishop’s Mitre. It was almost as if I was being hemmed in, cornered before the kill. This time, I took a room on the first floor—off the ground but within leaping distance if Billy and I had to get out quickly. I was keener than ever to meet my contact, if for no other reason than to find a reasonable safe house outside the city. Billy was already at the Mitre when I entered, seated at the rear of the tap room with his back to the wall. The tavern master smiled and bade me greetings (he had remembered me from the previous day) and I ordered a pot of ale at the bar and joined Billy, all the while casting my eyes around the room. No soldiers, just merchants and a few apprentice lads.

Billy said nothing but carefully and slyly drew back the canvas from the bundle perched on the table, revealing two rather stubby hunting swords, their iron shell guards pitted with rust despite the blacking they had been given. “I am sure you’ve had far better in your time, Mister Eff, but as they say, beggars can’t be choosers.”

I half drew one of the hangars out to eye its blade, which at the very least had a keen edge, if one sorely nicked. They were more suited to a butcher’s shop than a fight one’s life depended upon. “They’ll do. But pray we won’t need them.” I covered the swords and took a swig of ale. Another two hours until my rendezvous.

Billy leaned back in his chair. “At what point did you think it would be a good time to tell me what you’re really up to? When my head gets stove in or when I find a knife in my ribs?”

I cupped my tankard with both hands and stared into the dark liquid, looking for some wisdom. It was an honest question deserving of an honest answer. But truth here could kill me. I took a heavy breath. Billy’s face was deeply lined, eyes fallen into his skull, and his red-tinged beard was still unshaven and patchy. I noticed now that he was probably far younger than I had thought, worn out by hard living and war. An honest answer for an honest rogue? Or would I be in the hands of the army by supper?

“You’re right, Billy Chard,” I said. “I suppose if you mean to stand by me you deserve a measure of trust. But that means you accept the hard part of the bargain as well as the good. First, I’ll tell you I have a price on my head.”

Billy laughed and wheezed. “Well, what wool merchant doesn’t? No, no, Mister Eff, I reckoned a while ago you was up to no good here. I fancy that you’re a Cavalier looking for a fight—here to meet a few other coves of the same ilk. And you’re about as foreign as my old father.” He took a drink and waved his cup towards me. “So it seems we both have the measure of the other, no? Both of us on the wrong side of the law as it stands. Both trying to stay a few paces ahead of the magistrates—or the army. It’s all understood, Fellow Creature, all understood. And it’s a trust safe by me, sir. Safe indeed.”

“I mean to bring down the generals and the Council and bring back our proper king. Is that too much honesty for you?”

Billy’s thick lips rounded in an O. “That is a heavy task you’ve set yourself, Mister Eff, a considerable task if I might say.”

“And there is to be an uprising here in the West Country—and elsewhere,” I added, my voice still low. “Is that a bit too much intelligence for you?”

“Well, there was bound to be a rising someday, that’s no secret what with folks living under the yoke as they are. But what I’m still vexed about—by your leave—is that great black dog the other night. Is that some new pet of the Parliament men? And what do you figure this little dog-ape of yours who capered up our window is up to now? Seems to me you’re more afeard of them than the army.”

I set my tankard upon the table. We were apart far enough from anyone else that our words would not carry. “I’m certain that I am being pursued by a Roundhead officer of the dragoons who has some knowledge of the black arts. That is the truth of it.”

Billy hunched his shoulders and pushed forward, his cup clacking into mine. “What you mean is he is pursuing
us
. And I remember that great dog was a real beast, big as a cow, but it didn’t come after us, did it? There’s no such thing as the Devil, or hell for that matter. That’s what my creed says. Everything was put here by the good Lord. There ain’t no bad and there ain’t no sin.”

I nodded. “That may be. And I could be wrong. But I tell you I’ve seen things with my own eyes in many dark places. Things that would turn your bowels to water in an instant and set your bones to ice. Whether it’s Satan or not that I’m facing, I am being chased by the army and I mean to fight them. The question for you is will you be my bondsman and stand with me? Will you take back your liberty as a freeborn Englishman or stay under the heel of the Tyrant?”

“It’s been a few years since I fought for any cause.” Billy’s voice dropped. “And the last one did me no benefit.” He stopped as if he was still deciding what to do next. “I’ll watch your back for you. I’ll keep my eyes open for the redcoats. I reckon I owe you at least that much for not killing me on the road back there at Brent. Or taking me to the law. But I ain’t fighting no black dogs and I’m not ready to die for fucking Charles Stuart.”

I smiled at him. “You weren’t a very good highwayman anyway, Billy.”

He chuckled and burped. “Well, I guess that’s true enough. At least now I’m in paid employment, eh?”

“That you are. And don’t even think about betraying me for the sake of a few more coins, you hear? I assure you that you won’t get the chance to spend it.”

Billy looked all offended and crossed his heart. “Heavens no, Fellow Creature. There may be no such thing as sin in the world but betraying another is about as close a thing as there is to it. I give you my word, sir.”

“Good! I’ll take your word.” And I reached over and gave him my hand, for which I received a firm grip in return. “Come, drink up and I will show you where we stay tonight. I need you to remain there and keep watch while I come back here and meet my man.”

Billy pointed his chin at the weapons on the table. “You want one of these pig-stickers now, Mister Eff?”

“No, take them back to the room for now. But I tell you, I’ll feel a damn sight safer tonight lying abed with a sharp blade next to me.”

M
R.
B
LACK WAS
anything but. His skin was paler than pale, blue veins showing through his forehead, and he was as bald as an egg. The only hair that remained upon his noggin were two tufts above his ears. As a Royalist conspirator, he was well disguised indeed. He had about as much presence as a coat on a hook, a plain townsman of middling years and middling birth. As it turned out, he actually was a wool trader.

“We apparently have a common acquaintance in France,” he said as we shook hands in the tap room. “How fares Mister Carson these days?”

“He is well and still in the employ of Mister Underhill,” I said.

“I am glad of it,” said Mr. Black. “Let us take a turn near the cathedral.”

And so we strolled across the green, the great grey cathedral looking beaten and sombre in the fading sunlight. He told me in truth his name was Hugh Dyer, and that he had served as a captain in Hopton’s regiment in the war. But I still kept to my ruse, and could only hope that Sir Edward had not revealed my identity. For no doubt, every government spy would now know I had returned.

“Exeter is pulling itself apart at the seams, sir,” said Dyer as we walked. “Factions are now hard set and harsh words heard at every town meeting.” He gestured over to the cathedral. “You know what they’ve done now inside there? They put up great wooden walls down the length of the nave. Why? So that the Presbyterians take the west side and the Independent preachers and their lot take the east. Christ, its sounds like bedlam in there with each side trying to drown out the other.”

I was little surprised to hear his tale.

“And we Anglicans are now in the same boat as the Papists—proscribed under pain of imprisonment. It’s bad, Falkenhayn, very bad indeed.”

“How goes the planning?” I asked, eager to find out just how things lay.

“Oh, well enough. We have near upon thirty gentlemen from the county and they can promise between twenty and five and a hundred men for each of them. Aye, there are eleven of us leaders here in the city alone. We meet every week at the Mitre to discuss stores, weapons and the like. Just waiting on the word really. And your arrival.” He looked at me and grinned.

“But don’t you vary your meeting places,” I said, “for safety? You’re making it simple for the army to discover the undertaking, are you not?”

“I don’t believe those up at the castle yonder have a clue as to what we’re up to. If we went anywhere other than the Mitre then we’d have confusion each week. Besides, the Mitre has the best beer in town. It’s a very good house, you know. And the landlord is a sympathiser too.”

I’m sure I must have blinked hard in amazement at what he said. It took me a few moments before I could even speak. “When is the next meeting?”

“Why tomorrow night. Same as always. We take a back room at the Mitre and take our dinner together too.”

“How amiable,” I said, my stomach slowly sinking as the realisation of his words fully sank in. This western conspiracy had all the secrecy of a race meeting at Newmarket. It would be pure blind luck if the group had not already been infiltrated by Cromwell’s spies. But if it had been compromised, why had they not swooped down upon these fools weeks ago?

Dyer and I soon parted company. I had little desire to confide anything to him after hearing of his attitude to clandestine endeavours. We agreed to meet with the rest of his companions the next day at eight of the clock in the evening, shook hands again, gave each other a little bow of courtesy, and Dyer turned back towards the Mitre. The whole enterprise seemed even more of a foolhardy lark than before. But here I was, walking into it with both eyes open wide.

I was sickened and sad, and instead of heading back to the little inn (where hopefully Billy was already ensconced), I wandered back south through the town, down the High Street. It was hardly a busy late afternoon; shopkeepers were already putting up their shutters for the night and a gentle quiet had descended upon the street. Yet I became aware after some minutes that a figure was shadowing me, although a long distance behind. I turned down a side street to make a few more turns before coming out again on to the thoroughfare. Sure enough, as I glanced back, the person was also coming around the corner. But it was no common footpad. It was clearly a woman. She wore a long grey cloak and wide hood, pulled down to cover her forehead and eyes. I kept walking, turned another corner into a street so narrow I could practically span it with my arms, and then ducked into a recess.

She passed by me, a whisker away, and I quickly leapt out behind her. Alarmed, she wheeled around, stepping sideways and almost tripping in her heels over the cobbles. And I froze as she looked up, eyes huge. There stood Marguerite St. John. Neither of us could stutter a word, and I fell backwards into the wall behind.

“Sweet Mother of God, Maggie—how?” I moved forward to grasp her arm.

She was nervous, hesitant, and gave a small laugh and smile. “Richard, I know it is foolish and bad. But I did tell you I wouldn’t stay back there.”

The initial shock and joy of seeing her face now dissipated as the reality sank in. “But how did you find me, woman? And how did you arrive here a day after me?” I seized her by both arms and shook her. “Who else knows and who is with you?”

She offered no resistance or her usual fiery tongue but just shook her head at me, quietly gushing out that she was alone and that no one knew where she was. She knew that I had gone to Devon, for I had told her as much. It had not been difficult to find my brother William in Plympton, she said, although he told her he did not know where I was headed. She had surmised it was north, to London town.

I gave her another shake as my anger boiled up. “What has gotten into your empty little head? Travelling alone on the road, in England? What are you trying to do?”

“I needed to be with you. It was only blind chance I saw you on the green earlier. I had no idea you were in Exeter. And I have found you again, my love.”