Gideon's Angel (25 page)

My hand automatically moved to my hilt. “I’ll not part with my blade for even a minute, sir.”

“It’s all right,” said Ashmole. “I will get us swords and accompany you to the silversmith,
senor
.”

The rabbi straightened his hat that had slid sideways in his excitement. “Mister Falkenhayn, we must depend upon you to find the whereabouts of Fludd and his men. My art can only be of use if we are in the direct presence of the enemy.”

“Call me Richard Treadwell,
senor
. My alias is no longer any cloak of secrecy. And as for Gideon Fludd, I know he will be where Cromwell is when the moon is full.”

“The old royal apartments of the Cockpit, at Whitehall?” said Ashmole. “Surely not even he would have such boldness to strike there.”

“Yes, he would, Elias. And that is where we will wait to serve him in full.”

T
HE WHOLE WORLD
was not quite right that afternoon. I walked swiftly up Fleet Street having left Ashmole and da Silva to their tasks, my anxious eyes settling upon every passerby and all the while praying I would not be challenged by a patrol. The sky was leaden grey, the light fast disappearing, and some trick of the wind had dragged down the smoke of all the chimneys, down, down from the gabled rooftops, sending creeping, wispy tendrils into the street. The acrid taste of sulphur entered my nose and mouth, my eyes burned, and all the time the low cloud roiled overhead. A certain strange heaviness permeated the atmosphere, an almost unnatural harbinger of something dreadful.

The street was full of people and horses and I weaved my way in and out at a steady clip, my eyes searching for redcoats. I would every so often pause, stand to the side with my back to the houses, and scan where I had come, just to be sure of what was following me. I had just done this for the third time when I bumped into a figure that was nearly wedged into a corner of a house front under the eaves. I quickly moved to the side and glanced down at the curious beggar. A dirty, battered felt hat obscured his face but as I took half a step back he raised his head and looked at me. He was a little man, old but not ancient, resting on a crutch. His left leg was missing below the knee and his ochre coloured breeches were practically faded dirty white, covered in road filth. His coat—a soldier’s coat—had lost all of its buttons, kept closed by a leather belt, cracked and brittle with age. The creature regarded me and gave a toothless smile as he held out his hand. I do not know why, but I was not revolted by the poor man. Perhaps it was because he had been a soldier, one whose fate might someday be mine as well.

“Hallo there, brother,” I said as I fumbled in my purse for a coin to give him. “Hard times, I see.”

He nodded slowly, and I placed a sixpence in his grubby palm. That was when I looked into his eyes. Something was not right about them, or him. It was as if someone else’s eyes had been placed in this grizzled old veteran’s skull. They were the eyes of a much younger man looking out of a broken, old carcass. And it unsettled me greatly. “Where did you fight, brother?”

“Everywhere, brother,” he replied, voice as melodious as a choirboy. “I have seen many battles. Like you have... but many more.”

“You know that, eh? Well, looking at you I’d be inclined to accept that.”

His palm slowly closed around the coin and he looked at me with those strange green eyes, bright as emeralds. “I was near to you when you took that pike in your leg at Naseby,” he said, his voice quiet and firm. “And after that at Arras in Flanders... and your first fight at the gates of Nienburg—do you remember that?”

My blood ran cold. I could say nothing. I took a step back, my mind desperately working how he could know such things. This broken down creature
knew
me. I drew back further, nearly knocking into a cart.

The beggar raised a hand, a gesture of farewell. “Be ever watchful, brother! And trust in your God.”

Warning or benediction, I was sore shaken. I hurriedly turned my back to him and scurried up the street. I glanced back over my shoulder for a moment, but he was already gone from view. By the time I reached the north end of London Bridge, my head was swirling with dark fantasies and conspiracies. And I could feel myself sweating like a pig. It was then I spotted a dozen dragoons gathered about a brazier in the last of the twilight, hard by the rutted cobble lane that led up to the bridge foot. Their short muskets were slung over shoulder or balanced in the crooks of their arms. They were carefully eyeing every man that set foot upon the bridge; clearly relishing their power to challenge whoever they chose. They were looking for me.

Asking a boatman down at the steps near Blackfriars to ferry me across was one way around the problem. But then it quickly occurred to me that the army would by now have every waterman in its employ too. So I stood across the street, pulled my cloak up tight around me, and waited to see what might happen. As an old soldier, I knew the value of patience and, again, it rewarded me for my prudence. Three whores had wandered down to the bridge end, looking to cross over to the taverns in Southwark. But finding a dozen likely customers on this side of the bridge convinced them it was worth a go to remain where they were. As they struck up a merry banter with the soldiers, I slipped closer to the bridge. Now the whores were performing a song and as one bared her tits to show what was on offer, the soldiers formed a tight circle around the ladies, rapt in their attention. The sergeant, a fuzzy-bearded barrel-chested man, shouted and began cuffing one of his men who had tried sampling the wares. It was time to make a move.

I walked deliberately, but not too swiftly, down to the right of the bridge entrance and up past the wooden palisades. And I kept on walking, walking into the narrow roadway and into the jostling crowd that fought their way backwards and forwards in the gloom. The road on the bridge was dark—it was always dark because of the close overhanging houses. In a few moments, I was safely lost in the jumble of the bridge dwellers, the shops and the crooked little houses. Yet this was temporary respite from the tightening noose. It was only a matter of time before the army would find me, but I needed one more day to wait for Gideon Fludd. There was only one thing for it: I now had to stay all that night and the next day in the glover’s house with Billy. Time to wait and to pray.

I reached the house, watched suspiciously by an old man who was shuttering his shop windows next to the glover’s. I reached for the latch on the peeling and blistered red door. It lifted and the door opened inwards. It was not locked. I hesitated, my hand resting upon the jamb as the hinges groaned. There was lantern light coming from inside so I assumed that Billy might be napping or else upstairs. But for Billy, twitchy at the best of times, leaving the door unbarred was an unlikely oversight. I stepped inside and slowly closed the door behind me, letting my eyes grow accustomed to the faint light.

I undid my cloak and threw it upon the work table.

“Billy, Billy Chard!” There was no reply. It was only then I saw the crumpled figure upon the floor. Billy was face down in the corner, his tangled brown locks glistening and wet.

“
Bonsoir
,
Colonel
.”

I slowly turned around, towards the doorway. Lieutenant d’Artagnan stood just four paces away, his pistol levelled at me. I swore under my breath, mainly at my own stupidity in letting this all happen. “Did you have to kill him, you bastard.”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “I brained him with the flat of my blade. The rascal has a skull like an ox. He’ll live. Mind you, I should have killed him for catching me out in Exeter—taking my sword and my horse.”

“And I should have killed you when I had the chance. Sometimes I take comradeship a little too seriously.”

The young musketeer chuckled. “But Richard, that is why I have spared you. We have served together, and will again I am certain. But you must come back with me now, or else. Cromwell’s army is closing on you.”

“Thanks to you,
monsieur
.” I slowly knelt near Billy to see that he still drew breath. He did. “You went straight to your ambassador to tell him the traitor Treadwell was here, didn’t you? And he told John Thurloe, Cromwell’s spymaster.” I stood up again, my fingers slick with Billy’s blood.

“We’ve had this conversation, Colonel. His Eminence has no wish for General Cromwell to come to harm and your little sojourn was never sanctioned by him. You expected me
not
to warn my ambassador that a rogue agent of the Cardinal was here? Don’t you think it would have been far easier for me just to kill you? I am trying to save you.” D’Artagnan took another step into the room. “Now, unbuckle your swordbelt, sit down in that chair, and be reasonable. I can reunite you with Marguerite shortly and we three can be off for the coast—with an escort from the ambassador’s retinue.”

I took a step towards him. “Where is Marguerite? Don’t tell me you brought her here with you, you fool.”

D’Artagnan pulled back slightly even as his arm shot forward, the hammer of his doglock clicking loudly. “Stand down, sir!”

I balled my fists until I could feel my nails cutting my palms. I had trusted him to keep her safe. “You trumped up Gascon peasant. Where is Marguerite? Where did you leave her?”

D’Artagnan inclined his head and narrowed his eyes. “Now,
monsieur
, my patience is truly at an end. Give me your word of honour to yield or I will blow your brains out here and now.”

I had not time to answer him. The door crashed inwards and strangers were upon us. The Frenchman was fast, wheeling towards the intruders, but he had only half turned in a crouch at the sound before a cudgel struck him upon the head, dropping him like a stone. His pistol bounced on the floorboards but did not discharge. I possessed only half the reflexes of the young musketeer but went for the pistol on the floor anyway, even before looking at my attackers. If the redcoats were to take me they would have to work for it. I had one knee on the floor, one hand bracing me up, and the other wrapped around d’Artagnan’s firelock, all the while the sound of crashing boots rang in my ears. I had just picked up the weapon when I felt the cold heavy steel of a pistol barrel poking me at the back of my head.

Gideon Fludd’s voice was close to my ear, that same quiet measured cadence I remembered from when he had slit my face. “No, no, no, that will not do, sirrah.” I felt a hand on my collar pulling me up while someone seized the pistol from my grasp. “You’ve been a trickster, my friend, very difficult to find. Not so your comrade here. He was easy to follow.”

Fludd pulled me backwards sharply, throwing me across the floor. I looked up to see him standing over me, two of his Fifth Monarchy men flanking him. And I was staring into the muzzle of his cavalry wheel-lock, my heart in my throat, wishing now that they had been red-coated dragoons instead. I pushed myself backwards and slowly gained my feet.

Major Fludd was bareheaded, his close-cropped white hair almost aglow in the dim light of the room. But I could clearly see his eyes. They fairly started from out of his pale face, burning with keenness to kill me for what I had done. “It is bad enough that you’ve slain my brother, but that you still hold what does not belong to you, now
that
rubs salt into my open wound, old man.”

He knew I held the Moon Pentacle. I bumped into the wall behind me. Gideon Fludd raised his pistol towards my head. “Do not make me hunt for the
lamen
. Surrender it and then I will kill you quickly, I swear upon my God. The blood debt must be paid.”

“At least most canting Roundheads believe they’re serving God, sir. Not the Devil—like you are. Are you so blind not to see what it is that you truly serve?”

Fludd’s booted foot slammed hard upon the boards, bouncing the entire floor. “Enough of your blasphemy! Where is the device?”

“It is no angel that you treat with.” I still had my sword about my waist. But the room was too small for swordplay and he would either blow a hole through me or all three would jump me, or both.

“You are going to die anyway. Just give me what I ask for.” His voice had regained its quiet certitude.

Here he was, within reach of me. I could end it all here, perhaps. Was this not what I wanted, to have him in my grasp? I smiled at him. “Why not ask your angel Eistibus where it is?”

Fludd started towards me but one of his men grabbed his shoulder. “Hold, Major! What has he seen of us?”

Fludd stepped back, digesting my little morsel. “So, you’re a spy too, it seems. Did you see the Holy One when we had you tied up?”

“I’ve seen enough. And I know what the creature has bid you to do. You will not succeed. Even now the army surrounds the Lord General to guard him from your attack.”

Fludd hardly blinked at my sally. He shook his head slowly as if truly saddened for me. “Little old man, do you really think any mortal can stand before the Will of the Almighty? How many soldiers Cromwell surrounds himself with does not concern me. And your little efforts have only served to annoy me. This night, the angel will bestow upon me all that I need to accomplish the task. And King Jesus will follow.”

The silver pentacle lay heavy in my pocket. “Very well, sir. It is my wish to serve God. I will reveal where it is hidden.”

Fludd seemed to relax a little, but kept the pistol levelled. “Play me not, sir. Just tell me where it is.”

“It is right
there
,” I said, gently pointing my finger towards the opposite wall. And thank God, they all looked over their shoulders. I ducked fast, swatting his hand cannon away, and bounded into the next room. Even as I slammed the door shut and threw home the wooden bolt, a shot blew through the door, ripping wood splinters across my face. The pistol ball went wide. I backed into the room, my mind racing to think of an escape. And then the floor under my feet rang hollow. I was standing on the trap door that Billy had shown me, the hatch leading down to the river. I stooped to grab the iron ring, even as the door to the room was cracking off its hinges as Fludd bellowed at his men.

If Billy had somehow managed to find a boat and tie it up... I heaved again and the hatch groaned as it gave way. I peered down into the darkness and the roar and smell of the river rose up to engulf me. Then I saw it. It was hanging from the rungs of the ladder. Even as I jumped backwards, its arms reached up into the hatchway, and its long-fingered hands hit the floor, claws scrabbling on the boards, trying to find purchase. And as the head and shoulders of the thing came into view, I felt my guts go to water.