Hearts of Darkness (20 page)

‘We will find them outside the town walls,’ said Dowling. ‘No one cares who we are out there. It’s in here they watch for strangers.’

I led us into the grounds of All Saints and leant against a wall. ‘And in here that soldiers roam, when before they were locked outside. What spells Withypoll must have cast to persuade Mayor Flanner.’

I heard shouting and peered over the wall and across the high street into the castle grounds. A disorderly mob of a dozen soldiers or more staggered down the hill from the castle itself. They walked unsteadily, still happily complying with Captain Scotschurch’s mandate to stay drunk.

As the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, so candlelight appeared in the windows of the houses.

‘Follow the lights,’ Dowling pointed. Torches shone from the direction of St Runwald’s and the marketplace.

‘Withypoll must be at the Moot Hall,’ I guessed. ‘Now is as good a time as any.’

I led us north towards the Dutch Quarter, Dowling following
reluctant. I had no plan, other than to retrace our steps of four nights ago. Two men watched as we struggled to remember the route. One tapped the other on the elbow and they touched foreheads. They weren’t soldiers, but watched just as careful, before disappearing into the darkness.

‘We have to hurry,’ I said, dry-mouthed.

Dowling beckoned. ‘This way.’

We hurried beneath the eaves, then headed left. The big house, in which I saw Shrewsbury, stood at the end of the street. Dark, lifeless windows stared back.

‘Shrewsbury cannot be far away,’ was all I could think to say.

Dowling laid a hand upon my shoulder. ‘We have to leave, Harry.’

Voices sounded from the end of the same alley we just passed through. Then more voices from the street behind, laced with the excitement of the hunter. The alley brightened with the light of torches as the noise grew louder.

Too late to retreat. I ran up to the house and tried the door. It was unlocked.

‘Come,’ I hissed at Dowling, who still stood motionless.

He bounded after me with long loping strides, and I closed the door just before the first pursuer emerged from the alley. The house smelt dusty, hollow and deserted. We crouched before the long bay window and peered out into the night. A small crowd gathered. Soon the cobbled street was full, a dozen soldiers or more, all carrying torches. They chattered amongst themselves, pointing in all directions, until Withypoll appeared and the noise subsided.

He stared at the ground and walked slowly towards us. Then, to my blessed relief, he turned aside, waving a hand left, directing half the soldiers away towards the north and the other half back towards
the castle. He lifted his torch, illuminating his long, cruel face, afore following the soldiers north.

I turned from the window and slumped backwards against the wall.

Dowling still crouched, facing outwards. ‘We’re safe for now. A dozen drunkard soldiers can search only slowly at night. We have until dawn to find a way out.’

‘Withypoll will not make the same mistake twice,’ I worried. ‘Every gate will be guarded from the inside.’

‘What would Josselin do?’ said Dowling.

‘Climb the wall?’ I wondered. ‘Dig beneath it? Find a breach?’

‘I reckon he’ll have prepared already his escape,’ Dowling replied. ‘There’ll be a house somewhere, close to the wall, whose occupants will help him.’

‘Fairfax bombarded the west wall with cannon,’ I said. ‘St Mary’s was destroyed. There must be an easy route out somewhere about Head Gate or the Balkerne Gate.’

Dowling nodded. ‘Since half Withypoll’s men have gone north, we should go south, but we’ll have to cross the centre of town.’

‘Not if we go direct west through St Peter’s,’ I said. ‘Then make our way south across the corn market.’ I turned to peer out of the window again, feeling more cheerful.

Something moved at the far end of the street, a flash of white.

I elbowed Dowling in the ribs. ‘Did you see that?’

‘See what?’ Dowling muttered.

I watched so hard, my eyes hurt. Someone darted from one side of the road to the other and now stood in a doorway, deep in shadow. I could still make out a sliver of white against the black shadow. Whoever it was stood still, waiting for something, or someone.

‘We cannot stay here,’ said Dowling.

‘Someone hides in the shadow,’ I insisted. ‘What if it is Josselin?’

I stood up and headed for the door. I put my ear to the wood, but all was silent. Then I opened it slow, felt the night brush gently against my cheek. Then I looked down and saw our footprints, clear, edged with flakes of dried mud.

‘This is what Withypoll was looking at,’ I whispered to Dowling, eyes fixed upon the doorway where I saw the white shape.

‘Aye, and Withypoll is not a fool,’ said a gruff voice.

I spun to my left, hands raised, too late. The club hit me square above the forehead. My knees buckled. Two soldiers jumped on Dowling, dragging him to the floor. I heard the crack of his skull beneath someone’s thick boot. I lay on my side, a warm river of blood trickling down my nose.

The white shape floated out onto the street, a tall majestic figure, yellow skin drawn like parchment. The Earl of Shrewsbury?

‘You were told to fetch Josselin,’ Withypoll said from somewhere above my head. ‘I don’t see him.’

I tried to look up, but my head wouldn’t move.

Someone pulled at my hair, and something cold rubbed against my throat. ‘I would
like
to kill you, Lytle,’ Withypoll whispered in my ear. ‘First tell me where is Josselin?’

So he didn’t have him.

‘He is a hero here,’ I slurred. ‘They do as he commands.’

‘I will find him,’ hissed Withypoll. ‘Make no mistake. Then will I cut his lips from his face.’ The blade pressed against my windpipe. ‘As I will do to you one day, but Arlington insists upon seeing you first.’

My stomach cramped, and my guts churned, forcing me to vomit.
I panted, sucking in cool air, retching nothing, for we hadn’t eaten properly in three days.

‘Take them,’ Withypoll commanded. ‘Tell Lord Arlington to save them for me.’

I searched again for the ghostly shape of Shrewsbury before someone punched me flush on one cheek with what felt like a hammer. I remember nothing else until we were well past Brentwood.

Dowling’s forehead bore a clearly discernible boot print stamped into his skin. He lay with arms bound behind his back, staring at the same instrument as I did. In the same dingy room in the Develin Tower where this all started. Back in London.

Arlington stroked the black hair of a dead donkey’s head, impaled upon a wooden spike. ‘A friend of mine told me about this. He saw one in Spain. I had this one built especially.’ He ran a finger along the line of its cranium then pulled one of its ears out straight, smiling in grim satisfaction. ‘I have not had the pleasure of using it yet.’ He turned to me, the edges of the black plaster upon his nose gently peeling.

‘Untie him,’ he demanded.

Two soldiers stepped forward, hesitant, like they feared for their
own lives. They picked at the knots hastily, muttering under their breath as they worked. Then my wrists were free.

‘Place him on the donkey,’ Arlington ordered.

The head and spike attached to a long piece of wood, running across the top of a four-legged frame. The saddle of the beast was planed sharp as a razor, stuck straight up into the air. As they lowered me onto its back, the edge of it cut into my arse. I leant forwards in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

Arlington lifted a finger. ‘Bind him again.’ The soldier jerked my hands behind my back and the wood bit deeper into my flesh.

‘The Spanish military use this in the field,’ Arlington announced, brightly. He pointed to a pile of iron balls, heaped in the corner, then fetched a pair of manacles and closed them around my ankles. The chains falling from the manacles were covered in hooks. ‘It is a most ingenious device.’

He picked up two balls, each of which had a loop embedded within it, and hooked one onto each of my feet. The manacles pulled me down even harder upon the blade of the wooden frame and the wood ground against my bone. I gritted my teeth and wriggled desperately in an attempt to relieve the pain.

‘What do you think, butcher?’ he asked Dowling. ‘Would you like to join him?’

‘Why torture him?’ Dowling barked. ‘We have no secrets from you.’

‘Every man has secrets,’ Arlington answered, calm. ‘Now I would attach more and more balls to each leg until the weight pulls the man down so hard against the edge that it cuts him in half.’

It felt already like my body was torn in two, fire shooting through my anus.

‘It seems to work.’ I heard Arlington’s voice, full of wonder. I stared upwards at the ceiling, tears filling my eyes.

‘What do you want?’ Dowling shouted.

‘I don’t know,’ Arlington replied, voice distant. ‘Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I will try another two balls.’

‘He saved your life,’ Dowling bellowed. ‘You were writhing upon the ground, barely conscious. Wharton held his sword with both fists, ready to drive it into the back of your neck. Harry saved your life.’

‘That is not how it happened.’ Arlington blinked, turning to the soldiers. ‘I was locked in deadly combat with the Earl of St Albans and was about to slay him, when this fellow intervened, plunging a butcher’s knife into the back of his head.’

I tried to hold my body still, fearing if I moved the sharp edge would cut deeper into my body. I opened my eyes and looked down to my left without moving my head. The soldiers cowered.

‘He saved your life.’ Dowling tried to stand, back bent. ‘And would do it again.’

I wished he would sit still.

Arlington stepped forward and pushed Dowling back onto the stone floor. ‘I should hope he would,’ he declared. ‘I serve my King to the best of my ability, and reward those who are similarly loyal.’

‘Then take him down,’ Dowling begged, eyes wide.

Arlington waved a hand. ‘Take him down,’ he said, much to my amazement. ‘I had no intention of torturing him,’ he explained to the soldiers as they lifted me from the wooden donkey. ‘Not yet, anyway. Throw him back onto the floor.’

Though they lifted me off the cursed contraption, the pain didn’t subside. I staggered back to my place with legs bowed. Dowling breathed low and shallow.

Arlington leant backwards against the donkey, tossing a heavy ball from one hand to the other. ‘What happened in Shyam?’

‘James Josselin sought refuge,’ I answered quickly, determined not to end up back on the device. ‘He was apprehended by a man named Thomas Elks who hid him away with the intention of killing him. We found him.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘If Withypoll doesn’t have him, then he is on his way back to London.’

‘Back to London?’ Arlington grimaced. ‘He runs away. Now you say he plans to run back?’

‘He wants to talk to you,’ I replied. ‘He asked us to arrange a meeting with you. He says he has something of yours, something you may not know he owns.’

‘The traitor has a secret.’ Arlington lifted his arms in an attempt at humour. But his brow furrowed. ‘What does he have of mine?’

‘He said a letter,’ I replied, feeling the sweat upon my palms. ‘Though he wouldn’t say what was in it.’

Arlington pursed his lips strangely and stared so hard his eyelids disappeared. He turned to face one corner of the dark and dingy turret, biting at the fingers of one hand, muttering. Then he tore at his wig and threw it on the floor. He stood over it, red-faced, breathing deep. The two soldiers looked at each other and then the door.

He swivelled on one heel and screamed. ‘Go!’

They hurried out the room, closing the door carefully behind. I listened to their footsteps dance down the stone staircase.

‘I have had enough!’ Arlington yelled, face red and moist against the whiteness of his shaven head. ‘I asked you to go to Shyam and fetch Josselin. Yet instead you take it upon yourself to arrange a
meeting
!’

He stood bent, head craned forward, seeking some response. It seemed prudent to remain quiet.

‘What were you doing sneaking about Colchester, hiding in an empty house – in the Dutch Quarter?’ Saliva flew in all directions.

‘I saw Shrewsbury there, talking to some Dutchmen,’ I explained. ‘Before we went to Shyam.’

Arlington’s face turned a shade of deep purple. ‘What?’

‘The Earl of Shrewsbury,’ I said, praying his twitching fingers would not alight upon a knife.

Arlington’s face twisted into a mask of livid incomprehension. ‘You saw the Earl of Shrewsbury in the Dutch Quarter at Colchester,’ he choked. ‘The Earl of Shrewsbury in England.’ He looked to Dowling, who bowed his head.

‘
I
saw him,’ I said. ‘Before we went to Shyam. In the same house we were arrested by Withypoll. We went to see if he was still there, for it seemed likely there might be some connection. The Earl of Shrewsbury fled to Holland. So it seemed to us …’ Dowling looked like he would weep. ‘It seemed to
me
…’

Arlington’s face became pink again, as the blood drained back from his cheeks. ‘You told Withypoll this?’

‘I told him the same night,’ I replied. ‘Before we left for Shyam, but I don’t think he believed me.’

‘I am not surprised,’ Arlington exclaimed, voice weak. ‘The Earl of Shrewsbury was killed two months ago. Killed by agents of De Witt, who suspected he conspired with the House of Orange. They did not mean to kill him, they said, though I don’t know how you kill a man by accident. They were keen for us to know how apologetic they were.’

I shook my head firmly. ‘I know the Earl of Shrewsbury well.’

‘You saw a dead man.’

‘Did you see his body?’ I demanded, stubborn.

Arlington sighed, looking to the ceiling. ‘No, I did not see his body. Why should I want to see the old fool’s dead body? He stank when he was alive; God knows what state he would be in if they sent his rotten corpse back to England.’

‘Then you don’t know he is dead.’

‘You doubt my intelligence?’ Arlington glared, cheeks glowing again.

‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ I replied, though I knew I was not.

‘Ah!’ Arlington exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and turning away. ‘Withypoll would like to cut off your balls,’ he cried. ‘And I would like to watch.’

‘Josselin was imprisoned,’ I said. ‘Elks locked him up and we found him.’ I stopped. Perhaps I should not reveal how we saved Josselin’s life. It occurred to me most of our troubles could be traced back to saving people’s lives.

‘You found him, released him, then sat back and watched him go,’ Arlington whispered. ‘Is that what you are telling me?’

‘He is a hero in Shyam,’ I replied. ‘Had we tried to arrest him we would have been lynched. Instead we thought to escape the village and seek out Withypoll’s assistance. But Josselin locked us in a cage from which we escaped. We followed him to Colchester, close behind. We were looking for him in the Dutch Quarter.’

Arlington trembled with anger. I wished he would pull back his face from mine, for his breath was rank, and my face was wet.

He clenched his fist in front of my eyes. ‘Why? They are all weavers and wool merchants.’ He turned his back and retreated to the corner of the room to retrieve his wig. He dusted it against the leg of his
breeches and pulled it back over his head.

‘Since we are alone,
gentlemen
,’ he spoke the last word as if to children. ‘I will concede that you did indeed save my life in St Albans.’ He adjusted the hairpiece carefully. ‘Which is of no value to you at all, since I cannot have it known that I allowed myself to be rescued by a butcher and a clerk. So forget it happened.’ He smacked his hands together to be rid of the dirt. ‘It’s just another reason to be rid of you.’

Which did not seem fair.

‘I sent you to Shyam to do a job and you failed.’ He waved a hand at the donkey. ‘Which is yet another reason to be rid of you. Withypoll would do me the honour without needing to be persuaded.’ He drew a short blade from his jacket. ‘Nonetheless I will give you one last opportunity.’ He sliced at the ropes binding my wrists. ‘Not because I am a generous man, nor a kind-hearted man, for we all know I am none of those things.’ He slipped the knife back into the folds of his coat and stood in front of us, hands on hips.

‘Josselin must be apprehended,’ he said, quietly. ‘He is a traitor, and is therefore dangerous. You know what he looks like and have been exposed to him already.’ He turned back to the dark corner, and returned with a twisted iron contraption. ‘I don’t want others talking to him, so I must trust in you.’

He held the tool up in the air. It was like a pair of tongs with the edges turned in and sharpened, thin metal hooks upon their extremities.

‘If he is in London then you must find him,’ he said, calm. ‘How were you to arrange this meeting?’

‘We were to leave message for him at the Mermaid,’ I lied.

‘Then leave your message, arrange the rendezvous, and tell me where to find him.’ He thrust the tongs into my face. ‘If you fail again then it is
not only you who will suffer.’ He looked at Dowling. ‘You have a wife.’ Then turned his attention to me. ‘You do not, but I hear you are fond of your housemaid. You took her away with you to escape the plague, did you not?’

I nodded, dumb, for I recognised the instrument he brandished. It was an ancient breast ripper, a tool used by the inquisitor in days gone by, to shred a woman’s breasts.

‘Do you understand now, gentlemen, how serious is your mission?’ he asked, lowering the device.

‘There is no need …’ Dowling said, weak.

I looked at the donkey and imagined Dowling and I placing Arlington upon its blade.

‘I see what you are thinking, Lytle,’ Arlington leered. ‘I would think the same if I were in your shoes. But if I am found dead, then you will be held culpable. You and your families will be punished.’

He tossed the cruel instrument into the corner. He would never use it himself. He would send apprentices to commit the deed with their own blunt devices. It was a common enough occurrence and would ensure the deed could never be traced to him.

‘Did Josselin tell you he worked with Clarendon?’ Arlington asked matter-of-factly.

We both nodded quickly.

Arlington rubbed his nose. ‘I cannot think why he would return were it not to seek help from the good Earl. I must know the moment he attempts to make contact, for it would be convenient to be able to arrest him in the presence of the Earl. In the Earl’s private closet if necessary.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘But the timing must be perfect. If I send men too early he will never arrive, and Clarendon will be most offended. If I send men too late, then Josselin will be gone.’ He
turned to point at both of us, one with each hand. ‘From tonight you will stand watch at Clarendon’s residence on Piccadilly. Watch where he goes and follow. Josselin may attempt to contact him. If you see Josselin, then one of you will inform me personally. Is that clear?’

‘Aye,’ we replied in unison.

My heart ached, and any suspicion I still harboured that this devil was a man, was assuaged. ‘What about the meeting?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Arlington spat. He blew out his cheeks and took a deep breath. ‘It has been an entertaining evening,’ he proclaimed, taking up a position next to one of the narrow windows, there to watch the red sun dying. ‘For which I doth sincerely thank you. Now be gone.’

I couldn’t believe we were free to go. Time to see Jane.