The Vault of Bones (2 page)

We had passed a week in this manner when the captain asked that I make a journey down the Thames to Deptford to buy a new anchor for the
Cormaran.
I would be gone a day, no more, and I bade Anna farewell with a kiss and a fierce embrace, knowing full well I would be back in those arms by nightfall. I took a wherry downriver, enjoying the boatman's skill as he manoeuvred us through the water traffic and shot the foaming race under London Bridge. It was a sunny day, and I stepped on to the bank at Deptford at around the noon hour. I took a mug of ale and a hot pie at a tavern, sought out the ironworks and paid for a fine anchor. The ironmaster was a voluble Kentishman, and before any money had changed hands a big flagon of cider appeared and we passed it between us in the blazing heat of the forge. Kentish cider is no match for that of Devon, and I told him so in good humour. That set him talking all the more, and before long we were in his cider store, eating great lumps of hard cows' cheese from the downlands of Sussex and sampling the contents of various barrels and tuns. My head well and truly fuddled, I at last conceded that a thick, mouth-puckering scrumpy from the Weald would not be laughed out of the fine county of Devonshire, hugged the man like a brother, and staggered off to find a wherry bound for London.

But there was no wherry. I had spent far too much time at the ironworks. Now it was dark, it was snowing again, and the tide had turned. Cursing, I made my way to the inn, an ancient pile of wattle and daub that the breath of the river had all but dissolved, and enquired after a boat, but there were none to be had until the morrow. And so I reluctantly took a room - there were plenty free - and hoped that Anna would not take my absence amiss. The place was pleasant enough, in truth: there was a hearty fire that hissed and crackled with the jolly song of burning flotsam, good ale and hot wine to chase off the cider hangover I was already suffering. I took myself off early to bed, where I had to curl up tight against the creeping damp of the linen, feeling a little sorry for myself, but not overmuch: for I was playing truant, as it were, and that is a pleasure all to itself.

The pot-boy woke me some time before the fourth hour, while the mist was still thick on the face of the Thames. There were stars in the sky, and marsh birds shrieked and piped out in the foggy desolation. There was a wherryman up and about, said the boy, and when I had jogged through the mist to the edge of the river, I found an ill-tempered man, a boat and a favourable tide. As the bells of the city were chiming the eighth hour, I was whistling up Garlick Hill on my way to the Blue Falcon.

I crossed the threshold of the inn expecting a ghastly tongue-lashing from Anna, but when I found her in the parlour, perched upon a settle by the window, she greeted me with a soft, distracted smile. I sat down warily opposite her and poured out the apology I had been constructing since my wherry had passed the Isle of Dogs.

‘I am glad you had a nice time’ she said, stopping me with a hand to my lips. 'But now I have a puzzle for you. Can you make head or tail of this? It came just after you left’ And she handed me a letter, a neatly folded square of vellum sealed with an anonymous, blank blob of wax. The seal was broken, and I unfolded the vellum and scanned the neatly written words within.

To Her Majesty the Vassileia Anna Doukaina Komnena, respectful greetings.

I humbly ask that you will receive a petitioner who will make none but the briefest imposition upon your day. If you would care to hear words from a place that perhaps is still dear to your heart, please receive this humblest of supplicants, who shall call upon you at the hour before noon, tomorrow.

The letter trailed off into florid politenesses that tried but failed to disguise the fact that the writer had not signed his name.

Who brought this?' I asked. Anna shook her head.

'A tall man’ she said. 'So the pot-boy says. When pressed, he claimed the fellow was not a poor man, to judge by his clothes. That is all’

I read the letter again. It was in French, which gave no clue, although I thought perhaps it might be the French of Paris, and not London French.

'Not a Greek, then?' I puzzled. ‘I mean, this would seem to be from a Greek, would it not? "A place dear to your heart?" Nicea, I suppose’

'That is what ... oh, Mother of God, Patch, I can't go on being this calm! Who knows my name, outside our good shipmates? No one! And all this about my heart! Of course it is someone from ... someone sent by my uncle’ she finished, her voice sinking into an involuntary whisper.

‘I doubt that’ I said, soothingly. 'Are there Greeks in London?'

'There are’ said Anna. 'Of course there are.' Well, then’

'He was not a Greek’ said Anna. 'I asked. I said, "Did he look foreign?" Apparently he did not. This is Frankish writing, and a Frankish choice of words’ She plucked the letter from me and dropped it on to the settle between us.

'Did you tell the Captain?' I asked, searching her face. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was drawn into a tight line. She shook her head.

'No. I do not wish to.'

'I think you should.' She shook her head again and gave me a look in which nasty weather was brewing.

'I do not wish to trouble him. He suffers my presence in his company very prettily, and in return I shall not pester him with annoying flea-bites such as this.' She pinned the letter down with her downturned thumb and gave me a look that said the matter was closed. I knew her well enough by now, though, to judge that it was not. But I let it lie, for my love was no mean judge of the world, and prowled around its snares and ambuscades as deftly as any cat.

Well, what shall we do today, then?' I asked, happy to change the subject.

It was early yet, before nine bells, but Anna had heard of a spice merchant in a street nearby who promised the freshest and strangest oddities from Ind and Cathay, and then perhaps a visit to a silk-seller. They were not really shopping trips, these excursions, but rather Anna’s way to justify long and rambling explorations, a passion I shared with her. Whenever the
Cormaran
brought us to an interesting landfall we would lose ourselves in streets and alleys, twisting and turning, chatting to townsfolk in cookshops and taverns, until we thought we had found the heart of the place. London was our greatest challenge so far, and so far we had only dipped our toes in its roiling, limitless waters. So we set out, and quickly found the spice merchant, whose wares were as withered and overpriced as we had expected. Finding ourselves near the Hospital of Saint Bartholomew, we strolled out beyond the walls to the great, stinking plain of Smooth Field, where the kingdom's farmers bring their animals for slaughter and butchering. There were no cows today, merely a churned-up expanse of muddy grass rank with dung and old blood, and a small town of rude huts and some grander houses of wattle and brick, peopled, so it seemed, by filthy children whose play was blows and vile oaths, and by men and women crippled either by drink or the drip. Driven back inside the walls by a reeking host of beggars, we wandered some more, past ancient churches and grand houses, hopelessly entwined in the tangled net of streets.

Or so I supposed, until, turning a corner, I found that we had come back to Cheapside, and that our lodgings were only a little way away, across the teeming street.

'How did you manage that?' I asked Anna, amazed. She said nothing, but looked smug and tapped her head wisely with a finger. Then I realised.

It is almost noon, is it not?' I said.

'I could not resist’ she said. You do not mind, do you? If I do not find out who this fellow is, it will drive me mad.'

'But.. ‘I began to protest.

You will protect me’ she said, smiling. 'And we will spy, only that. Peer at the fellow from behind a door. Do not worry: if there is trouble, I will tell the Captain, I promise. And, you well know, if trouble is coming, it will find us anyway’

I could not argue with that, so I huffed peevishly and set off after her. I knew her well enough to know that if her mind was made up, nothing I could say or do would change it, short of binding her hand and foot. Cheapside was crowded - it was always crowded, but at the middle of the day it seemed as if all the people in the world were hurrying along it, on foot, in carts or on horseback. Anna was hurrying along, heading for the place where a stepping stone had been laid in the kennel, for that foul and stinking runnel of shit and night-water was almost too wide to jump over. She stopped and waited for a haywain to pass, and when it had creaked by, she darted out, shouldering her way past a stout countrywoman shuffling along with a yoke and two baskets of dead geese, heads lolling, thick pink tongues jutting from their open beaks. Looking past her towards the Blue Falcon, my eye was caught by a man who had paused at the door, and who seemed to be looking in our direction.

He was quite tall, and crop-headed like a soldier, and even from this distance I could tell that his face had suffered in battle, for the thin winter sun caught the silver trail of an old scar as the man turned his head. But if he recognised Anna, he made no sign, and kept his place at the door. Still I hurried to catch up with her, for now we could not go into the inn through the front, if we went in at all. I had almost caught her when she stepped neatly around two fat burghers talking loudly about money and skipped up on to the stepping stone. Now I was blocked by a man with a barrow, who swore at me absently, the quick-tongued foul geniality of London. I was about to curse him back when the words seized in my throat, for a beast was screaming, high and sharp, and a woman's voice had joined it. I shoved the barrow-man aside with my shoulder in time to see Anna, in the street beyond the kennel, raise her arms high over her head as if to grasp the great hooves that flailed there, for a great piebald horse loomed above her, dwarfing her, and then all at once her slim shape was for an instant caged in the living bars of its legs before it reared up again and came down upon her with both hooves, dashing her to the mud. The rider seemed to be grappling with the reins and let out a despairing cry as the horse came up again, seemed to walk for an instant like a man upon its hind legs, before plunging forward and setting off down the street, rider clinging to its back like a ragdoll.

Anna was lying crooked in the mud, pressed into the paste of earth and dung, one arm beneath her, the other flung back behind her head. Her hair was across her face and trampled into the filth like a dead crow. I knelt, babbling, cooing wordlessly to her in my panic, and brushed the hair away. She turned and looked at me, and I gasped with relief, for our eyes met and her lips parted, to tell me it was all right, it hurt a little bit here, and here. The world stilled, I reached for her, told her not to move, for her leg was broken; slid a hand beneath her head, bent my own head to catch her words.

Then her good leg gave a kick and her neck shuddered beneath my fingers. Her eyes fixed on mine for a moment longer and then slid away, seeming to flutter across the hedge of muddy legs that surrounded us. No words came, only a throttled, rattling hiss. I pulled her from the mud and tried to cradle her head in my lap, and found that my hands were wet with blood. I could feel it, flooding hotly across my legs. Her leg kicked again, like a snared beast, and the world started its heedless dance once more, and the London sun trickled down upon us, pale as piss, while an apple bobbed past down the kennel.

She was alive when we carried her into the Blue Falcon, myself and a page, an egg-seller and the barrow-pusher, and laid her on the bed she and I had awoken in two mornings ago. Captain de Montalhac burst in with Gilles, just that moment returned from some business out in the city, and a doctor was sent for. I relate these things as if I were aware of them, and I was, though only as a reader is aware of the tiny painted figures crawling about the margins of a book. For Anna did not move, though a woman came and sponged the blood from her face and chafed her wrists, and I whispered in her ear and stroked her cold forehead. She was still, save for the rise and fall of her chest, and silent, but for her breath, which hissed and creaked and held not the slightest hint of her voice.

The doctor came, a grey old monk from that same Hospital of Saint Bartholomew we had passed just an hour or two ago. He came to the bedside and ran his hands gently, over Anna's head. She did not stir, nor did her breathing change its timbre. He peered into her ears, put his ear to her chest, and lifted her eyelids with a careful thumb. Then he looked up and met my desperate gaze. He patted my hand where it lay upon Anna's collarbone, and sighed.

'A kick from a horse, was it?' he said. 'There is little to be done. Perhaps ...' and he paused, and raised his hands. I thought he was about to pray, and my heart shrank within me, but instead he interlaced his fingers. The bones of the skull are fitted together thus, like the vaulting of a stone roof. The lady ... her skull is shattered in one place, and the vault is collapsing in upon her brain, which is inflamed and has started to swell. There have been seizures?' I told him of her kicking leg. 'They will worsen, until.. .'

'Is there truly nothing to be done?' I croaked, searching his grey eyes and finding nothing there save resignation.

'I could attempt to remove the pieces of bone, which might relieve the pressure upon her brain.'

Then do it, for God's sake! Do not hesitate!'

‘I do not have the instruments with me, my child,' he said gently. 'And I fear that if we try to bring her to the hospital, the motion ...' He looked at the faces gathered around the bed. ‘I will fetch my tools, but I fear that this poor child will not live even until I return.'

I saw the Captain's face go grey. 'Go, sir,' he said. 'Maybe she is stronger than you think. Fetch your instruments, we ... the company begs you.'

The doctor nodded gravely. He patted my hand again and took his leave. After he had gone, the room was silent save for Anna's laboured breathing. I had laid my forehead on the cool linens to calm my battering thoughts, when Pavlos gasped. Anna's eyes had opened. At once I bent over her, and tried to meet her gaze, but to my dismay I saw that it wandered, now slowly, now flickering aimlessly across the ceiling beams. But here, surely, was a sign, for she had awoken! Where was the surgeon and his cursed instruments?