Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

She was older than Art would have expected. Thin, frail-looking, she was at least sixty years if a day, and her thin, hatchetface spoke of her harsh life. There had been a time perhaps when she had been young, but there was no sign of it in her pinchedfeatures and narrowed eyes. Now she cringed like a dog waiting to be kicked, and cowered away from Art’s companion.

‘Don’t hurt me, masters! I have nothing worth taking, on the gospels!’

‘You have knowledge. That will do for me. I seek a man who recently came to the city from Coventry. Do you know where he is?’ Hewas gazing about him as he spoke. There was a staff by the door, and he moved it further from her reach, glancing at the ladderpropped up against the rafter where her bed was unrolled on bare planks.

She interrupted his thoughts. ‘How can I know? I am bound to my house. I rarely leave it now, with my poor legs hurting somuch and …’

‘Yes, old crone, you are a wizened old bitch. You were a whore, though, and you know where the whores all live and work, still,don’t you? And you have a good knowledge of where a man might take a room to hide from the law.’

Art wondered if he was right … there was a slight glint in her eyes as though she was considering springing on the twomen. As he watched, he was sure that he saw her right hand moving under her kirtle, and then stop, as if she had taken holdof a knife and was waiting before drawing it from a scabbard. Still she cringed, trembling, as though petrified by them. Shewhined, ‘How can I know all this? I am only an old woman trying to make ends meet.’

‘And you do so by peddling information. Very well. I have money. I will share it with you — for information.’

‘There are some houses where a man may hide,’ she admitted, her eyes taken by the coins now held out towards her. Art pursedhis lips in a silent whistle at the sight of them all. If he’d known how much the man was carrying, he’d have joined the menat the alehouse against him.

‘He is tall, thin, strong, older, and dresses in dark clothing to suit his trade.’

‘What trade is that?’ she asked, her eyes still on the coins.

‘He is a necromancer. He was living at Michael Tanner’s undercroft beneath Langatre’s house. Do you know the place?’

‘There was a man killed there today.’

‘That is right. It is the murderer I seek.’

‘Why?’ Her shrewd eyes rose to his face and studied him. There was no fear in them, he saw. She was entirely absorbed by theattraction of the coins in his hands. Any pretence at cowering was over.

‘He has killed my friend,’ he said. ‘A good friend. I will have vengeance.’

‘Ah, well. That’s as good a reason as any. Come back in the morning.’

‘I want to know now.’

‘You’ll wait. You’ll wait. There’s nothing so urgent that you can’t wait a short while, and there’s nothing I can find outin an instant. You will have to wait. What shall I call you?’

‘Robinet. And you?’

‘Me?’ She laughed drily as she straightened finally. ‘Call me Edie. It’s what my friends like to call me.’

The Palace Gate

Things grew a little sticky when he told them that he was leaving, because by that stage he had amassed the majority of themoney from the table, but Rob had expected some dissatisfaction, and put his hand to his knife, gripping his purse in hisother hand as he walked backwards from them, scowling ferociously. A schooling amongst the sailors of Dartmouth taught a ladmuch about life, he reflected as he turned and ran towards the Palace Gate.

There had not been much to learn, if they were telling the truth. Certainly no one appeared to know anything much about Busse, although there was the strange little snippet he had pickedup on while they were playing. Beside him was a scruffy little sodomite with the face of a ferret — and the body odour togo with it. He was called Ben the Bridge, because he had been born near the city’s great bridge over west, and Ben was a servantin the bishop’s household.

‘Not much happens there, I dare say,’ Rob had ventured early on in the game.

Ben had been stung into a response. ‘You think? We have enough excitement.’

‘What, meetings with a monk wants to be abbot?’

‘Killers and witches. That’s what. There are some even here in the city want to see the king dead, that’s what I’ve heard.’

‘You have, eh?’ Rob had a practised indifference when he cared to use it. Just now he was concentrating on the dice, becausehe was sure that if he expressed more enthusiasm, this fellow would clam up and say nothing more. The fact that he was showingno interest upped the stakes for Ben, who now fought to gain his attention.

‘Yes. The steward of the household had me in there as the bishop was instructing a messenger. You know what he said? He wasgiving a message to the king that the sheriff here in the city wasn’t trustworthy, that’s what. He said that the sheriff wasweak-willed and might make an attempt on the king’s life.’

‘A sheriff who’s disloyal?’ Rob chuckled cynically, and the other boys about the table joined in.

‘You laugh if you want to, but the bishop reckons the sheriff plots against the king.’

‘And how would he hear that, eh?’ Rob demanded sarcastically. ‘Suppose he’s got spies in the sheriff’s house, has he?’

There was no answer to that, and the very lack of any more information piqued Rob’s interest. The lad must have thought thatthe bishop did indeed have some means of access to the sheriff’s household, for otherwise he would not have brought up thematter, but the simple fact was that as soon as he realised how much interest Rob took in his words, he had become as openand informative as the cathedral’s stones.

Nah, there was probably nothing in it. He was just some lad trying to make an impression on a stranger. Perhaps he was laughingabout it even now, telling his mates in their room how he’d got the prick from the sticks all fired up with that ballocks. No, it had to be nothing.

He twisted his face with indecision. Probably no point telling Sir Baldwin and his master. Probably no point at all.

Nah. Best if he just made his way back to the inn. Looked like Busse was set up for the night now.

Exeter City

The old woman watched as the wary, unsettling man all but kicked the youth through the door and then walked out himself. Shehad to remind herself to try to look anxious, and for the most part she was happy that she had succeeded.

‘Well?’

‘Mother, you never cease to astonish me,’ Ivo the watchman said. He had been dozing in the upper chamber, and now he peeredover the boards and stared down at her.

She lifted both hands in irritation and kicked some sparks from her fire, pushing the logs nearer together, and then settling before the flames. ‘Get down here, then, fool. You’re due out there in the streets shortly. Do you want to lose thisjob of all?’

Ivo grinned and tipped himself forward, rolling out until he was dangling from his hands, which clung to the rafter. He wasonly a scant eighteen inches from the floor, and when he allowed himself to fall, his feet scarcely raised any dust. ‘Well?’

She shot him a look to hear her own word returned to her. ‘I think he’s a serious man who wants revenge for the death of hisfriend. What Art is doing with him, I don’t know, but never mind that. There could be good money in supplying him with whathe wants. What do you think?’

The watchman nodded thoughtfully. ‘It could be worthwhile. His purse looked full to bursting. Just the sort I have alwaysliked.’

‘What of this man he seeks?’

Ivo shrugged emphatically. ‘If he wants the man and it’s worth some cash, who are we to leave the money in his purse? Surelythis man is guilty of something , eh?’