Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Simon could very easily believe it. ‘That has nothing to do with me, though.’

‘Not directly, no. But I remember you from when we were lads. You always followed your father, and he was a good, loyal servant. How is he?’

‘Dead these last nine years,’ Simon said shortly.

‘Amazing. Still, you’d want to continue in his footsteps, wouldn’t you?’

‘How exactly do you expect me to do that?’ Simon asked warily.

‘There is one brother here who could be a threat to me … the fool Busse. Robert Busse. He is not a serious contender,of course. I mean, I’m the son of a baron, and he?’ He gave a dismissive shrug and wave of his hand. ‘No. No one in theirright mind would vote for him. And yet he’s a crafty old devil. Perhaps he might threaten some, or bribe others. You never can be sure with that devious old … anyway, I wantsomeone to keep an eye on him.’

‘Wait! You are asking me to spy on a brother of yours? I cannot wander about the abbey trailing after this fellow. I am nobrother.’

‘Calm yourself. I merely want you to go with him when he leaves to visit Bishop Stapledon. All it will involve is travellingwith him to protect him on his way, and then ensuring that no danger comes to him — or me — when he reaches the city.’

‘No. Now, if you do not object, I shall leave and visit my wife. I haven’t seen her in some weeks.’

‘Wait one moment, Bailiff.’ John de Courtenay’s voice was as smooth as a moleskin. ‘Before you decide to rush off in a sanguinehumour because I have requested that you help me in this matter, you should be aware of something.’

‘What?’

‘You do not like me, Master Bailiff. I know that. You and I have never been particularly close. Do not protest! Please, weare both sensible men. I am frivolous and enjoy the trivial. Yes. However, I do serve Our Lord, and I am determined to doall I may to succour the souls of the people who live here. Not all monks are like that. I know some who would be happy toleave their paths of service and instead follow the path of knowledge. Some are so determined to learn as much as they maythat they have left the sensible courses of learning and sought out more … curious routes to knowledge.’

Simon stood. ‘I have no part in the election of the next abbot, and want nothing to do with it.’

‘What? Money wouldn’t tempt you?’

‘I shall take my leave,’ Simon said coldly. He had never been open to bribery.

‘Simon, I was only teasing. It is my habit, when I am anxious, to be light about my concerns. Look: sit a moment and listen. Please?’

He waited until Simon was seated once more, and then turned to the parchment on the table baside him. His eyes were floatingover the words, and Simon had the impression that he was reading from it as he spoke.

‘I know some little of Busse. He is a man of lowly birth. Did you know that? I have learned that he was the son of a priest,a man called Master Robert de Yoldeland. That was how he acquired his Christian name. His surname came from his mother, aconcubine of his father’s called Joan Busse. He is not the sort of man we want as abbot here, Simon.’

‘I have always found him to be a fair and sensible man,’ Simon said coldly.

‘Would you say that if you thought that he had made use of a magician? That he was asking someone to use maleficia to help him become abbot?’

Simon shivered. Everyone knew of sorcerers and witches — maleficus and malefica — who could use their evil spells to harm others or cause benefits to accrue. Some would use a witch to win a woman’s love,while others would seek a sorcerer to help enhance their prospects.

‘I see from your expression that you have as much liking for such people as I do, Simon. Aye, well, Busse has been using anecromancer. He has already made enquiry of Master Richard de Langatre. You know of him? He is the chief fortune-teller in Exeter. Busse came here from Lincoln. They say he consulted unclean and malignant spirits while he was there. Do you really think he would make a better abbot than me? Even the most biased fellow must wonderwhether he would be a safe and sensible master of a place such as this … a place constructed to save souls and protectthe people of the area. Simon, you must follow him. I need a man who is responsible, and I can think of no better man thanthe son of my father’s own best and most faithful steward.’

Exeter City

The traveller had reached a tavern early on to try to get some heat into his bones. He had a simple requirement, now he was here: to find as many as possible of the materials he would need to continue with his experiments.

Here he was, a master of the secret arts, and he was constrained by the lack of simple tools. It was infuriating. He had money,he had the knowledge, and yet he still lacked those basic requisites. Even a piss-swilling brewer had them, but not he. Notjust now.

He had the one, of course. Cautiously, from beneath his robe he brought out the small bone needle. It was perfect: smooth,thin, elegant and ideal. There were other items he needed, though: sickle, wax and linen would be easy to find … but thedaggers, the hat, the other bits and pieces, would be harder to procure. And of course he would need peace in which to prayand fast and prepare mentally for the task. Ideally he ought to have a servant, but that was too much to hope for. That hadbeen made clear.

It was as he reached this conclusion that he saw the two lurching inside. Plainly the pair of them had already enjoyed a goodevening, and they were ready to continue a little longer, until they fell down in a drunken stupor. Well, so much the better. If only he weren’t staying here, he would be happy to go to them and slip his dagger between the ribs ofthe younger one. One good turn deserves another, he mused as he turned to his drink.

Their conversation was loud, as such conversations often are, and he could hear snatches.

‘You ought to come back to my place, Jamie. It’s not far from here. Walter would like to see you again.’

‘I wouldn’t want to see him , though …’

There was some quieter murmuring, then: ‘Come on, Jamie, let him be. He’s no worse than me.’

‘I remember what he used to do.’

‘That’s a long while ago.’

‘Not long enough.’

For all the brashness of the younger man, this Jamie could plainly hold his ale better than his companion.

‘And besides, I must be off in the morning. I have urgent messages for my master,’ he said with a significant tap at the pouchon his belt.

And at that moment, John of Nottingham glanced up and saw Jamie’s eye on him, and he felt a lurch in his belly to think thathe could be discovered so easily.

Wednesday, Morrow of St Edmund’s Day 5

Exeter City

It was cold, a freezing night, and thoroughly miserable for a watchman.

Of those who spent their nights pacing the territory trying to ensure that, so far as was possible, draw-latches and robbers were prevented from plying their trade and the rest of thepopulation could sleep easily in their beds, all had their own lists of the worst kind of weather. For Will, his list hadonce been topped by the autumnal showers that drifted over the city every so often. They would appear from nowhere, and inmoments he would be drenched. There was something almost unnatural about them, the way that with just a mild breeze behindthem they could seep through even a leather jack and leave a man sodden and uncomfortable. Yes, in the past he had hated thosenights more than any other. The cold hadn’t bothered him.

Now, though, as the years went by, he had learned to detest the ice that came with weather like this. He was that little bitolder, and whereas in the past he had been able to avoid slipping on frozen cobbles, now he was wary of anything that couldunbalance him. He was not so secure on his feet as once he had been.