Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Despite the gravity of the discussion, Mistress Black’s impish grin returned. “That’s the easy part. In each shipment their location is spread throughout the cargo. The loose sheets can be mixed with straw and rag packing in crates or barrels. Sometimes books are hidden in false bottoms in boxes or wrapped and sealed with tar in tuns of wine or in sacks of meal or flour. More commonly they are put in mislabelled barrels and the bills of lading are altered. Usually all vessels have secret compartments where such items are stored. You would have to take the ship apart to find them.”

To Ned it sounded very thorough and he supposed that it must be, considering the large number of heretical books he had seen at the university and the Inns of Court. But there must still be flaws since More and the bishops had still managed to seize and burn a cart load of texts. “That’s the transport of the books. How do they leave the ship?”

At this next question Meg Black pursed her lips and frowned pensively. Ned had suspected this was the area of most risk. “Well, as I said this ship is to sail to Bristol and then Dublin. Before that it has three official ports of call, Southampton, Portsmouth and Plymouth. At each of those towns we have agents who arrange a number of other quiet stops along the south coast at beaches and inlets for unloading cargo.”

Ned had heard of the reputation of the coastline stretching from the Isle of Wight to the wild country of Cornwall. According to the writs he had seen in courts, it was the bane of the Exchequer, Chancery and the King’s Bench, with the locals considering themselves exempt from the laws that governed the paying of taxes and levy’s that held at least nominal sway in the rest of the kingdom. “Alright. Then how do you arrange that?”

“Well we have correspondence with some of those local agents letting them know when to expect a shipment. Others are acquaintances of Albrecht’s or Joachim’s and are contacted at the ports as a part of normal business. A few are port Reeves, so that makes it easier.”

From her report almost every merchant in the realm had to be involved in some form of smuggling. Of course that meant the more involved they were in the trade, the greater risk of betrayal. In these decadent times the path of the informer was laid with silver.

“What if one of your letters or agents is taken, or turned in?” he asked.

“We’re prepared for that.” Meg Black had the most smugly, satisfied grin on her face that he’d yet seen.

“The letters are in a simple cipher. Most of the local fishermen and villagers on the coast support the smuggling trade and keep a watch out for informers or customs men. Occasionally a shipment is seized, but since most of the coastal customs men are paid off, we can usually get the cargo back.”

So according to that recounting, the Lord Chancellor must be getting frustrated at the lack of success. To Ned it was no surprise that More was now searching for scapegoats in the city. “The list of unofficial calls and the true bill of lading, ahh who’d have it?”

Now Meg Black was once more looking uncomfortable and pensively pursed her lips. “Albrecht has one copy and Joachim the other.”

Now that was grimly interesting and somehow very predicable. “I take it that you have not found Joachim’s copy yet?”

Meg regretfully shook her head. That copies absence could be another clue to the murderers. Ned really didn’t like the way this was beginning to look. More’s threatening presence again edged back into view.

“Was Joachim or anyone else given a share in the smuggling?”

Meg gave a short nod. “Well, yes. Since the shipmaster’s co operation is vital, he’s given a share of the texts value, as well as permission to ship his own goods, up to a twentieth of the cargo space. The crew are also permitted up to a fortieth for their own trade goods.”

Now that was an interesting possibility. It may have sounded callous but at present he fervently hoped that it might have been Joachim’s own affairs that led to his death rather than the heretical contraband. But then that thought led him to the next dangerous question. “Meg, just how many books are there on this ship?”

It seemed that she hadn’t expected that one since her eyebrows arched in surprise. He hadn’t meant to ask quite so bluntly, but it seemed that once he thought of the question it leapt straight from his mind to his lips, almost unbidden.

“Five hundred bound books purchased at nine pence each and eight hundred bundles of loose pages at four pence a bundle. They’re sold on at a landed price of three shillings for the books and two shillings per bundle.”

“Uhhh?”

“Ned?”

“Uhh?!”

“You can close your mouth now, a fly may get in.”

He snapped his mouth shut. At a rapid calculation the books alone meant a taking of seventy five pounds and for the loose sheets eighty pounds.

Meg just smiled at the look of amazed crogglement on his face and calmly continued. “Yes, when you actually work out the figures it is very impressive. There’s more profit in a few barrels of books than a hold full of grain, and to think, on the streets they eagerly pay four shillings a book and we still can’t bring enough in.”

That was one facet of the smuggling of heretical books that Ned hadn’t considered-the incredible profits! How could the Lord Chancellor claim such damnable books were being left on people’s doorstep to entrap the unwary? At four shilling each he had no doubt that any left lying around would have been quickly snapped up for resale.

Any further reflection on the benefits of book smuggling was shoved aside as the sound of shouting and the violent clatter of metal penetrated the cabin. Ned jumped up and made for the door only to collide painfully with Mistress Black who’d vaulted the stools, scattering the pile of documents in her haste. After a moment or two debating who should proceed first, Ned took the matter into his own hands and shoved Meg behind as he pushed his way through the door. He’d suffer for this presumption later, but right this moment if there was going to be a brawl then he would prefer that Meg Black was elsewhere.

It had to happen! The crowd outside had the sort of mood that sweated a hunger for mayhem and violence. A quick glance at the dock showed a heaving mass, at least fifty strong, struggling to get on board the ship. Some were waving swords and cudgels. A couple had kindled torches that spluttered red tongues of flame into the night sky. After all he’d seen in the last couple of days, it didn’t need any mendicant friar’s predictions to know how this could go.

Gryne’s men had retreated to the side of the vessel and one of them had pulled in the plank that spanned the few foot between the vessel and the dock. At least the tide was in and the top of the deck was above the level of the wharf. Low tide would have seen the mob pour straight into the ship.

The usual cries against foreigners had started. If they were smart the Germans in the crowd would have scarpered at the first snarl. Ned could feel the throb in the warm evening air. Menace and mayhem it whispered-these calls of anger sent a shiver up his spine. If the affray wasn’t suppressed soon, he suspected it could turn into a repeat of the Evil May Day riots. This wasn’t the common crowd out for roistering and mischief like a Sunday parish stoush. If this lot came on board…well, Ned really didn’t want to think about that. He grabbed the sleeve of one of Gryne’s men. The broken nose and grinning face of Tam Bourke swung towards him. “Hold them off! Don’t kill any of them if you can!”

The large mercenary looked at him dubiously. He had a small mace dangling from his left wrist by a sturdy leather thong while in his right hand was one of the infamous Gryne’s Prickers, a massive cleaver-like blade three feet long. The merest caress from that and they’d need two coffins and a sack for your bits. “Aye lad.Won’t be easy. They’re in a mood f’r blood!”