Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

With that Meg casually detached a hefty purse from her belt and dropped it on the floor next to the quivering governor. Ned winced at the gesture. Forty shillings were in that purse, over five golden angels worth, gone. His better angel tried to console him with whispers of duty and friendship, but it was still five angels! In the meantime he tried to figure out how to account this as an expense to Rob’s uncle. He also prayed that the way costs were mounting this week would slow down, or else it would soon surpass the value of the illicit cargo, or the demi cannons. At the gesture, Meg and Emma continued their haughty progress out of the manor, leaving Roger as their factor to settle the details of the unofficial trade.

Meg’s retainer caught them up by the time they boarded the barge. He had a very savage grin plastered all over his face that boded very well for their ploy. However the restful charade was over, and with a sorrowful groan, Ned returned to his old companion the long timber oar. He was really going to regret this day now they had to make London before the None chimes.

***

Ned stretched, suppressing the whimper that naturally tried to escape. So much rowing in one day. All he’d wanted was a pleasant cruise up the river, to idly shelter under the spreading boughs of a willow and sup on dainty delicacies while listening to the sweet song of the robin. Well not really, sneered his shoulder daemon, but neither did he expect to labour so hard over the oar. The trip back had been at the best pace possible for a dozen weary men. Even so they still passed all the other boats and barges travelling towards the city. When they’d finally drawn up, exhausted at Steelyards wharf, at the ringing of the None bells, Ned knew he had to summon a final spurt of energy for the next stage.

It had actually been a very short argument, not really up to the expected standard of Mistress Black and Ned felt somehow cheated, as is if he’d been covey-catched like a farmer fresh in from the country, snared with the shell game. He took another savouring slurp of his tankard of fine Bee Skep double ale. Ahh, better in him and here, than at Richmond! The Bee Skep tavern at Aldgate was clear across the city from the Steelyards and as his better angel soothingly reminded him, Mistress Emma couldn’t be blamed for the machinations of her cousin. Though his wicked daemon did try and float the suspicion that Meg Black had planned to come here all the while.

However it transpired he was still looking forward to the roasted haunch of venison that Emma promised as a reward for the labour, and being ensconced in a private room at the second floor of the Bee Skep was safer than many places in the city that sprang to mind. This was the first time he’d been up here and it was a real eye opener, a large well appointed room with walls painted depicting a hunting scene. As for the furniture, she had more than in the sparse manor of Master Lyttlefield. Three carved and pierced cabinets were set around the room along with a serving board displaying the pewter plate and silver gilt candlesticks. Tavern keeper and alewife Emma had as much on show as the average goldsmith. She must have some very respectable and well paying clients. The tavern was sited close to the northern fringe of artisan trades and workshops. It was probably used to host fraternity and association meetings for the fletchers or armourers, although considering her friendship and familial connection with Mistress Black, there were other more heretical possibilities. After all even non conformists had to meet somewhere.

Ned put all niggling thoughts aside and tapped on the table. It was a very relaxed gathering that, at Meg Black’s insistence, included their hostess, Mistress Emma Shepherd who radiated good humour and a flashing smile while she chatting animatedly with Rob. Ned in the meantime was trying to figure out a way to corner the tavern mistress for a quiet talk of his own. No doubt since she visited the palace regularly she was bound to have heard all sorts of interesting gossip. It had nothing at all to do with her pleasing aspect or those sparkling eyes, or so he assured his angel who at the moment he pictured as looking primly unimpressed. However…

His daemon quietly reminded him of Emma’s very close consorting with the ever vengeful and cunning Mistress Black. That association instantly troubled Ned’s tranquillity along with his prior nagging suspicion. Ned had the distinct impression that somehow he was about to be outfoxed again. In vain hope, he gave Mistress Black a very inquisitive stare which she ignored. As his daemon said, she’d pull her jape when she was good and ready, no doubt at whichever moment was deemed the most embarrassing for him.

The small assembly stilled and Ned found himself the sudden focus of attention. Nervously he cleared his throat and started what he thought of as the official part. It wasn’t strictly necessary and he suspected that it may even have sounded pompous. However he felt it lent a more serious and respectable tone to their meetings, and anyway it gave him an excuse to play with some of his training. “I call the Company of the Cardinal’s Angels to order! First the Company extends a grateful welcome and bountiful thanks to Mistress Emma, our hostess.”

The lady in question smiled and gave a brief, slightly ironic curtsy. Ned had found it always paid to be generous with praise, doubly so to the person providing the repast. They could all smell the venison cooking in the kitchen below. The rich aroma set one salivating in anticipation.

“Last year our company was founded by dire circumstances, when we were drawn into the plots and machinations of the powerful. Through luck, our friendship, and the grace of divine providence, we won through.”

That seemed to go over well. The others muttered agreement, though Mistress Black’s raised eyebrows caused Ned a moment’s concern. Whatever could she object to in that?

“Now I fear that due to misfortune and murder we are enmeshed once more.” Ned suppressed the overwhelming desire to glare meaningfully at Meg Black. It probably would’ve helped their present prospects if Mistress Black didn’t continue to trade in heretical literature. May as well wish for a visit to the faerie realm, since the trade had the unofficial blessing of her patron, Lady Anne Boleyn. Ned wasn’t a fool-he knew that it was that heretical connection that had saved them from Wolsey, Norfolk, and Cromwell last year. He just hoped that it was enough this year.

“As you all know, we’ve only a few more days to solve the murder of Joachim and his nephew before Mistress Black and I have to present a report of it to the Lord Chancellor.”

This was met with a pursing of lips and frowns. It was an unpalatable and inescapable fact, and despite the needs of the other problems, the prospect of having to throw themselves on the dubious mercy of Sir Thomas More, he hoped might spur everyone to greater efforts and less dalliance, like at Richmond Palace-though blisters and sore muscles aside, the trip had given Ned more time to think on the conundrum of the murders. Everything still pointed back to the ship as the source, and it was well past time that nagging problem was solved. They needed more clues-actually any clues would be a start, so he planned to ask Rob’s help for the morrow.

Ned gave a slight cough, as the muttering settled, then continued. “We also have another task of greater import, while carrying out the duties of the writ that for now protects us.”

He couldn’t resist it and gave Meg Black a significant look of disapproval, which she once more ignored. Ned slapped the table with a sudden snap of his hand. “I have discovered that Queen Katherine is engaged in a conspiracy!”