Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Ned thought her summation was definitely on the darker side of dramatic, though on the whole he couldn’t disagree with her reading of the situation.

“So that be ‘ow we stand.” Canting Michael paused and gave the apothecary’s apprentice a wry grin with lots of teeth, then slowly waved his men back. “Somersby, come on out, y’ milksop. ‘elp the sweet lass or I’ll ‘ave the devil take thee. I remembers my debts, mistress. Ask Red Ned.”

Canting Michael gave the brief gesture of a bow, turned and walked out of the warehouse. Ned’s hands were dripping with sweat and shook with a slight tremor. “Ahh Meg…could you please withdraw the pistol very, very slowly.”

Where had she hid it? Not in that damned satchel of hers again! Ned, seeing movement to his left, pounced on the escaping Somersby and dragged him out from a concealing pile of sacks. “Master Somersby, we will make this brief, or should Mistress Black delve into the powder again?”

That got an emphatic shake of his head. Well that was all to the good. If Ned had been near terrified out of his young life, then it was a wonder this tub of lard wasn’t a smear on the floor. “The powder! Where did it come from? Speak truth mind you.”

“Lyttlefield, Lyttlefield. I have an arrangement to take a portion of each shipment!”

“That’s a lie, Somersby. Each barrel is marked off when it leaves and when it arrives!” Ned once more pulled out his blade and caressed the skin of the trembling man’s cheek.

Somersby’s eyes strained to follow the trailing point, almost jumping out of their sockets. “No…no believe me. I swap ten barrels in every shipment with ones I have already cut. It’s the truth!” That last was almost a wail as the pointed tip tickled his ear lobe.

“What’s the proportion?”

Somersby was shaking so much he pushed himself on to the blade and squealed in fright as blood trickled down his face. “A quarter! A quarter! I swear it upon my soul!”

It was probably more like a third, but no matter. That was close enough for Ned. “Have you sold any barrels in the past fortnight?”

That was the first crucial question. Just to ensure a degree of truth, Ned dug the blade in a smidgen.

“For the love of God’ mercy!No, no not for the past month.Couldn’t. Another company started up by the Tower wharves. They have all the city trade, I swear it!”

Now that piece was very interesting. Ned bent forward closer to Somersby’s bleeding ear and whispered threateningly. “That sounds like a lie. I found a dozen barrels with this mark loaded on a ship, a Hanse ship, no more than five days ago.”

Just to put the powder merchant in the right frame of mind, Ned skipped his blade past the man’s face until the edge was lying across the nose. If he sneezed, Somersby would need both hands. “It wasn’t me!”

If sheer terror was any gauge that could almost be the truth.

“I was warned to keep away from the ships and the trading yards. They’re marked out!”

Now that was very telling. You needed connections and muscle to impose a ban.

“Who was it?” The facts in Ned’s mind were beginning to slot together. Somersby paused and licked his lips. That alone spoke volumes. The man was more afraid of his rival than the blade before his eyes. “I can’t! He had a royal warrant. It’d be the death of traitors!”

That may have been enough. If Somersby wouldn’t give the name by now, it was useless to press further. Ned, however, had been wrong in his first assumption. It wasn’t muscle. It was worse. It had the imprimatur of Royal authority.

“Thank you for your assistance, Master Somersby. You have been most helpful.” Ned wiped the blade clean of blood and replaced it in the sheath. Then he lent even closer, and in a spirit of chance and mischief, gave the powder merchant an option, just for kindness. “As a sign of our gratitude, see me at the Ruyter on Smart’s Wharf on Monday, and I’ll have a dozen barrels for you at fifty pounds a piece.”

Ned patted the relieved powder merchant and retreated with the rest of their retinue to the waiting boats. As an afterthought he had one of the suspect barrels of powder grabbed, just in case. Master Somersby could reclaim it next week-if he wanted. Canting Michael, it seemed, had been a man of his word. Then so had Ned.Mostly.

The row back to the ship was very quiet. Gryne’s men were probably relieved not to be blown up. However all the way Gruesome Roger gave Ned the most curious of regards, not that Ned gave it much attention. He was otherwise occupied, doing his best to still the trembles that occasionally swept across his body. The whole episode had been too close, and he really hadn’t known how far he would go for the information that he needed. Strangely, it was Meg Black’s grim example that had steeled his nerves and silenced the better angel of his conscience. He hadn’t realised how badly the whole affair had got to her. That she’d risk the fate of suicides relying only on God’s mercy was a chilling thought. Very silently he promised that no matter what it took, he’d see that she was spared the fate of heretics.

But one question kept on bothering him and when they were almost across the river he cautiously pushed himself closer. “Where did the pistol come from?”

Perhaps it was not the question she was expecting for her brow furrowed in confusion. “Rob gave it to me this afternoon. He begged me to have it, just in case.”

So another discovered treasure from the hold. It did make sense and Ned gave a silent prayer, thanking his friend for forcing his notoriously stubborn sister to listen to sense for once. However that reminded him of another duty awaiting as soon as they got on board. So he better make a few preparations. “Meg, I am sorry about the argument earlier. When we land I think that Rob and Emma will need your guidance. Could you go and help them please?”

Meg Black sat there in silent thought for a moment, then lent across and kissed him on the cheek. Ned was so surprised it took awhile to register what had happened, then he put his hand over the spot and turned away. Meg sat back and smiled, but Ned didn’t see it. His conscience was stricken by guilty, sinful thoughts, and not just those engendered by the kiss. He actually wanted Meg out of the way not only for personal safety. Instead another dark motive, prompted by his daemon, held sway. Ned wanted a long, private talk with Albrecht Hagan, without witnesses or faint-hearted allies who may intervene. This powder affair had rankled his temper. Too many people had lied to him, and after Somersby, his better angel was banished to the nether reaches. So none cajoled him about how he’d failed to tell Mistress Black the dread import of the oranges. Considering her actions this afternoon, it could be best if that secret was kept close for now. Anyway, his daemon reminded him, by tomorrow she’d undoubtedly have another cause with which to berate him.

***

The cool breeze of the late evening was refreshing, if only the same could be said of the pungent aroma of the river. It wafted into the shipmaster’s cabin via the open shutter. Ned sat on the only chair with his feet propped up on the trestle table, sipping from a leather mug of ale. His thoughts were more crowded than the jostle of a market day fair, however, if pushed for confession he had to admit the upper most one wasn’t revenge or mayhem or even the memory of a loosened bodice. Rather thankfulness and a full stomach. Mistress Emma had been considerate enough to send a supply of provender and drink to the impounded ship. It certainly made his watch a pleasant endurance.