Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Well that was a start. He just hoped it was enough. Ned put his feet down and lent forward towards his friend, speaking quietly. “You know how to test the quality and strength of powder?”

Rob scratched his head in puzzlement. “Yes, I told you all about it at the Bee Skep.”

“Can you do some sort of small firing test that is, well, very quiet and private?”

Rob frowned and tugged at his light beard contemplatively. “Ahh well, the best one is to get a proofed cannon and do a few ranging shots.”

Ned waved his hand quickly before his friend went to fetch the Falconet. “No! No cannons. A very quiet trial in the hold perhaps?” He really didn’t want to go through the sort of extensive testing he knew his friend would be used to. It was all too noisy and prominent. Certain people may get the wrong, or even worse, the right idea.

“Well Ned, there’s one possibility. It’s not as accurate, more of ‘at the battlefield’ effort really.”

“Perfect. Let’s go!”

Ned could tell that Rob was still mystified over his secretive preparations. He’d arranged for Gryne’s men to set up a trestle bench between a couple barrels of stock fish and had acquired a selection of black powders for his friend to go through, along with double paned lanterns for safety. As expected, Rob rubbed each of the samples with his fingers and then performed the taste test. Finally Rob poured out a small sample pile of each and applied the glowing end of a slow match to each one in turn. As Ned might have predicted they performed differently. The first erupted in a flash of flame and smoke, while the final pile smoked and sputtered fitfully, leaving a mound of soot.

“Alright Ned Bedwell. I’ve done my trial as best I can. What’s it in aid of?”

“It proves who killed Joachim and why.”

“How can it do that?” His companion most very perplexed and not a little exasperated.

“Well, the first sample I got from the ship’s powder store, the barrel we broached the night of the riot. It flashed well, correct?”

Rob gave a nod of assent.

“The second sample was from the top of Somersby’s barrel, and it was adequate, yes?”

Another nod from Rob. Good.

“The third was from the bottom of the Somersby’s Southwark barrel and it sputtered quite a bit, didn’t it?”

“Aye, a fairly poor mix, too much charcoal and impurities, not much force in the charge.”

“What of the last sample?”

“If you used it in a Gonne, the ball may travel a few feet or so. It’s an extremely weakened mix. Not even enough for fireworks. What of it Ned?”

“Well Somersby claimed he only cut his powder by a firkin’s worth. That was sample three. While the last one is from the barrels you found secreted on this ship, and I think it was this powder that got Joachim and Pieter killed.”

“For the love of God, how did the powder cause that?”

“I believe that Joachim kept a barrel out to supplement the supply for the ship’s Gonnes, and as any experienced man would do, he tested it and found as you did that it was as useful as ash. The night he was slain I believe he was expecting another load of powder. I think he challenged them over the quality. He may have even tried another sample, who knows? Anyway they killed him and offloaded their contraband.”

Rob was clearly puzzled and waved his hand towards the cabin above. “But why do that…that obscenity with the bodies?”

Ned gave a grim smile at the question. The ‘arrangement’ had him confused as well, right up until the Southwark trip. “They couldn’t find the first shipment and dawn was coming, so they arranged the bodies in the way that we found them to buy some time. By reporting murder and heresy the vessel would be impounded. I suspect that Sir Roderick Belsom was supposed to be faster seizing the ship.”

Rob shook his head in dismal shock at such an evil practice, though for Ned it seemed a depressingly familiar cozening trick. “Well I suppose that explains the firebomb I found. Somehow they ran out of time, but still, why burn the ship? I found over five hundred pounds worth of their stock. If they murdered for it, why destroy it?”

That of course, thought Ned, was the really difficult bit to swallow and he proceeded to tell Rob his plan on the morrow for divining a bit more of the refined metal of truth from the dross of lies and falsehood.

Ned must have had worse nights’ sleeps after many a tavern binge, but he’d be damned if he could recall one. The night watch had been split between himself and Rob, and even though the summer night was pleasant, trying to rest in the shipmaster cabin was unsettling. The taint of savage death still hung heavy in the air. The straw stuffed mattress had been removed and the dried blood laboriously scrubbed off, while Mistress Black had bunches of sharply pungent herbs suspended from the beams. Despite all that, Ned still felt the quiver of souls untimely wrenched from their life. The Church may sternly lecture on the place of spirits and ghosts, but right now he felt their accusing eyes upon him, and wraith like hands raised in demanding supplication. He was very glad to see the warm glow in the east of the rising sun putting to flight the unsettling memories of the night.

Though the morning brought its own share of difficulties. Ned was beginning to discover the problems that bedevilled and perplexed commanders from the time of Alexander on-time, space and communication.

Come the first full flush of daylight he began to receive messages from the Orange Watch. Emma’s diminutive band of pursuivants was proving very effective in their roles as spies and messengers, but that was when he discovered the first problem. Smarts Key Wharf was closer to the Tower, while Milford Lane was on the western side of the city, between the Strand and Inner Temple. At the best speed it was half an hour to traverse that distance, so Ned was discovering the quandary of receiving news half an hour after it may have happened. Then, if he had thoughts on it he’d have to compose a reply and send it back, thus another half an hour. It was an incredibly frustrating experience. He had to trust that Meg and Emma first supplied him with correct information and then secondly had the intelligence and capability to deal with the events as they witnessed them. For if they had to rely on his reply, then actions would follow events an hour too late.

Thus Ned found that he had fallen into a dilemma of his own devising. To keep Meg Black away from any possible intervention with his plans for this morning, he had no choice but to send her to the crucial Orange Watch. Once there, she was to all respects her own commander, Meg Black given free rein to exercise her own judgment and discretion. It was a terrifying prospect.

***

It was much earlier than he’d expected, closer to the second hour after the dawn bells and chimes had rung over the city when Ouze respectfully ushered the Hanse merchant into the cabin. Ned had all night to prepare for this. A few props had been acquired by Rob, who was now Ned hoped, snoring in blissful repose after his long labours in the dark hold.

The Hanse merchant gave him a short bow of respect as of social equals. Ned, as manners and decorum dictated, returned the compliment and offered the Hanse a mug of ale and the only other available seat, a rough timber stool.

It was, by any respects, an ordinary meeting between business associates, complete with the usual courtesies that one expected. However, on another level it was a radical break from prior occasions, and Ned suspected that the Hanse was beginning to sense the subtle differences. He’d have to been a fool not to. For one thing, on all prior occasions Ned had been with Margaret Black as her tag along and friend. Albrecht in the past had been welcoming and jovial, a perfect host, but behind that lay a simple fact. Ned was not as equal in his eyes as the Black daughter. The other matter of the offer to dispose of an inconvenient Ned last year also had bearing on this meeting. When required, this affable German merchant would kill without a qualm.