Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

‘The Spanish military use this in the field,’ Arlington announced, brightly. He pointed to a pile of iron balls, heaped in the corner, then fetched a pair of manacles and closed them around my ankles. The chains falling from the manacles were covered in hooks. ‘It is a most ingenious device.’

He picked up two balls, each of which had a loop embedded within it, and hooked one onto each of my feet. The manacles pulled me down even harder upon the blade of the wooden frame and the wood ground against my bone. I gritted my teeth and wriggled desperately in an attempt to relieve the pain.

‘What do you think, butcher?’ he asked Dowling. ‘Would you like to join him?’

‘Why torture him?’ Dowling barked. ‘We have no secrets from you.’

‘Every man has secrets,’ Arlington answered, calm. ‘Now I would attach more and more balls to each leg until the weight pulls the man down so hard against the edge that it cuts him in half.’

It felt already like my body was torn in two, fire shooting through my anus.

‘It seems to work.’ I heard Arlington’s voice, full of wonder. I stared upwards at the ceiling, tears filling my eyes.

‘What do you want?’ Dowling shouted.

‘I don’t know,’ Arlington replied, voice distant. ‘Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I will try another two balls.’

‘He saved your life,’ Dowling bellowed. ‘You were writhing upon the ground, barely conscious. Wharton held his sword with both fists, ready to drive it into the back of your neck. Harry saved your life.’

‘That is not how it happened.’ Arlington blinked, turning to the soldiers. ‘I was locked in deadly combat with the Earl of St Albans and was about to slay him, when this fellow intervened, plunging a butcher’s knife into the back of his head.’

I tried to hold my body still, fearing if I moved the sharp edge would cut deeper into my body. I opened my eyes and looked down to my left without moving my head. The soldiers cowered.

‘He saved your life.’ Dowling tried to stand, back bent. ‘And would do it again.’

I wished he would sit still.

Arlington stepped forward and pushed Dowling back onto the stone floor. ‘I should hope he would,’ he declared. ‘I serve my King to the best of my ability, and reward those who are similarly loyal.’

‘Then take him down,’ Dowling begged, eyes wide.

Arlington waved a hand. ‘Take him down,’ he said, much to my amazement. ‘I had no intention of torturing him,’ he explained to the soldiers as they lifted me from the wooden donkey. ‘Not yet, anyway. Throw him back onto the floor.’

Though they lifted me off the cursed contraption, the pain didn’t subside. I staggered back to my place with legs bowed. Dowling breathed low and shallow.

Arlington leant backwards against the donkey, tossing a heavy ball from one hand to the other. ‘What happened in Shyam?’

‘James Josselin sought refuge,’ I answered quickly, determined not to end up back on the device. ‘He was apprehended by a man named Thomas Elks who hid him away with the intention of killing him. We found him.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘If Withypoll doesn’t have him, then he is on his way back to London.’

‘Back to London?’ Arlington grimaced. ‘He runs away. Now you say he plans to run back?’

‘He wants to talk to you,’ I replied. ‘He asked us to arrange a meeting with you. He says he has something of yours, something you may not know he owns.’

‘The traitor has a secret.’ Arlington lifted his arms in an attempt at humour. But his brow furrowed. ‘What does he have of mine?’

‘He said a letter,’ I replied, feeling the sweat upon my palms. ‘Though he wouldn’t say what was in it.’

Arlington pursed his lips strangely and stared so hard his eyelids disappeared. He turned to face one corner of the dark and dingy turret, biting at the fingers of one hand, muttering. Then he tore at his wig and threw it on the floor. He stood over it, red-faced, breathing deep. The two soldiers looked at each other and then the door.

He swivelled on one heel and screamed. ‘Go!’

They hurried out the room, closing the door carefully behind. I listened to their footsteps dance down the stone staircase.

‘I have had enough!’ Arlington yelled, face red and moist against the whiteness of his shaven head. ‘I asked you to go to Shyam and fetch Josselin. Yet instead you take it upon yourself to arrange a meeting !’

He stood bent, head craned forward, seeking some response. It seemed prudent to remain quiet.

‘What were you doing sneaking about Colchester, hiding in an empty house — in the Dutch Quarter?’ Saliva flew in all directions.

‘I saw Shrewsbury there, talking to some Dutchmen,’ I explained. ‘Before we went to Shyam.’

Arlington’s face turned a shade of deep purple. ‘What?’

‘The Earl of Shrewsbury,’ I said, praying his twitching fingers would not alight upon a knife.

Arlington’s face twisted into a mask of livid incomprehension. ‘You saw the Earl of Shrewsbury in the Dutch Quarter at Colchester,’ he choked. ‘The Earl of Shrewsbury in England.’ He looked to Dowling, who bowed his head.

‘ I saw him,’ I said. ‘Before we went to Shyam. In the same house we were arrested by Withypoll. We went to see if he was still there, for it seemed likely there might be some connection. The Earl of Shrewsbury fled to Holland. So it seemed to us …’ Dowling looked like he would weep. ‘It seemed to me …’

Arlington’s face became pink again, as the blood drained back from his cheeks. ‘You told Withypoll this?’

‘I told him the same night,’ I replied. ‘Before we left for Shyam, but I don’t think he believed me.’

‘I am not surprised,’ Arlington exclaimed, voice weak. ‘The Earl of Shrewsbury was killed two months ago. Killed by agents of De Witt, who suspected he conspired with the House of Orange. They did not mean to kill him, they said, though I don’t know how you kill a man by accident. They were keen for us to know how apologetic they were.’

I shook my head firmly. ‘I know the Earl of Shrewsbury well.’

‘You saw a dead man.’

‘Did you see his body?’ I demanded, stubborn.

Arlington sighed, looking to the ceiling. ‘No, I did not see his body. Why should I want to see the old fool’s dead body? He stank when he was alive; God knows what state he would be in if they sent his rotten corpse back to England.’

‘Then you don’t know he is dead.’

‘You doubt my intelligence?’ Arlington glared, cheeks glowing again.

‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ I replied, though I knew I was not.

‘Ah!’ Arlington exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air and turning away. ‘Withypoll would like to cut off your balls,’ he cried. ‘And I would like to watch.’

‘Josselin was imprisoned,’ I said. ‘Elks locked him up and we found him.’ I stopped. Perhaps I should not reveal how we saved Josselin’s life. It occurred to me most of our troubles could be traced back to saving people’s lives.

‘You found him, released him, then sat back and watched him go,’ Arlington whispered. ‘Is that what you are telling me?’

‘He is a hero in Shyam,’ I replied. ‘Had we tried to arrest him we would have been lynched. Instead we thought to escape the village and seek out Withypoll’s assistance. But Josselin locked us in a cage from which we escaped. We followed him to Colchester, close behind. We were looking for him in the Dutch Quarter.’

Arlington trembled with anger. I wished he would pull back his face from mine, for his breath was rank, and my face was wet.

He clenched his fist in front of my eyes. ‘Why? They are all weavers and wool merchants.’ He turned his back and retreated to the corner of the room to retrieve his wig. He dusted it against the leg of his