Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

‘The Farynors,’ I replied. ‘Bound with rope.’

Dowling glowered at Josselin.

‘I haven’t hurt them,’ Josselin protested, pulling himself up straight. ‘I don’t hurt people.’ Which was a great lie. ‘But I need somewhere to hide from Arlington. I cannot hide with friends, nor seek lodgings with strangers. Is that not apparent?’

‘When were they last fed?’ Dowling demanded.

‘Fed and watered this morning,’ Josselin replied. ‘There is dried beef and ale in the kitchen. Feel free to tend to them if you’re worried. By all means remove their gags and attempt to have a conversation.’

Dowling strode to the kitchen to fetch provisions, then stomped loudly up the stairs.

‘They are not very interesting people,’ Josselin whispered. ‘But then neither is your friend. He is so terribly serious.’

‘What now, Josselin?’

‘We wait a few hours,’ he said. ‘The soldiers will swarm to Aldgate and I’ll catch a boat from the bridge to Whitehall.’

A precarious plan at best.

‘Arlington said he doesn’t want to meet you,’ I told him.

Josselin closed his eyes. ‘He will change his mind.’

‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked.

He looked up, surprised. ‘Clarendon told you that?’

‘One of his men. A strange man who insisted on touching me. He said he was a colleague of yours.’

‘Thomas Villiers,’ Josselin smiled. ‘You met Villiers.’

‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked again.

He stared at the wall. ‘And while they abode in Galilee, Jesus said unto them, The Son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men.’

Did he compare himself to Jesus Christ?

‘Arlington destroyed any chance of peace,’ said Josselin. ‘The man is a beast and he knows I know it. Now I see he cannot harm me, even if he doesn’t recognise it yet.’

‘If he doesn’t recognise it, he will kill you.’

Cold vengeance clouded his eyes. ‘He will not get the chance.’

‘Nor will you,’ Dowling called, clumping down the stairs. ‘I think someone else betrayed you today. Two men just walked past in a hurry, peering through the window.’

Josselin jumped to his feet and hurried to the door. ‘God’s teeth,’ he muttered. ‘How did they find me?’

I shuffled uncomfortably. Our skills were less well developed than his. It was most likely we were followed, not he. The same thought must have occurred to him, for he turned to me with burning cheeks and jabbed a finger in the direction of the street. ‘Go and see what is happening.’

I opened my mouth then closed it again, for his eyes burnt too bright. I stepped to the door and opened it a crack. The street was empty. I opened it a little wider and stepped outside. The wind blew a gale down the narrow passage, pushing my breeches tight against my thighs. A small child stood to my left, face covered in dirt and mucus. His mother dashed out, grabbed him by the neck and was gone.

I held up a hand to protect my eyes from the savage dust, peering towards Thames Street. Four soldiers blocked the passage out. I stepped back quickly before they saw me and hurried up the hill until

I reached the turn into Eastcheap. More soldiers. I returned to the house, relieved to be out of the gale.

‘Why are there soldiers waiting at each end of the lane?’ I slammed the door closed. ‘Why do they not simply come down and fetch you?’

Josselin kicked the chair on which he had lounged so casually. ‘They will,’ he said, ‘after nightfall. If they come during the day they run the risk of inciting a riot.’

He paced the small room, as if scouring the emptiness for some magical instrument. With one eye he watched the sliver of sky visible betwixt the house tops. With the other he kept an eye on the baker’s oven, occasionally stirring from his stair to throw another log upon the fire. For what reason I couldn’t fathom, but by the time two hours passed, he stoked a blazing fire, into which he stared with gleaming dark eyes.

As the sun fell, he blinked and turned to Dowling. ‘Time to release the Farynors, butcher.’

Dowling hurried up the stairs. A few moments later the children appeared, cautious and smelling of urine. The father followed close behind, avoiding my eye.

Josselin opened the front door. ‘Tell them you left the ovens cold,’ he said to Farynor. The baker cast him a glance of disgust afore hurrying the children out into the wind.

Josselin stretched himself to his full height and breathed out deeply. ‘I have a plan,’ he said to me.

‘What plan?’

‘You will see.’

Darkness crept down the stairs and enveloped us in dusky embrace. The embers in the oven burnt ever brighter.

‘Time to go to work,’ Josselin announced after sitting silent for hours.

He stepped to the main oven and extracted several burning logs with tongs, placing them into the smaller oven and the great fireplace, where he packed them with kindling and fresh logs. The fires caught quickly, wood dry as bone, and soon emitted a heat too much to bear, even by the door. Josselin continued stoking the fires, holding his arm across his face, sweat dripping from his chin. Upon his face I discerned strange excitement. Dowling watched his back, every move he made, like he gleaned his intent and was horrified by it.

Josselin turned, red-faced and wet. ‘What time do you think it is?’

‘Past eight o’clock,’ Dowling replied, wary.

Josselin nodded. He picked up an iron from by the grate and poked at the wooden walls, digging the rod into the cleft between floor and walls where the house stood next to its neighbour. In three places, where the wood was soft and green from years of damp, he managed to chisel out small holes, which soon became large holes, big as a man’s head. Then he dragged more burning logs from the main oven and began piling them on the floor, in the middle of the new holes.

‘What are you doing?’ Dowling demanded. ‘Would you burn the house down?’

Josselin inspected the smaller oven, poking the logs to see how hot they burnt. ‘Not just this house. We’ll set a few ablaze. With this wind it should be simple enough to set the house opposite alight besides.’

Dowling grabbed his arm. ‘To what end?’

Josselin pushed him away, unconcerned. ‘Fret not, butcher. We are surrounded by soldiers, remember? They’ll put out the fire soon enough, but not before we cause a grand commotion.’ He dragged another log from the fire and kicked it against the back wall. ‘I doubt they’ve cleared the whole lane, just persuaded the occupants to remain behind their doors. Once the house is alight, everyone will come out onto the street to watch what is happening. Their first concern will be for their own property, and they will turn to the soldiers, demanding they assist. We’ll split up and join the crowd.’ A long thin flame licked high against the side wall, the planks already glowing.

Josselin laughed to himself, head bowed, staring at the flame, arm across his belly. ‘They won’t recognise us, not in the dark. I will accost a soldier myself and beg him to save my house.’ He laughed again, shoulders trembling.

The skin on my face felt like it peeled from my skull.

Josselin kicked at the burning wall separating this house from the

next. With five well-placed blows he opened a space wide enough to walk through. He disappeared, stepping through the thin flames, pale shirt glowing angelic white. I dashed for the hole in the wall before the flames grew too high, Dowling at my heels.