Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

Arlington adjusted his chair so he sat opposite us both. I could see

Dowling out the corner of my eye. If I stood on tiptoe I could just about swallow without choking. Arlington sucked his pipe and blew smoke up at the low wooden ceiling. ‘I was hoping for Josselin,’ he said. ‘Perhaps he will join us later. Meantime you might tell me who you spoke to at Clarendon’s house, and what you spoke about.’

‘I wanted to know if Josselin was in there,’ I croaked, dry-mouthed, watching Withypoll prick the blade of his long knife against his thumb. ‘They told us he was spotted in the City.’

Withypoll leered, eyes hungry. Arlington stared through my eyes and into the back of my head, sombre and steel-jawed.

‘I told you to watch for Josselin and you sought audience with Clarendon.’ He tapped the bowl of the pipe against his knee. ‘Then you smuggled yourselves into the City without telling me what you spoke about.’ He waved a hand. ‘What am I to suppose?’

‘That we are endeavouring to find Josselin for you, by whatever means,’ I replied.

‘No.’ Arlington pointed the stem of his pipe at my forehead. ‘I am to suppose I cannot trust you.’ He grimaced and pulled his coat about his shoulders, like he was cold. ‘Something about you both rankles with me. I don’t know what it is, but I cannot endure it any longer.’ He blew more blue smoke. ‘It is time for you to die.’

Withypoll grinned so hard I thought his face would break. The rope tightened about my throat, and my face swelled up.

Arlington smiled briefly, showing yellow teeth. ‘I promised you the Spanish donkey, Lytle, and I thought to hang the butcher from a meathook by his chin, but this is simpler.’ He brushed at his trousers with one hand and stared expectantly, as if awaiting famous last words.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. ‘We have been loyal to you,

done everything you asked of us and tried to do more. It is true Josselin escaped us, but we returned to London as fast as we could, to bring him to justice.’ I forced the air into my lungs, my eyes stinging. ‘And we have not finished yet. I don’t understand why you plan to kill us when still you don’t have Josselin, nor what he withholds from you.’

Arlington blinked. ‘You found Josselin in the City, then?’ He licked his lips. ‘What more did he tell you?’

‘We found Josselin at Red Rose Lane.’

Arlington frowned. ‘Pudding Lane, you mean?’

‘Aye, Pudding Lane,’ I tried to nod. ‘It was he who poisoned your soldiers when he saw how they despoiled his house and frightened his family. We saw him there and followed.’

Arlington leant forwards. ‘Did he tell you what of mine he possesses?’

‘No,’ I said quickly, fearful of the look in his eye. ‘He told us only it was a letter of some sort, that he possessed it and wanted to meet with you to discuss it. You won’t catch him, for he is cleverer than us.’

Arlington leant back, eyes hooded.

‘You don’t believe me,’ I exclaimed. ‘I told you before he wanted to talk to you. How else will you get your letter back? Who else will obtain it for you?’ I looked to Withypoll. ‘He won’t catch him.’

Withypoll glowered, like he plotted to dispense the most pain it was possible to inflict on another human being. His eyes turned a darker shade of black and he stepped close enough to kick away the box beneath my feet.

‘We found him at Shyam, we found him at Duke’s Place, and we followed him here,’ I continued.

Arlington looked to the door. ‘Josselin is here?’

‘He trailed you from Thames Street. His sole objective is to find

you. We saw him enter Cloak Lane, then lost him in our own attempt to remain undetected.’

‘Why so?’ demanded Arlington. ‘Why did you not call ahead? We could have trapped him.’

‘Because we know that Withypoll wants to see us dead, your lordship,’ I exclaimed. ‘Every step we take, he tells us he will see us dead. He seeks revenge and will not forgive us.’

‘Nor would I, Lytle,’ Arlington said, softly. ‘How could any man trust you?’

‘We do not leave everyone we find,’ I reminded him.

Withypoll pulled a thin-bladed knife from his jacket. ‘Enough,’ he slurred, crimson-cheeked.

‘Hold,’ Arlington commanded, holding up one hand. ‘You speak well, Lytle. Why then do I not trust you?’

I raised my brow at Withypoll. ‘Because this fellow speaks in your ear? And because I saved your life and you don’t trust us not to tell anyone.’

Dowling breathed inwards, sharply. Withypoll straightened his back and smiled again, pity vying with evil intent upon his haggard face.

Arlington drew on his pipe and regarded Withypoll with quizzical eye. ‘You’re right, he does talk in my ear. And he has discovered nothing.’

Withypoll’s brows shot so far up his head it looked like he swallowed a fly.

Arlington ignored him. ‘You say Josselin followed us here. Where is he now?’

‘I reckon he hides in the churchyard of Thomas Apostle,’ I replied, aware he was testing me.

Withypoll turned, eyes blazing. He and the soldiers had been waiting in the churchyard.

‘Or somewhere else we will not find him.’

‘Hmm.’ Arlington frowned. ‘Then how do we catch him?’

‘He wants to meet you. I reckon he will meet you only in a public place where he believes he is in control of the surroundings.’ Where he would be in control, because he was more intelligent than Arlington and Withypoll combined. ‘A place with open space and lots of light.’

‘You listen to him?’ Withypoll snorted. ‘Josselin is trapped inside the City walls. He will take whatever opportunity we offer him.’

Arlington stood. ‘I have to get back to the fire. The King will be wondering where I am.’ He clicked his fingers in Withypoll’s face. ‘We will give these two another opportunity.’

Withypoll scowled.

‘You have until tomorrow to find Josselin.’ Arlington turned to face us once more. ‘Do not disappoint.’

He opened the door and stepped out into the alley. The sky burnt orange, framing Arlington’s squat silhouette. We were left alone with Withypoll.

‘Very clever,’ he hissed, sitting on Arlington’s chair, elbows on knee, staring at the blade of his knife. ‘You think you saved yourselves, don’t you?’

He eyed the soldiers, growled and shook his head, still furious. Then he went to the door and stuck his head out into the alley. ‘The fire is spreading fast,’ he called. ‘I can hear the flames at the end of Old Fish Street.’

I couldn’t hear flames, but I heard the sound of men shouting, women screaming. London was in chaos. Those whose houses burnt would be scrambling to empty their houses. The streets would soon

be full of overladen carts filled with people’s possessions, most with no obvious place to go. The City gates would be overrun with citizens seeking to fetch their goods away, find somewhere else to stay. The soldiers at the gates would find themselves overwhelmed, not knowing what to do. Men outside the gate would be pushing to get in, to help with the effort to fight the fire. Men and women would be fighting to get out, as far away from the fire as they could get. Josselin had created the perfect world in which to travel unseen.

Withypoll tipped his beaver hat, face empty of all expression. ‘Arlington told me to leave you, so we will leave you.’ He gestured at the two soldiers to exit the door. ‘Good luck,’ he said, quietly. ‘I think this makes us even.’

With which he closed the door behind and left us to our fate. The key turned in the lock and his footsteps faded away down the alley.

‘A prayer, Davy,’ I whispered, rope digging into the flesh about my ears. Light shone in from a little window at the top of the far wall. Impossible to say if it was fire or dawn. ‘We need a good prayer.’