Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

Looking west was like looking down a long tunnel, fire on each side all the way to the wall. Only ahead could we still see whole buildings through thick black smoke, and a dark silhouette.

‘What are you doing up here?’ I shouted, wind carrying my words

in his direction above the incessant roar of the blaze.

Josselin turned, face covered in a thin layer of soot. His lips moved but I couldn’t hear the words. We moved closer.

‘… lit the fire, but I didn’t send the winds,’ he said, a strange brightness in his eyes. ‘I will execute judgement: I am the Lord.’

Which seemed a tenuous conclusion to me. God sent the wind every winter; it didn’t mean he expected us to put flame to buildings.

‘Do you have the letter?’ I asked.

‘Downstairs,’ Josselin replied, transfixed upon the flames, a strange smile upon drawn lips. ‘God will not allow its destruction.’

When a man sought assurance from God, it was usually because he faced circumstances he couldn’t contemplate managing alone.

‘Arlington is downstairs,’ I said, at last.

‘Arlington?’ He raised a slow brow. ‘I cannot meet him here, not with the letter upon me. I must take the letter somewhere safe first, then you must talk to him.’

‘The soldiers are forcing everyone out through Ludgate,’ I said. ‘Arlington and Withypoll will be gone soon. We should go too.’

‘Look around.’ Josselin flung his arms in the air. ‘Do you not see we are safe? Ye shall reverence my sanctuary: I am the Lord.’

Now he reckoned he was God. This was not going well. I leant over the balustrade, peering down through the black clouds that gathered about the spire. A steady procession of tiny people streamed out the west porch in a thin, straggled line towards Ludgate. Something told me Withypoll and Arlington would not be among them.

‘Look there!’ I yelled, pointing. Though the wind blew from east to west, the flames reached out from the City to touch the north-west corner of the building, seizing upon a stray board that covered a hole in the lead. Even as I watched, the fire seemed to skate along the

wooden roof, like oil rolling over a polished floor. ‘We have to go,’ I shouted. ‘If the fire takes hold of the nave, we will be trapped.’

Josselin’s eyes widened, a look of terror upon his long, dirty face. ‘The nave, you say?’ He spun to face the door and took off, crashing across planks of timber.

I ran behind him, clattering down the staircase as fast as my legs could manage. Josselin and Dowling might take these steps two at a time, but my legs were too short. My chest constricted, and I stepped aside for a moment to let Dowling pass, before resuming the chase.

Even as we ran I heard flames take hold of the scaffolding about the tower, heard the bricks groan and creak about us. I stepped out into the transept just behind Dowling, to see him chasing Josselin down the nave. Smoke filled the huge cavity above our heads as the roof’s giant timbers began to smoulder.

Arlington emerged from the gloom, and Josselin slowed to a halt, arms held up in the air.

‘At last!’ Arlington declared, clasping his hands together. ‘I almost gave up hope. I feared you might be burnt alive.’

Withypoll marched towards me, sword fully extended. I turned and ran towards the Lady Chapel, Dowling and Josselin fast behind. The walls sang out now, the stone screeching like it was being throttled. A great lump of burning metal dropped from the ceiling and hit the pavement in front of me with a great crack. I danced about the debris and kept running, all the way to the Rose Window, arriving just as it shattered into a thousand pieces, glass shards flying through the air, embedding themselves in my hair and on my clothes. I turned to see Withypoll slavering like some great hellhound, unsure who to devour first.

The vast, empty window sucked in fresh air, enraging the fire in

the rafters so it ignited in a great ball of flame, momentarily engulfing Withypoll. He fell to one knee, beating at his clothes with his beaver hat. Josselin saw his distraction and hurled himself forwards, grasping for Withypoll’s throat. Withypoll reached for his blade, lain discarded on the flagstone, but Josselin saw in time and rolled aside to grab it first. Josselin stood first, sword held aloft.

He jabbed the tip of it into Withypoll’s chest. ‘It was you killed Berkshire, wasn’t it?’

Withypoll clambered to his feet, letting his burning jacket fall to the floor.

‘Where are you, Arlington?’ Josselin shouted.

Arlington stood ten paces distant, sword still sheathed. He drew his weapon and approached.

Josselin bared his teeth. ‘Which one of you was it? Or must I slay you both?’

Arlington lowered his blade. ‘Why do you concern yourself with Berkshire? He would not have concerned himself with you.’

‘Don’t seek to confound me,’ Josselin replied, face contorted. ‘I am beyond confusion. Just tell me which of you killed Berkshire.’

Arlington pointed at Withypoll. ‘He did, because I told him to. I had no choice.’

‘Every man has a choice in every deed he does,’ said Josselin, slowly, like he had just learnt a difficult lesson.

Arlington waved a finger. ‘Not really. You told Berkshire about the third letter, did you not?’

‘So I did,’ Josselin nodded. ‘Which is why you had him killed.’

‘Precisely.’ Arlington nodded back. ‘But how did I find out?’

‘You have spies,’ Josselin replied, his voice betraying new uncertainty.

‘Indeed I do,’ Arlington agreed, ‘and many of them, but none have yet learnt how to read a man’s mind.’

Josselin breathed deep and slow, eyes fixed upon the black plaster across the ridge of Arlington’s nose.

Arlington leant forward as if afraid of eavesdroppers. ‘Berkshire told me what you did and why you did it. He said you were a traitor.’

‘Not true,’ said Josselin, though his eyes watered.

‘True enough,’ said Arlington, sadly. ‘It hurt him to tell me of it, but he saw it as his duty. His duty to the King.’

Josselin shook his head.

Arlington shrugged, like he was an innocent player in this fine drama. ‘He called you traitor, Josselin, and wanted me to punish you.’

Josselin stamped his foot. ‘He would never have betrayed me to you, foul dog. You discovered it then you killed him.’

‘Of course I killed him,’ snapped Arlington, as if it was obvious. ‘The existence of that letter is a state secret. No man may know of it, and Berkshire was a weakling. I sensed he would regret his betrayal and confess all to you.’ He waved an arm. ‘Rather, Withypoll did.’

‘With my sword,’ Josselin hissed. ‘What sort of cowardly act was that?’

‘Whether an act be cowardly or not doesn’t depend on whose weapon you use,’ Arlington replied. ‘He had to die, and the opportunity to blacken your name at the same time proved irresistible.’

The fire inside Josselin’s belly seemed to fade before the heat of the inferno in which we stood. The walls exploded inwards, great cracks like cannonballs firing through the air as molten lead poured down the brick. Josselin’s shoulders drooped. Withypoll saw his chance, grabbed Arlington’s sword and propelled himself at Josselin, the tip of the blade aimed at his neck. Josselin squinted, then blinked, afore

lifting his weapon at the last minute, parrying the blow.

I stood helpless, keen to intervene, but lacking the means. Withypoll regained his balance the quicker and thrust his blade once more at Josselin’s chest. Josselin danced backwards and seemed to trip over his own feet, stumbling sideways. He landed on one arm and struggled to regain his balance, but his arm stuck, tangled in his coat. Withypoll sighed, face rapt with joyous anticipation as he lifted his sword. I held my breath and the world stood still. Josselin somehow managed to twist his body and kick out at Withypoll’s knee, sending him staggering over Josselin’s outstretched leg. As Withypoll fell to the ground I saw a flash of steel as Josselin finally succeeded in freeing his trapped arm. Withypoll’s legs gave way beneath him. He fell to his knees, head bowed, hands clutching at a small spot of blood spreading from his hip. Josselin extricated himself from beneath Withypoll’s prone body and clambered to his feet, sword hung loose from his right hand, short dagger in his left.