Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

I attempted to look disdainful, my every fibre screaming out in terror. ‘You think we didn’t predict this event?’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ snapped Arlington. ‘You thought I was dead.’

‘If not you, then another of the King’s lackeys,’ I replied. ‘You hurt either of us, then the letter will be sent to half a dozen parliamentarians. If they don’t kill you, the King will.’

‘Liar,’ Arlington cried. ‘You have not had time.’

I prayed his spies weren’t with us at Bride’s. ‘We had all night,’ I answered. ‘The letter is safely in the hands of someone who knows not what it contains together with a note that tells where Edward Josselin’s body may be found. The body with your strange blade still protruding from its chest.’

Arlington leered. ‘I know where you hid Edward Josselin’s body, and my spies will find this note.’

I kept my face stiff, determined not to betray my shock. How had he found the body so quick?

‘Good luck,’ I replied. ‘You hurt us or kill us, then the box will be opened and the contents passed to a list of parliamentarians, men who will not hesitate from stringing you up and slicing your guts in front of your face.’

He stared into my face, eyes searching for the truth. His skin smelt like roast pork and his naked burns glistened. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Once we read the letter, we realised what danger we were in. What did you think we would do?’

‘Run to Clarendon,’ replied Arlington. ‘Which is where my men found you.’

‘This morning,’ I pointed out. ‘And as you have discovered, neither of us has the letter upon our person.’

Arlington turned his attention to Dowling, moving stiffly. ‘What about you, butcher? You’ve worked for me the longest. Give me the letter and I will ensure your safety. Refuse me and I will destroy you and your family. Starting with Lytle.’ He waved a hand in the air, wincing, whereupon the big man lifted me by the arms and placed me once again upon the donkey. I took my weight upon my wrists.

‘Torture him,’ Dowling said, voice choking. ‘You will torture him anyway. We will not give you the letter under any circumstance. To do so would be to sign our own death warrants.’

Arlington threw back his head and roared in frustration, eyes protruding, thick skin upon his head rolling back in a series of fleshy waves. Spittle coated his lips and dripped upon his chin.

‘Very well,’ he said at last, voice trembling.

He pointed a shaking finger at Dowling’s nose. ‘You refuse me. What brave fellows you think you are. How would you resolve this situation?’

‘Release us,’ I replied. ‘That’s all.’

‘I release you and what happens to the letter if you are struck by lightning, or plague, or dropsy, or old age ?’

‘It’s unlikely we will die together,’ I said, calm. ‘While one of us lives, we shall honour our pledge.’

Arlington clenched his fists and stared like he would tear me apart with his hands. ‘I must give that letter back to the King.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You can tell him you destroyed it because you feared its existence.’

Arlington screamed, unleashing his fury upon the donkey’s head, knocking its snout askew. ‘If the King finds out you have it he will kill you. You know that?’

‘We must trust each other, then,’ I said. ‘Do you not think?’

His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. ‘Shall a lord be held to ransom by a butcher and a clerk?’ he mused. ‘I think not.’

‘We want nothing from you, your lordship,’ I said quietly. ‘Only to be left alone.’

‘And you will keep this pact?’ he whispered, stepping close. ‘No matter what happens?’

I nodded.

He eyed Dowling. ‘Remember your loved ones.’

He swept out of the room, footsteps clattering down the stairs, issuing terse instruction to the soldiers who followed. Then all was quiet.

Dowling stared at me like I was a lunatic. ‘Where is the letter?’

‘In the river,’ I said. ‘I screwed it up and threw it in the water on the way here.’

‘Then we have nothing,’ he exclaimed, craggy face aghast.

‘Which means Arlington can never find it.’

Dowling shook his head, despondent. ‘What if we must produce it?’

‘If I hadn’t thrown it away we would be dead already,’ I replied, impatient. ‘How is that not obvious to you?’

Dowling folded his arms. ‘You might have asked my opinion.’

‘In front of Arlington’s men, aye.’ As I recovered some peace in my soul, my thoughts turned to others. ‘Now we must tell Josselin’s mother her son is dead.’

Then we could ride to Cocksmouth and fetch back Lucy and Jane. Our nightmare was over.

Still Aldgate escaped the fire. We grabbed buckets at the Postern and threaded our way through the throng, a long chain of grim men, sweat pouring from their brows as they fought to save their homes. I dropped my bucket outside the front of Katharine Cree.

Ash coated the house from rooftop to street, a thick blanket of evil, black flakes that fell from the eaves to disintegrate upon our clothes, leaving stains that could never be washed away. The gargoyles peered out from beneath the grime, squinting foul-tempered.

Josselin’s betrothed opened the door as before, dressed all in black, pale-headed. As soon as she set eyes on me, she seized both my hands in hers and stared, beseeching. I was suddenly conscious I stank worse than a tannery, but she seemed not to notice.

‘We waited for you,’ she said in fractured voice, eyes watering.

Thin lines circled her eyes and an ashy halo surrounded her black

hair, hanging in the air. Her wide eyes shone, innocent of guile and full of trust. Her hands were warm and I wished I had assigned this task to Dowling, but he stood behind me, silent.

‘Where is he?’ she asked.

I grimaced, my shoulders slouching, and she saw he was dead.

‘You knew him well,’ she said soft, as if he was my betrothed.

I saw the effort she made to remain composed, lower lip stuck out almost to the tip of her nose, hands gripping mine harder than she realised.

‘We got to know each other,’ I confessed, grudgingly.

‘And you admired him,’ she said. ‘It was impossible to know him and not to admire him. Wasn’t it?’

‘He was a unique man,’ I said, uneasily. No other man had burnt down London all by himself.

She stared at my lips, opening her own lips so the shape of her mouth matched mine. I felt compelled to continue. ‘It was impossible not to …’

‘Love him,’ she finished eagerly. ‘Everyone loved him, but I knew him best.’

Yet he never mentioned her.

She squeezed my hands harder. ‘You were his friend. You must feel it too. He cannot have died without some sign, else his life is sacrificed for nothing.’ Her eyes studied every inch of my face. ‘Something must remain. His words, at least.’

I wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘His words remain, aye.’ I nodded sincerely, tugging at my hands.

‘And his example,’ she whispered, as if to herself.

‘True,’ I said. ‘His example too.’

‘Where does he lie?’ she asked, tears streaming down her face.

‘At St Paul’s,’ I answered awkwardly. ‘I’m afraid his body is burnt.’

She let my hands slip away, turned and wandered into the house, walking in a crooked line. ‘I will never see him again, never, never, never.’

I followed her, Dowling at my side.

‘He died as he lived,’ she said, low.

How did she know? ‘His end was worthy of his life,’ I said, desperate to be gone.