P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

Enys coughed and looked at the bottom of the boat. “If we are in front of Mr. Justice Whitehead, may I urge you to tell the truth at all times. His honour is most perspicacious.”

Dodd didn’t care how much he sweated, he wanted to know how to get the judge on his side and keep him there. If telling the truth was what it took, then so be it. He sighed.“Ay, so it were all of them with Heneage in the lead.”

“How are you now, Sergeant?”

Dodd shrugged. “Ah’ve had worse, I think.” He couldn’t recall exactly when, mind, certainly since he’d learned to fight, but he had woken up hungover and aching as badly on more than one occasion.

“Did you see a surgeon?”

“Ay, better than that, my lord had his ain physician tend to me.”

“Would he testify as to your injuries?”

“He might,” said Carey, “for a fee.”

“He give me this stuff for medicine, which is very fine indeed,” said Dodd taking out the clay pipe and the henbane of Peru again. Once he’d got it lit he took a good lungful of smoke which was tasting better and no longer made his head whirl so badly. He liked the odd sensation of mild drunkenness without the rage that booze normally uncovered in him, and it definitely helped with aches and pains. He offered the pipe to Carey first, who shook his head, and then to Enys.

“I’ve never drunk tobacco,” said Enys.

“Ay? I thought all the students at the Inns of Court were terrible for it.”

“Oh they are,” said Enys ruefully, “drinking, gambling, fighting. It never appealed to me, drinking smoke. What are chimneys for?”

Nonetheless Enys took the pipe and cautiously sucked some smoke. Then he burst into a mighty coughing and wheezing, handing the pipe back to Dodd just before he would have dropped it.

“Ay, it takes you that way first,” Dodd agreed, smiling wisely as the medicine took hold. “I thought my head would fall off with the phlegm. It’s better now. You wouldnae think it wis medicine at all since it disnae make you purge.”

Still coughing, Enys nodded and mopped his eyes. That henbane of Peru surely did blast the phlegm out of you, though Dodd was hazy as to how that might help your kidneys.

They went first to Mr. Cheke’s apothecary shop, but did not even knock on the door. The windows were shuttered and on the door was the painted red cross and the printed warrant saying that the house was under quarantine.

Dodd felt sick. Poor man. Of all the physicians and apothecaries in the city, he had at least tried to fight the plague…Which was probably why he had caught it himself, despite all his terrifying precautions.

Ignoring the danger of infection, Carey shouted up to the shuttered windows. “Mr. Cheke!” he roared, “Mr. Cheke! Can you hear me? Do you need food or water?”

There was no answer, no sound, no movement. Carey stood for a moment with his head bowed and then turned wordlessly, heading away from the stricken shop.

In a methodical manner, they went round making sure the bailiffs delivered subpoenas to all the names on Dodd’s list after dumping the bag of Heneage’s papers at the Somerset House gate. One more witness was dead of plague. The Gaoler of the Fleet was quite upset to see them again, even more upset to be served with court papers, and positively horrified when Enys impounded the register as vital evidence. Slightly to Dodd’s surprise, there still witten in it as clear as day was the Gaoler’s wobbly painful letters which read “Sr Rbt Carey Knt” and next to it “Sgt Henry Dod” in Dodd’s own hand. Dodd thought he’d written it quite tidily, if large.

Inevitably they ended up in the Mermaid again where Marlowe was playing primero with Poley and Munday and some obvious barnards as if nothing at all had happened. Marlowe stood up as they came in and bowed elaborately. “Ave, vos moriture saluto,” he said.

Carey returned the courtesy with a lordly nod, sat himself down on a bench, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Then he smiled and said, “If that means what I think it does, we’re not going to die yet.”

“Of course you are, gentlemen,” said Marlowe, waving at the potboy, “but it will have been worth it. You’ve tried to put the honourable Mr. Vice Chamberlain into gaol. Wonderful idea. What would you like to drink?”

The two barnards looked in horror from Carey to Marlowe and back again, gathered what was left of their money, and practically ran out the door. Munday tutted quietly.

“Aqua vitae from the barrel under the counter and sherry sack,” said Carey promptly. “Did Heneage pay you your wages at last then, Kit?”

Marlowe smiled and kissed his fingers at Carey.

“I’ll have a quart of double, if ye’re buying,” said Dodd suspiciously. “This here is Mr. Enys, he’s our lawyer.”

“Better and better,” said Marlowe becoming more dramatic by the minute. “Mr. Enys if you were the man who had the balls to draft the pleadings, please do join us.”

Enys coloured slightly and smiled. “Mild for me, thank you,” he said, sitting himself down nervously on a stool with his robe wrapped around him.

“Many tongu’d Rumour is rampaging up and down Whitefriars and the Temple,” declaimed Marlowe, who had clearly been drinking all day, flinging out an arm as if to introduce her. “Is it true Mr. Vice tried to escape and was stopped by Sergeant Dodd here leaping on board the coach, wrestling the driver to the ground, running across the backs of the horses, and halting the coach just before it should tragically fall into a ravine with Heneage in it, at which Mr. Vice ran into the woods and escaped.”

“No,” said Carey dampeningly, “he wasn’t there.”

Marlowe struck his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Such a pity, another wonderful story sadly exploded by prosaic reality.”

“Somebody must have warned him what was afoot.”

“Ah yes, the clerk of the court. As always, a useful purchase. What will you do tomorrow?”

“I have other matters to pursue,” said Carey, “but I expect I shall go to court again. What’s the book?”

Marlowe produced a small notebook from his sleeve. “Here we are. Five to one on that the Sergeant composes the criminal assault with Heneage and makes a deal for the civil damages. Ditto that it’s taken out of Whitehead’s court on account of his notorious honesty. Ten to one on and no takers that you’re both in the Tower for treason by the end of the month.” Carey smiled faintly. “Are you in?” asked Marlowe, reaching for his pen.

“Probably,” said Carey, “I’ll have to think about it. I’ll put in a noble on myself to stay out of the Tower.”

Dodd gulped. Six shillings and eightpence wasn’t much of a bet in Carey’s scheme of things. Plus he hadn’t said “myself and Dodd.”

“Your father’s backing this, isn’t he?” asked Poley suddenly as he added some coins to the primero pot and took another card.

Carey had his eyes shut and had not been dealt into the game. “Obviously.”

“Why? I mean why is he backing it?”

“Oh, high spirits and a love of justice, I expect.”

Poley had a pale oblong face with eyes that seemed not to blink very much. Dodd considered that he would certainly not buy a horse from the man. “Surely he’s taking revenge for what happened to your brother?”

“Of course not,” said Carey, still smiling with his eyes shut.

“Must be,” said Poley, relentlessly. “He wouldn’t want to leave it lie.”

“Whatever you wish, Mr. Poley,” said Carey, which made Dodd blink at his unaccustomed soft-spokenness.

“They’ve never got on, have they, the Lord Chamberlain and Vice Chamberlain?” Poley continued to poke, “And your father wouldn’t like…”