P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

In the rear courtyard that led to the kitchen garden, the cobbles were covered in hunting dogs, very happy to be home and already gathering around their dog boy, tails wagging, tongues hanging, waiting to be fed.

“Sergeant Dodd, have you heard…” sang out the dog boy excitedly, but Dodd just waved a hand at him, slipped through the gate into the main garden, and headed down for the orchard and the boatlanding.

All the way there he was quietly praying there would be a boat waiting for him. There wasn’t, of course. Still, Temple steps wasn’t very far away, so Dodd climbed from the boat landing to the narrow strip of land between the orchard wall and the Strand itself, then eased himself along until he came to a fence which he climbed over, followed along until he came to the other fence, climbed over that, and continued through a narrow alley that led to a secret set of steps hidden by a curve in the river. That wasn’t the one so he struggled along the top of a sea wall and then to another alley that passed through a shanty town full of hungry looking children in nothing but their shirts and dogs scuffing hopefully through the mud.

Finally he was at Temple steps, his ears itching in anticipation of the hue and cry that would be made for him once Lord and Lady Hunsdon realised who was missing. Enys was standing there, wrapped in cloak and hat, his expression a strange combination of hope and fear.

“Ay,” said Dodd, not explaining why he was arriving by climbing out of a tiny handkerchief of herb garden, guarded by a ginger tomcat.

Enys raised his arm and yelled “Oars!” A Thames boat arrived quickly, the boatman looking very hopeful-ah yes, of course, the taste of students at the Inns for the fleshpots and dissipations of the South bank.

“Three Cranes in the Vintry,” Dodd ordered, practically vaulting aboard. As usual Enys dithered over stepping in and nearly fell in the Thames again before he sat down.

“Are you sure, sir?” said the boatman. “I heard there’s a good game at Paris Garden tonight…”

“Ye heard what Ah said,” snarled Dodd. The boatman shrugged and started rowing the hard way.

They came up against the wharf which was quiet and Dodd paid the man and jumped out. Jesu he was getting as high-handed with his cash as Carey was-mind, it wasn’t his cash, it was Carey’s. That gave him a warm cosy feeling in the place where the rage was still packed tight.

As before there were a few well-dressed exquisites and one or two prosperous merchants hanging around not doing very much, including the boy in the tangerine paned hose and cramoisie doublet, a walking headache everywhere he went.

Mr. Briscoe was on the door as before, looking haggard with bags under his eyes. He touched his hat sadly to Dodd before stepping forward to stop Enys.

“Do I know you, sir?” he asked very politely.

“Ah, Sir Robert asked me tae bring him to meet Mr. Pickering.” Dodd tried. Briscoe hesitated “It’s Mr. Enys, my lord Baron Hunsdon’s lawyer. He wis at the inquest, ye recall?”

Briscoe allowed them past and they climbed the steps to the gambling chamber with its banks of candles and white mats. Enys seemed quite open-mouthed at the women standing about there, with their strangely cut stays that cupped their white breasts but left them bare so the nipples were visible peeking over the lacy edge of their shifts like naughty eyes, prinking and pinking in the draught from the door.

Dodd dragged his eyes away and swallowed hard. It seemed his kidneys were recovering. Then he stopped one of the comely boys running past with trays of booze, and asked if Mr. Vent was there.

“No sir,” said the boy. “Shall I tell Mr. Pickering you’re here? He has some information for you.”

“Ay.”

Dodd took two cups from the tray as the boy turned to go and gave one to Enys who was bright red again. Dodd knew how he felt. All those round plump tits just begging to be cupped and fondled and licked…

He took a large gulp of brandywine and tried to look at something less entrancing. But the walls were hung with the cloths painted with completely naked people doing lewd things with swans and bulls and such. It was impossible to concentrate, which no doubt was half the intention.

“Mr. Pickering will see you gents now,” said the boy at his elbow, so he tapped Enys on the shoulder and followed the boy into the back room where Pickering sat by the fire with a large plump man in a dark brocade doublet and snowy white starched falling band.

Pickering smiled as they came in and Dodd made his bow to include both of them, reckoning that a bit of respect to a headman on his own ground never did any harm and might do some good. Enys sensibly bowed too, rather more gracefully.

“Welcome back, Sergeant Dodd,” said Pickering. “Sir Horatio was ‘oping to meet Sir Robert. Is ‘e here?”

“Ah. No,” said Dodd, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain further.

“Is ‘e on ‘is way?”

“Ah. No,” said Dodd.

Pickering frowned and so did Sir Horatio. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I haven’t offended him in…”

“Nay sir, nothing like that. He…ah…he found he had urgent business at court.”

The plump man stood up and turned out to be as tall as Carey. He held out a hand to Dodd who shook it.

“Sergeant,” he said in a smooth, deep, slightly foreign sounding voice, “I was hoping to discuss the question of the Cornish lands with your Captain, Sir Robert. I am Sir Horatio Palavicino, Her most gracious Majesty’s advisor on matters financial and fiduciary.”

Dodd wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

“’e’s the Queen’s banker, Sergeant,” said Pickering, spotting Dodd’s confusion. “He sorts out the Queen’s money.”

Dodd’s mouth went dry. “Ah,” he said. Oh God, had the Queen bought some of the worthless Cornish lands? Was it too late to steal a horse and head north?

Yes it was. Much too late.

“Sit down, Sergeant, and you, Mr. Enys.”

They sat on stools noticeably lower than the chairs seating Pickering and Sir Horatio. Sir Horatio smiled genially.

“I assume that Sir Robert has gone to Court to apprise the Queen of what he knows?”Dodd was relieved to be asked something he could answer with confidence.

“Ay sir,” he said, “he couldnae do it safely by letter so he went tae speak to the Queen hisself.”

Sir Horatio smiled and nodded. “As ever,” he said, “Sir Robert is precipitate but correct.”

From flushing an unbecoming shade of red as a result of the ladies outside, Enys had now gone an equally ugly pale yellow.

“Sirs,” he said, leaning forward, “excuse my interruption, but is it true that the Queen does not know of this…ah…this land fraud?”

Sir Horatio sighed. “As far as I know, she does not.”

“Ay she does now,” said Dodd with confidence, “Sir Robert will have left this morning when he gave the huntsmen and falconers the slip and it’s ainly forty miles. He’ll be at court for sure by now.”

“It may take him some time to gain audience with Her Majesty,” said Sir Horatio. “But yes, correctly put. She did not know, Mr. Enys.”

“Ah hope she hasnae bought none?” Dodd asked, voicing his main worry.

Sir Horatio laughed kindly. “Why would she need to,” he asked, “since if there were gold there, she would own it in any case through Crown prerogative?”

Dodd nodded. “Ay,” he said. “That’s a relief.”

Sir Horatio seemed highly amused by this. “Indeed it is.”

“But…sir…” Enys was frowning with puzzlement, “I drafted many of the bills of sales and the deeds of transfer and I told Mr. Vice Chancellor Heneage that I thought the thing was not what it seemed. I told him that I knew many of the places had been assayed for tin many times and found to be barren of all metals including gold. It was why he dismissed me as his lawyer and then took steps to destroy my practice because he would not have what he called the falsity told abroad. But I assumed he had told Her Majesty at least.”