P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

There was a silence at this. Mr. Pickering seemed the least surprised at it, and in fact had a cynical smile. Sir Horatio turned and stared at Enys with an expression of mixed anger and calculation while Dodd groaned softly under his breath.

“When did you tell him this, Mr. Enys?”

“Months ago. He was very angry. I think because he had bought some.”

“Hm. He was not the only one,” said Sir Horatio. “Mr. Enys, I understand that you were in contact with the assayer, a Mr. Jackson.”

Enys lifted his head. “No sir,” he said, “that was not me, that was my brother whom I came here to find. And it was Father Jackson SJ.”

“Society of Jesus.”

Enys nodded.

“The man that was hanged, drawn, and quartered by Mr. Hughes?” said Pickering with a puzzled frown.

“Nay sir, that wasnae him. It was one Richard Tregian.” Dodd corrected him. “Mr. Topcliffe substituted him for the Cornish gentleman.”

Palavicino was leaning forward, his face full of bewilderment. “Substituted him?”

“Ay sir, and Fr. Jackson seemingly ended up in the Thames wi’ a knife in his back but we dinna ken how or why.”

Enys drew a deep breath. “Sir, my brother has been calling himself James Vent. Do you know where he is? Sergeant Dodd said he thought he had seen him here?”

“Vent?” Pickering’s glittering little eyes had gone hard. “He was here but he ran out of money. Said he was going to the Netherlands again to make his fortune and headed for a ship he knew of in the Pool of London.”

“Do you know which ship, sir?”

“The Judith of Penryn ,”

The name didn’t seem to mean much to Enys but Dodd recognised it. Och God, he had to get back to Somerset House after all.

“Thank you, sir,” Enys was saying. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen. I must try and track down my brother and speak to him urgently. Sir Horatio was looking very thoughtful while Pickering was scowling.”

Enys was already bowing to Pickering in thanks and heading for the door, no doubt to find a boat to chase his brother. For a moment Dodd wondered about telling him who owned the ship, then decided he would find out soon enough. As the lawyer clattered down the stair, Dodd had a thought about the now decoded letters. He had been wondering about it but now he made a decision. If Palavicino was the Queen’s banker, perhaps he was the best way for Dodd to get the information safely out of his keeping and into the Queen’s. It clearly all hinged on whoever Icarus might be a codename for and he had no idea, although he suspected Carey did. Icarus had been in normal letters, not numbers, so he supposed it was doubly important. He pulled out the coded letters and his laborious translations and handed them to Palavicino.

“That one,” he said, tapping it, “I found hidden in Richard Tregian’s chamber. The ither one…” He coughed, not sure how this would be received. “…ah, the ither one we found when we had a warrant to arrest Mr. Heneage for assault in my case and we were searching his house for him.”

It seemed both Pickering and Palavicino knew about that because they both smiled.

“As usual, ingenious and appropriate,” said Palavicino, not making a lot of sense as far as Dodd was concerned. “And what have we here?”

“The translation’s there,” said Dodd, quite proud of what he had done in only an afternoon. Sir Horatio looked hard at the writing and his lips moved as he read it. Then he looked up and nodded.

“Sergeant, thank you,” he said. “I shall see the Queen receives this at once.”

“Ay,” said Dodd, thinking it might be about time to be going. Pickering stopped him. “Just a word before we go, Sergeant, about Sir Robert’s enquiry,” said Pickering quietly. “I’ve asked around and I will lay my life on it that not one of my people ‘as lifted that survey out of the Cornish maid’s purse.”

“Eh?” said Dodd, then remembered. “Ay?” He was surprised. “Are ye sure?”

“Certain. I’d’ve ‘ad it in my ‘ands by yesterday night if any nip-purse or foist or any of their friends ‘ad it, believe me.”

Dodd nodded. That left only one place the survey could have gone to and now, he thought about it, made perfect sense.

“As for what the watermen think about whoever did in the Papist priest…It’s only a rumour but they say ‘e was escaping from Topcliffe’s place in south bank marshes when it happened. I haven’t found the man who rowed the boat for them so I can’t say for sure. Unfortunately, he disappeared a couple of days ago.”

“Thank ye, Mr. Pickering,” said Dodd, thinking he knew what had happened to the poor boatman. “If ye hear any…”

There was a thunderous banging on the doors downstairs. Pickering jumped to his feet and stood there with his fists clenching and unclenching.

“What the ‘ell…?” he said.

“Open in the name of the Queen!” came the roar from below. Dodd moved to the window and peered out. The area around the warehouse was full of large men in buff coats, another boat pulling up with more men in it. Out of it stepped Mr. Vice Chancellor Heneage with a very prim and satisfied expression on his plump prissy face. Dodd had forgotten how much he disliked the man. At least he was still sporting green and purple around his eyes and his nose was swollen.

Poor Enys had obviously walked straight into an ambush as he left to find his brother. He was being held with his arms twisted behind him by two men who looked pleased with themselves. Enys looked as if he might be sick and was still struggling.

“Och,” said Dodd, cursing himself for a fool. He looked at Sir Horatio who was still frowning at the letters.

“Get him out o’ here, Mr. Pickering,” he said to the King of London who seemed too shocked to react. “Have ye no’ a bolthole?”

Pickering blinked, shook himself and moved. “’Course I do. Come along, Sir Horatio.”

He went to the corner of the small room and rolled back one of the mats. Dodd lifted the trapdoor, revealing stairs leading down. To his surprise, Pickering did not go down the steps but motioned to Sir Horatio.

“At the bottom is a door into a basement, it’s a bit wet but don’t worry. Open the door and go along the passage and you’ll be in the warehouse over by the third crane, see?”

Palavicino looked out the window and nodded. “Now Sir Horatio,” gravelled Pickering, making the two words sound like “sratio”, “’ere’s the key to the door of the warehouse. The seals is fake and you can put them back. Bring me the key when you can.”

Palavicino nodded, took a candle from the mantlepiece, shook hands with Pickering, and then went down the stairs, moving remarkably quietly for so large a man.

There was more thundering and a banging downstairs and Heneage ordering the door to be opened in the name of the Queen. Pickering, short sturdy and bullet headed, looked at the door, pursed his lips, sucked his teeth, and squared his shoulders. From a mere wealthy merchant he had become something much more dangerous.

“I’m going to welcome in our visitors. I think you should slip away as well as I’m quite sure ‘e’s got a warrant for you.”

Dodd quietly loosened his sword despite what Pickering had said, then followed the man through the gambling room where the players and the half-clad women were staring through the windows. “Mary,” said Pickering to one of them, “put ‘em away, luv,” and the women started pulling their shifts up and relacing their stays so as to look a little bit more respectable. “Start moving out, girls,” he added as he went past, quite quietly. The girls started ushering all the wealthy players to the back room where the trapdoor and secret tunnel were.