P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

Dodd went down the polished stairs. Briscoe and the other henchman were standing on the inside of the barred and locked door as it shuddered to the blows of a battering room.

“Yerss,” said Pickering, “plenty of time, gentlemen, these doors was put in by the Tunnage and Poundage. The girls are still busy upstairs. Meantime…What would you do if some jumped up court clerk did this to you in your own country, Sergeant Dodd?”

Dodd was amazed Pickering needed to ask. “If it were the Queen herself as did it, then I’d do nowt,” he said, heavily, “but if it were aye one o’ her men, then I’d have the Border alight in two hours, Mr. Pickering, the bells would a’ be ringin’ and the men would a’ be riding. But Ah’m nobbut the Land-Sergeant of Gilsland and Ah could ainly call on the Dodds and the Armstrongs there and mebbe the Bells and the Storeys, four hundred men at best. If it were Richie Graham of Brackenhill that had his tower burned, by God, Mr. Pickering, there’d be fifteen hundred men i’the saddle by daybreak and Carlisle in flames the day after.”

The King of London smiled briefly. “Hm,” he said, “it ain’t quite like that here in London, mind, but I agree wiv you, I will not be treated like this and I won’t ‘ave my men treated like this either. So, Sergeant, wot do you reckon?”

“Me? There’s a man I’d like to talk to first and then…I wantae talk to the owner o’ the Judith of Penryn and find this man Vent. And then, Mr. Pickering, Ah’m at yer disposal.”

Pickering looked consideringly at his men. “ Mr. Briscoe,” he said quietly as the battering ram hammered home again, “would you do me the kindness to come and speak with me…”

To Dodd’s surprise the man called Briscoe suddenly looked hunted and made for the stairs. His mate caught hold of him firmly by the neck and held him there.

Pickering went up to him. “Easy way or hard way?” he said softly through his teeth.

Briscoe licked his lips and started to cry. “Only, ‘e took my Ellie, my missus, what’s gonna have a baby, he took ‘er down to his house and he said to me, ‘e’d have ‘er belly cut open to get the baby out and then ‘e’d make me watch while ‘e…”

“Heneage?”

Briscoe shook his head “Topcliffe.”

“And?”

“And so I told ‘im where the game would be and that we was waiting for Sir Robert to come back and…I told ‘im.”

“Topcliffe still got yer mort?”

Briscoe nodded, then hid his face in his hands. “I signalled when I saw the Sergeant,” he whispered, his voice muffled.

Pickering shook his head. “Tim,” he said in a low voice, “Why didn’t yer come and tell me?”

“’e said ‘e’d know if I did and ‘e’d kill ‘er right away.”

Bang went the battering ram again. You had to admire the way the doors were standing up to it, thought Dodd. Surely Heneage would try gunpowder next?

Pickering nodded once. “I’m ‘urt Tim,” he said thoughtfully, “I’m ‘urt you didn’t find a way to tell me what was going on,”

“I know, Mr. Pickering, I’m ever so sorry, I couldn’t fink ‘ow to do it.”

“Well, the damage is done now. What do you fink I should do about you?”

Briscoe studied the ground, and sniffled. He muttered something Dodd couldn’t make out.

Pickering smiled. “’Course I’m going to kill you, Tim, but what should happen first?” He put his hand up on Briscoe’s burly shoulder. “’Ave a fink about it, tell me later. Meanwhile, see Sergeant Dodd here?” Briscoe nodded. “’e needs a man at ‘is back if ‘e’s to get away and do somfink about yer mort and yer kinchin. Will yer do that? Wivvout tipping ‘im no lays?”

Briscoe nodded convulsively and looked up at Dodd who was now halfway up the stairs.

“Come on,” Dodd grunted, and Briscoe followed him up to the room where the girls were just staggering down the steps carrying large bags of money, but still leaving some scattered about the tables. Dodd approved of that-the money would slow the searchers down considerably. The girl called Mary stood waiting by the trapdoor and a couple of the younger ones were bunched around her, looking angry and frightened.

“You’re slow,” she snapped. “I’ve got to lock it. Hurry up, we ain’t got all night.”

She looked somehow familiar but Dodd couldn’t think where he might have seen her before. He went down the steps, followed by Briscoe, a long way down, to a passage that was dripping and evil-smelling but quite wide and well-flagged. It looked to have been built a long time ago. The trapdoor shut and locked behind them and there was a scraping sound of furniture going over it.

“Wait,” said Briscoe, and paused by a grating. Dodd stood next to him and peered through the bars.

They were at foot-level. Like giants the men with the battering ram ran past them, hit the door…And went straight through, landing with shouts and crashing on the other side of it. Stepping over their legs, delicately, came Laurence Pickering, the King of London.

“Good evening, your honour,” he said to the Vice Chamberlain of the Queen’s Court with a perky bow. “How may I serve Her Majesty?”

Heneage brandished a paper at Pickering. “I have here a warrant to search for ill-doers and malefactors engaged in unGodly gambling and whoring within the bounds of the City of London and I have here one warrant for the arrest of one James Enys for assisting in the escape of a prisoner of Her Majesty and a further warrant for the arrest of Henry Dodd for high treason.”

The pursuivants were already in the building, thundering and crashing around, Palavicino and the girls carrying the coin were somewhere ahead of them but Dodd couldn’t tear himself away. From the odd angle, he could just make out Enys who was now standing very still between the two bullyboys who had hold of him, his face as white as his falling band. From the way he was part-hunched over, Dodd assumed somebody had kneed him or punched him in the gut.

Soon the men in buff coats started bringing out the girls who had been left behind and there was a gull-like clamour of furious argument, insult, and insinuation from them.

Heneage gave a smile of triumph. “You are James Enys, member of Gray’s Inn, Utter Barrister?” said Heneage to Enys who hesitated for a moment and then nodded convulsively. Heneage struck him across the face as he had once struck Dodd: an experiment, to see what reaction he would get.

“Answer me properly,” he said.

“Yes, I am now,” said Enys softly, his eyelids fluttering. “God help me.”

Heneage slapped him again. “You say, Yes I am, your honour ,” he corrected with a spiteful smile. Enys looked him gravely in the face and managed a lopsided smile in return.

“Your honour is of course, most wise and just,” he said in his court-voice. “I am most grateful for your honour’s elucidation in this matter.”

Heneage’s lips thinned and he raised his hand again. However for no good reason, he seemed to think better of it.

Dodd found his hand gripped so hard on his swordhilt, it hurt. He forced himself to relax and take his hand away. No point drawing a sword in a little tunnel, there was no room to wield it. He thought he had most of the whole mess worked out now, but not all of it, and he stared at Heneage as if the simple pressure of his gaze could damage the bastard.

“Your honour,” came Enys’s low voice. “Who was it saw me…”

“The boatman you hired. Did you think I wouldn’t find him?”

Enys nodded, looking at the ground. The print of Heneage’s hand was bright red against the pockmarks.

At last Heneage turned away from Enys to shout at the pursuivants who were crashing and ripping through Pickering’s gambling room to bring any money to him. The girls were being loaded into one of the boats, still arguing and cursing and complaining that the Bridewell was becoming a pesthouse.