Michael Jecks - City of Fiends

‘You realise that there are thirty men and women at least watching you right now? This is not self-defence, Philip. It’s you attacking me – unprovoked, too. You will never escape from here, you piece of shit. You can’t hope to kill me!’

‘I will.’

And William watched as Philip moved forward inexorably, his lethal blade sweeping from side to side. William saw Gregory pull out his own dagger.

That was when William heard another bellow as Baldwin and Simon came running. There was a snarl, and Wolf rushed up, but before William could respond to the dog, he felt a fist thud into his back, and was sent sprawling as John sprang over him, and with his hatchet in his hand, he hacked at Philip’s head.

‘No!’ William shouted in desperation as Philip seemed to shiver, the hatchet embedded. He dropped his knife and turned, falling to his knees as he went, and William saw Philip’s eyes go to him for one moment, before they rolled up into his skull, and his body collapsed.

Paffards’ House

Sir Charles saw the little gegge take off again, and he gave chase with a grim determination. If the bratchet got to the road, young as he was, he could call the Hue and Cry, and Sir Charles had had enough of running. He sprang over the body of the maid he had struck, and ran into the house again, past the rooms and into the kitchen, where the cook stood at the far end, a heavy knife in one hand, a cleaver in the other. She looked pale and slightly waxen as she stared at him with determination, but said nothing.

He was frozen for a moment. Then, ‘If you try to leave the house I will kill you, woman,’ he snarled, and carried on along the passageway. There was a wailing sound; it came from upstairs. With a smile fitted to his face, he went to the stairs and climbed as silently as possible. The steps were of wood, great square sections cut diagonally and pegged to a pair of flat sheets behind. They were immense and solid, and there was no squeak or creak to give him away as he ascended cautiously to the upper passage. There he stood a moment, listening. There was a scuffling sound at the front of the house, and he made his way there, stepping slowly and carefully. A board moved under his foot, and he heard a piercing screech as it rubbed against a wooden peg, and at the same time, all noise in front of him ceased.

There came the sound of a shutter sliding down its runners, and Sir Charles ran on into the room. At the far side, he saw Thomas, standing at the open window in the bedroom, the large bed against the wall on the left.

‘Away from the window, boy,’ he said. ‘Don’t try to shout, because I’ll throw you out if you do. I won’t have that.’

Thomas clung to the string that held the shutter in its place, and stared wide-eyed at the man who approached him, step by careful step.

The little fool must have been soft-minded, Sir Charles thought to himself.

‘Now, little man, you need to tell me something. Your father was looking after money for me. I have to have it to take it to some friends. Can you tell me where he kept his money? He told me it was in the hall downstairs, but the cupboard is empty. I don’t know where else it might have been moved.’

Thomas shook his head.

‘It is all right, boy. It is my money. Your father was looking after it for me.’

He was almost at the boy now, and he made a quick lunge, but even as he did so there came a red-hot searing pain in his right flank.

‘God’s cods!’ he roared. He darted away and turned, expecting to see a man with a sword. Instead it was a woman. ‘You stupid bitch!’ he snarled, and drew his sword.

He knew her. It was the pathetic lurdan of a wife of Henry Paffard. She had got her husband’s sword from somewhere . . . Sweet mother of God, but she’d struck well, just as he was bending over – and the thrust had slipped up above his hip and into his guts. He knew from experience that wounds in the belly would often go rotten and lead to an agonising death. She would pay for this!

The boy was shrieking and squealing. It was not to be borne! He aimed a blow at the boy’s head, but missed, and he knew in that moment that he had only a short time. Glancing down, he saw that blood had already stained the whole of his side and thigh, and he could hear a rushing sound in his ears. ‘Damn your noise, boy!’ he rasped, and as she stabbed at him, he knocked her blade away, thrusting forward at her. But his strength was leaving him, he knew. He caught something, but it may have been just her gown, untied as it was. He felt his blade catch, and then he saw her move away again, and he was left standing, panting, while she moved to the door, the sword in both hands, pointing at his belly.

He couldn’t run. Not now. But he wouldn’t surrender.

She called to the boy, and Sir Charles found his head was falling as Thomas edged around him, eyes fixed and terrified. He felt tired. Must have been that run here from East Gate, he thought to himself. And then his eye caught sight of the blood on his leg, and he remembered he had been stabbed.

Looking up, the woman was at the door, holding out her hand to the boy.

With a last effort, Sir Charles grabbed for Thomas and pulled him to his side. He held the sword’s point to Thomas’s throat. ‘You have killed me, woman,’ he hissed. ‘Now I shall kill your boy.’

Combe Street

Baldwin and Simon pushed John away from the bodies of Father Laurence and Philip. Both were dead.

William crouched in the dirt, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at his brother. He would have fallen on his brother’s breast, but the sightless eyes made him pause. There was something that was not of his brother in them, as though his brother’s body had been emptied of all Philip’s soul and was now filled with a demon instead. It was Philip no more. Even his corpse had been stolen from him.

With an inarticulate bellow, he sprang up and ran barehanded at Gregory.

He was arrested in his onward rush. An arm went about his chest and swung him backwards off his feet. He could only lie on the ground next to his brother, retching as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

Before him, when he managed to gather his courage and his spirits, he saw Gregory sniggering. William tried to clamber to his feet, to leap at him again, but a boot was placed on his chest and pushed him back.

‘Get off me!’

‘Speak respectfully, boy,’ Baldwin said. ‘You are captured. Calm yourself, because I will not allow you to rise until you are calm.’

‘I will avenge my brother!’ William said, trying to shove the boot away, but he stopped at the sight and feel of the peacock-blue blade that rested so lightly upon his Adam’s apple. He swallowed, and felt the steel prick his skin.

‘You will stay there, William, until I have decided what to do with you. Master Paffard, would you object to asking one of your servants or an apprentice to go and seek the Coroner? With luck he will not be far away.’

‘With all my heart,’ Gregory said, and strode towards his house.

‘Now, Master William, you may rise. Don’t roll that way, the last horse left evidence of his passing. There, that’s better. Now – up, please, and clean yourself.’

His calm manner, both respectful and magisterial, was enough to make William nod and obey. ‘I won’t try to kill him now.’

‘Nor at any other time, I hope,’ Baldwin said. He still held his sword, but less threateningly. ‘What was this about?’

‘We learned today that the Paffards had stolen our inheritance. That’s why we’ve had to scrimp and save as best we could. Our house had to go, not because of debts, but because we were robbed. Those people in there have taken everything we had, and now they have even taken my mother and Philip.’