Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘It was all passed from the Abbot’s own lodging, according to Peter,’ Simon breathed. ‘He’s right. It’s the only way they could have got it out.’

Baldwin was frowning. ‘It is certainly possible,’ he conceded. ‘But how on earth would the acolyte have reached the Abbot’s rooms? Surely he could only hand Walwynus the metal during the dark, for else the miner would have been seen.’

‘There was another accomplice inside the Abbot’s lodging,’ Simon said. ‘But at least that explains how the things were taken from the Abbey. As Peter told us, they were passed from a window here, down to Wally, who carried them away with him.’

‘All the way to the moors?’ Coroner Roger shook his head. ‘No. Too much risk of being seen. Carrying stuff like that would be an invitation to the Watch. He must have kept the things securely here in the town.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘You are right, of course!’

‘Let’s go and see Joce, this “Red Hand” and find out what he has to say for himself.’

They rode to the Abbey’s stables and left their mounts before hurrying out through the Court Gate towards the road where Joce’s house lay. Sir Tristram’s men eyed the trio as though doubting their sanity.

Simon didn’t care. He was feeling the excitement of the chase now. All fears and insecurities were fading, leaving in their stead this thrilling in his blood. He felt as though they were near to understanding the whole story, that there were only a few small details which needed to be teased out and fitted into their relevant positions. In reality, of course, there were still some terrible blank spaces.

There was no hint of a motive for killing Wally, and the same went for Hamelin’s murder too. Money had appeared as though from nowhere, murderers had run down to Tavistock from Scotland – and there was little sense to any of it. Why should Wally and Martyn have come here? And then light dawned. If Joce truly was ‘Red Hand’, Wally and Martyn, after fleeing from Sir Tristram and his men, would have gone where their leader told them they should be safe: the place he himself knew, his own birthplace. And when they arrived at Tavistock, what could be more natural than that they should take up spades to try their hand at tin mining?

But if their attempts met with little success, it would be easy to imagine small niggling annoyances growing into disputes or violent explosions. One such must have led to the argument during which Martyn died. One man couldn’t mine successfully. What would Wally have done? Obviously he’d have gone to his master and asked for assistance.

They had reached Blakemoor’s door. Baldwin pointed to one of the men with them, who drew his dagger and hammered on it with the hilt, but there was no reply.

While they waited, Simon caught his breath. ‘Baldwin, do you remember what that Swiss said about the house he saw Wally and the lad jumping from?’

‘Yes, he said it was built of limed wood, and that there was a blue shield painted over the doorway.’ Baldwin followed Simon’s pointing finger. ‘So Wally and his accomplice were robbing Joce.’

‘You lot stay here, two at this door, two at the back. Wait here until I send word you can go,’ Coroner Roger said.

Simon looked about him. Seeing Nob’s shop, he recalled his conversation with the innkeeper on the day when he was helping the Arrayer select his men. ‘Baldwin, that pie-shop there. It’s owned by Nob, the man who spoke to us last night and took us to Hamelin’s corpse. Wally used to stay there. Let’s go and have a look. We might learn something.’

When the three marched inside Nob’s shop, they found it deserted. Simon strode to the table and thumped upon it with his fist, while the Coroner eyed the pies with an interest that was not in the least professional. He reached out with a finger and experimentally poked at one.

‘Hoy! Don’t bugger about wi’ me pies’

The stertorian voice came from the open doorway at the back of the shop, and soon Nob came through, using his towel to wipe his head and face with one hand, while the other gripped a large drinking horn.

‘That’s meat. You want meat, fowl or fish? It’s Friday, so you should be eating fish.’

Simon said, ‘You spoke to us yesterday about Hamelin. Did Walwynus come here to sleep when he visited Tavistock for the coining?’

‘Yes. He always came to stay here when he was in Tavistock.’

‘Do you mean that he came here often?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘Yes. Every few weeks, whenever he needed supplies. We sort of took pity on him. Well, my Cissy did. She’s always like that, looking after the waifs and strays. Daft cow. Why do you ask?’

‘Did he stay in this room?’ Simon asked.

‘No, he’d be out in the back.’

‘Show us.’

‘Why? I don’t see why I…’ His protestations were ignored as the three barged past him and out into the room behind. ‘Come on! What’s all this about?’

It was a small room, with a second door that opened out to the garden space behind, sparsely furnished. There was only one small table and a couple of stools. A barrel was standing on the table-top. Apart from that, the room appeared to be a storeroom for a small quantity of flour to make the baker’s paste for pies, and for the charcoal which he needed to fire his oven.

‘Where do you buy your coals?’ Baldwin asked, picking up a small sack.

‘Up the way. Look, what is all this?’

Simon had found a balled lump of black material, and he opened it out to find it was a man-sized tunic, but there was nothing in it, so he let it fall back on the floor. Nob strode over to him and kicked it aside angrily.

‘I’ve had enough of this. I want an explanation.’

‘We’re investigating Walwynus’ death,’ the Coroner said curtly. ‘So shut up and answer our questions.’

‘Old Wally? What does this place have to do with him?’

Simon took the sack from Baldwin. Like the one which had contained the pewter, this was impregnated with charcoal dust. ‘Nob, I think you have been a very foolish man.’

‘Me?’ Nob squeaked. ‘I’ve done nothing!’

‘But you allowed a felon into your home. Someone stole pewter from the Abbey and passed it out to Wally, and Wally hid it. Now we have more stolen pewter, and it’s in a sack – one of these ones you keep your coals in.’

Nob dropped with a thump on to one of the stools. ‘Oh God, no, not Wally,’ he said. ‘Oh, my God! You mean things have been stolen from the Abbey and stored here? My heavens! That is terrible.’

‘Did you know anything about this, Nob?’ Simon asked keenly. He moved to the cook’s side and stood over him threateningly.

‘No, of course not. What do you take me for, eh?

‘Is there anywhere here Wally could have hidden a sack this size?’ Coroner Roger pressed him.

‘Where else would he have taken stolen things?’ Baldwin demanded of the anxious Nob. ‘There can’t have been too many people whom he would have visited.’

‘I never saw him carry a sack, sir. Never. Sometimes he had his small bag, but never one of those sacks.’

Simon gasped with understanding. ‘Baldwin, the sack we got must have been a whole collection. Wally had an accomplice outside the Abbey, and when he had collected enough, he filled his sack and sold it.’

‘But the Swiss told us that he found Wally jumping from Joce’s window. Shit! I don’t understand what this is all about! Wally knew Blakemoor,’ Coroner Roger’s belly grumbled; he wanted to reach into the cook’s shop and take a pie.

‘Suppose so. Blakemoor’s the Receiver. We all know him,’ Nob said.

Simon asked, ‘What did Walwynus say about him? We’ve heard that they were close, that they might have been comrades.’