Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

'Of course.'

'Who from?'

'A Hell-hound not far from here. The first alleyway on Faltour's Lane off Holborn Street. Go down there and look for the apothecary's sign. He is a Spaniard, a Portuguese, a Moor… I don't know, but he may tell you more than I can. You see, Hugh, as I said, some poisons are medicinal A little arsenic can cure disorders of the stomach, but given in regular small doses becomes a poison. I once heard the confession of a merchant from the Portsoken who wished absolution for killing his wife. For two years he fed the poor woman poison.' The apothecary turned and looked out of the window. 'You'd best go now, Hugh. The day is drawing on and this apothecary's shop is the very gateway to Hell. Or,' he grinned, 'as you manor lords would say: "Where the shit lies, the flies always gather."'

Hugh grinned, thanked him, and went back to the hospital gates where he warned Ranulf and Maltote to be on their guard. They followed a maze of alleyways which ran to the north of the city down to Holborn. Corbett realised that Brother Thomas was correct The weak sun was setting and the area near the old city wall was one of musty decay. The stalls were battered, selling shabby geegaws. There were very few well-dressed citizens, most of the denizens of the alleyways being rogues and villains; tinkers, trying to sell without permission from the Guilds, professional beggars, and rat-faced slum dwellers looking for easy prey.

They found Faltour's Lane and turned into the dirty refuse-filled alleyway, the daylight almost blocked out by the overhanging gables of the houses which reared up on either side. Ranulf stopped his chatter and when Corbett drew his sword so did his companions as a blatant warning to the dark shapes which lurked in the half-open doorways. A beggar, smitten with white leprosy, one ear and half his nose eaten away, came out of the shadows, his hands extended, begging for alms. Corbett threw him a coin, raised his sword, and the beggar scuttled away.

The clerk was now uneasy. The alleyway was narrow, lined with darkened doorways; some had shadows deeper than the rest and Corbett knew he was being watched. Any sign of weakness or fear and the cutpurses lurking there would be on them like a pack of dogs. He stood beneath the apothecary's sign, dagger still drawn; two cats raced by, screeching and squabbling over the half-gnawed body of a rat. Corbett jumped, cursing his own nervousness. He sheathed his dagger, whispered to Ranulf and Maltote to wait at the top of the alleyway, and knocked gently on the shop door.

A young man opened it Corbett was immediately struck by the fellow's swarthy good looks and elegant dress: dark purple hose, soft buskins on his feet, and an open-necked, spotless, white cambric shirt. The man smiled as if intrigued by Corbett, muttering a few words first in Portuguese and then in English. Corbett, acting his part, looked nervously back down the street and said he needed certain potions. The man smiled, his smooth dark face creasing in a grin, lips parted to reveal ivory white teeth as he gestured like a long-lost friend for Corbett to enter. Inside the shop was simple but clean; the stone floor had been recently scrubbed, the walls coated with lime to keep off flies. It was devoid of any furniture except a zodiac sign nailed to one wad, a small wooden table and two huge, high-backed chairs. The apothecary introduced himself.

'My name is Julio Cesar. Doctor, physician, formerly apothecary to his most Catholic Majesty, Sancho, King of Portugal. Now exiled from that country due to a,' the black eyes slid away, 'misunderstanding. And you, Sir?'

'Matthew Droxford,' Corbett lied.

The apothecary studied him, a faint smile on his full red tips as if he knew his visitor was lying.

'And you want some medicine?'

Cesar elegantly waved Corbett to a seat before disappearing into the small back room beyond, returning with two crystal goblets brimming with iced sherbet He gave one to Corbett before sitting down opposite, sipping from his own cup as if he had all the time in the world. Corbett tasted the drink gingerly. He knew this man, not by name or reputation, but by smelling the rotten evil about him. Oh, he would be a doctor, an apothecary, but he was also a poisoner. Corbett could not prove that but he recognised the kind of man who could concoct cunning elixirs which could kill a man or woman and leave no trace.

Cesar put his own cup down on the floor.

'Come, Sir,' he said briskly. 'Your business? Why are you here?'

'You have been recommended to me,' Corbett answered brusquely. He half smiled, his eyes narrowed. 'You are a gentleman, Signor, you will understand if I give no names. I am married, and my wife has been unfaithful.' He saw the flicker of amusement in Cesar's face. 'Not for the first time,' Corbett continued hurriedly. 'I am a man of honour, Signor. I cannot divorce her nor can I proclaim myself a cuckold, to be a common joke amongst my tenants and fellows. I have not stinted in providing my wife with every luxury. I have begged for her fidelity.'

'But she does not keep her word?' The apothecary leaned closer, like a priest ready to listen to a confession. 'And now, Signor, you wish to carry out sentence?'

'Yes. I want a powder, a potion, one which will not kill immediately but over a period of months, undetected by her or any physician.'

'Signor, that will be expensive.'

Corbett asked the price and stifled his amazement at the reply. It would take most of the silver he had on him and that would be just for half an ounce of what was needed. Nonetheless, he agreed; the apothecary rose and disappeared into the back room, emerging a few minutes later with a small leather bag. He offered it, smiling, to Corbett.

'You may taste it, Signor. It will not harm you. It's no more dangerous than chalk. But if you took it regularly…' He shrugged.

Corbett took the powder and counted out the silver. The price was worth it. The powder he would throw away but the information the poisoner had provided was invaluable.

Corbett left that terrible shop without a word to Ranulf and Maltote, and walked out into the street off Faltour's Lane. 'Master!'

Corbett stopped and turned. 'What is it, Ranulf?'

'When you were in that apothecary's, I thought we were being watched. No, not just by some bully boy – someone else.'

Corbett looked around. They were back on the broad but darkened thoroughfare of Holborn. The stalls had disappeared, the shop fronts were boarded up. Some householders had even placed lantern horns outside their house, the weak flame of the candles fluttering in their protective iron grilles against the cool evening breeze. Two young urchins ran by, screaming and shouting. A bloody-mouthed mastiff tied by a chain to a lintel of a door snarled and barked. Somewhere in a room above them, a woman gently crooned the tune of a lullaby. Corbett could see nothing untoward.

'You are sure?' he said. 'Maltote, did you see anything?' The serjeant-at-arms looked worried but shook his head. 'I did think we were being followed when we went to the apothecary's, but it was only a child.'

Two young urchins, their faces completely hidden by hoods, came hurrying by, kicking an inflated pig's bladder before them.

'There's nothing,' Corbett murmured. 'Nothing at all.'

They walked up Holborn, across the darkening common which stretched out before the old city walls, into the pestiferous area around Newgate and down towards Cheapside. Now and again they would stop and look around but there was no one following them. They reached Catte Street and Corbett decided they should stay in the tavern where they had stabled their horses.

'Tomorrow,' he announced, 'we go to Leighton.'

'And baby Hugh? I'd like to see him!' Ranulf angrily replied.