C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'I do not know.' I turned to Russell. 'The back of the house did not catch fire?'

'No. It collapsed in the explosion. Anything left of Goddard will be under there.'

'I would like the rubble cleared, and Dean Benson brought here to identify anything that is left of Goddard.'

'He won't like that,' Barak observed. 'He is still here, but he's been told Goddard blew himself up.'

'Sir Thomas wants this matter closed, sir,' Russell said in a warning tone.

'Perhaps if it is put to him that we need to ensure the killer is not still at large, and if he refuses and someone else is killed it will not reflect well on him.' I smiled at the steward. 'I am sure you are used to putting uncomfortable things to your master diplomatically.'

The young man ran a hand to his thatch of blond hair. Like everyone else he was dirty and dishevelled. 'I'll do what I can.'

'And I will tackle Harsnet,' I said.

I HAD COME to have respect for Harsnet's acumen, but when he came into the stables, rubbing the shoulder he had hurt when the explosion blew him over, my suggestion horrified him.

'We can't do that,' he said. 'All on the word of what a servant thought he saw in the dark. We'll have trouble with Dean Benson, and Sir Thomas will be furious. He dislikes you already, Master Shardlake. He is not a good man to make an enemy of

'I have made greater enemies than him.'

Harsnet shook his head. 'It is over. Goddard ended it on his own terms but he did end it. Our duty now is to tell the Archbishop so, urgently.'

I looked at him. 'I know everyone would like it to be over. I wish I could believe that myself. But we cannot always believe what suits us.'

THE STEWARD Russell turned out to be a better persuader than me, and an hour later those of Sir Thomas' men who were uninjured were dismantling the pile of rubble that was all that remained of the rear wing. Russell worked with his men. The explosion had thrown much of the stonework outwards, but part of the roof had collapsed straight down on to the interior of the house. I stood watching as the slates were lifted. Beside me was a frowning Sir Thomas. Harsnet stood at a little distance, occasionally shaking his head. Beside him Dean Benson sat on a lump of brickwork.

'Wherever he goes,' Barak said, 'that old arsehole always finds somewhere to sit down.' He stood beside me nursing his ribs, which the doctor had tied up with bandages.

To my relief, my hearing seemed to be clearing. 'Yes.' I looked out over the ghastly scene. Of the big old house nothing remained but a few skeletal walls within which rubble still smoked. The workmen cast nervous glances at the nearest wall, lest it collapse. On the lawn dazed figures wrapped in blankets still sat, looking at the burned house where they had so nearly died. A cart had arrived from Barnet and the more badly injured were being loaded on to it, supervised by the doctor and Magistrate Goodridge.

A shout from Russell made me turn round. Sir Thomas and Harsnet joined me in scrambling up the rubble. He was pointing at something by his feet. I saw that he had uncovered a severed arm wearing the tatters of a monk's robe, the hand undamaged and ghastly white. A moment later a man lifted a slate and jumped back with a cry. Underneath we saw a severed head, barely recognizable, for it was covered in thick dust. Sir Thomas, quite unaffected, took a handkerchief and began cleaning dust from the ghastly thing.

It was the man who had been sitting in the throne-like chair. The eyes had been blown out, leaving empty red sockets, but I recognized the mole on the nose, the slash on the cheek. Astoundingly the head was still smiling and then, fighting a rush of nausea, I saw why. Tiny nails had been hammered in to hold the mouth open, run through the flesh into the jaw. I looked up at Harsnet. 'This man was dead when we entered that room,' I said.

Seymour bent and picked up the head with no more concern than if it had been a football. I remembered the ghastly story of the cart full of Turkish heads in Hungary. He carried it, a little blood still dripping from the severed neck, to where Dean Benson sat. The cleric jumped up, his eyes wide with horror. 'Is that a—'

'A head, yes.' He held it up. 'Whose?'

'That is Lancelot Goddard,' Benson said, and collapsed in a dead faint.

EARLY IN THE MORNING of the next day, Barak and I sat at breakfast. The journey back from Kinesworth had been uncomfortable for both of us, we had gone to bed early and slept late. I had tossed and turned uneasily, for pressure on my back brought pain from my burns. Putting my hand behind me, I could feel blisters rising. 'How are your ribs?' I asked.

'Sore,' he replied with a grimace. 'But they're only bruised, not cracked. I've had worse.'

'Is Tamasin joining us for breakfast?'

'I don't know. I left her dressing.' He sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder if she thinks I get these knocks to spite her.'

'Are you still on poor terms?'

'Probably. When we got back I tried to tell her I just wanted to sleep, but she wanted to know everything. I was too tired to talk,' he added. 'Too worried, too, because this isn't over.'

Before leaving the remains of Goddard's house, Harsnet and I and Sir Thomas Seymour had held a conference. It was clear now that Goddard had been a victim, not the perpetrator, of the killings. I wondered whether he, too, after leaving Westminster Abbey had flirted with radical Protestantism, but drawn back and thus had qualified to became the seventh victim. The killer was still on the loose, and we had no idea who he was, or where he would strike again.

'Who is the bastard;' Barak asked. 'How did he get to know all these different people and their religious affinities;'

'At least we know how he got to us. By watching and spying as a pedlar. By the way, that gash on poor Goddard's head was on the wrong side of his face. The killer put it there to encourage our belief we were facing the killer in that room.'

'He slipped up there,' Barak said.

'It's the first time he has.'

'How did he get to Goddard; How did he find out where he lived;'

'Heaven knows. The magistrate said Goddard hadn't been seen for a few days. I'll wager the killer got into the house and tied him up, then sent that note to Dean Benson. And set up his greatest ever display.' I clenched my hands into fists. 'Who is he? Where is he now;'

'We're back to square one.'

'And without any idea where he will strike next. But one thing I am sure of. He will not end it now.'

'Do you think he will come after you;'

'I don't know. Why not just blow the house up with us all in it?' I sighed. I wished I could have consulted Guy. I had heard nothing since our quarrel. I would not have been surprised if Piers had returned, wormed his way back in with my friend.

I pushed my plate aside and stood up, wincing at the pain from my back. 'I should go to the Bedlam today. Shawms should have his report ready for the court and I want to look it over, and see Adam. And Dorothy later. I expect Bealknap is still there.'

'Are you all right to go out;' Barak asked.

'I can't sit around here. I will go to Chambers and try to do some work after I have seen Dorothy. I—'

The door opened and Tamasin came in. She wore a plain dress and her blonde hair was unbound, falling to her shoulders. She looked between us with a hostile glance. 'You have both been in the wars, I see,' she said.

'Where is your coif?' Barak asked. 'Your hair is unbound like an unmarried woman.'

She ignored him, and turned to me. 'Jack says you haven't caught him.'

'No,' I said. I added quietly. 'We have to go on searching.'

'He's killed eight people,' Barak said, impatiently. 'Nine, if Sir Thomas' man that was injured in the explosion dies. Seven of them in horrible slow ways.'