C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'The pool is much larger than the fountain,' I observed. 'Yet it was stained red.'

'You'd be surprised how little blood it takes to turn water red,' Barak said.

Harsnet looked at him in surprise. 'That is strange knowledge for a law clerk. But of course, you worked for Lord Cromwell.'

'So I did,' Barak answered. I saw old Wheelows narrow his eyes. Cromwell's name could still bring fear, even now.

'So he walked here with the body, dumped it and walked back,' I said.

Wheelows looked frightened. 'I heard there was another one, similar, over at Lincoln's Inn.'

'You must keep your mouth shut about that,' Harsnet said sternly.

'I know I must, master,' Wheelows answered resentfully. 'Or end in Marshalsea Prison. You told me.'

'Then carry on with your story.'

'There was a place beside the pool where all the snow was churned up. There was blood there too,' Wheelows said. Where he cut the doctor's throat, I thought. I looked at the pool. The wind made little ripples on the surface.

'What did you do next?' I asked the old labourer gently.

'I went into the pool, turned the body over. I saw it was a gentleman by his clothes. His face was white as bone, was no blood left in him. I saw what had been done to his throat.'

'What was the expression on his face?'

Wheelows gave me a sharp look. 'No one's asked me that before. But it was strange. He looked peaceful, as if he was asleep.' Dwale, I thought. 'So, what did you do then?'

'I ran to Southwark, to find the coroner. I know that's what you must do if you find a body.' He glanced at Harsnet. 'Then ever since I've had gentlemen questioning me, pressing me to keep it all a secret.'

'There is good reason,' I said.

'So make sure you do as you're told.' Harsnet took a shilling from his pocket and passed it to Wheelows. 'All right, you can go.'

The old man bowed quickly to us, cast a last frightened look over at the marshes, then clambered grunting through the mud to the path. He walked rapidly off towards Westminster. Harsnet watched him go. 'I didn't like locking him up,' he said. 'But we had to scare him to keep him silent.'

I nodded, then stared into the tidal pool. 'It's just like Roger. The doctor was lured to a meeting with someone, drugged, then carried out here. His throat was slit and he was dumped in the pool. People walk along this path every day, more when the river was frozen and the wherries weren't running. If the old man hadn't come on the body early it would have made another—' I hesitated — 'spectacle.'

Harsnet looked down the path. 'But how could he drag the body out here? Dr Gurney wouldn't have met anyone on this path at night, surely.'

I nodded at the river. 'People were walking across the ice then. It was very thick. I would guess the killer met Dr Gurney on the far bank, drugged him there and hauled him over here.' I shook my head. 'The killings identical, the men so similar in many ways. What is it that links them?'

'He must have timed it right at low tide,' Barak said. 'Like now. When the sea tide rose under the ice the bloodied water would have leaked out underneath and covered the shore, and the pool.'

Sea tide. Water turned to blood. Words snagged at my mind, as had the Treasurer's about a fountain turned to blood. I knew those phrases. But from where?

Then Barak leaned in close to us. 'Don't look round, but there's someone watching. On a patch of higher ground behind us. I saw a head outlined against the sky, just for a second. The old man was right.'

'Are you sure?' I asked.

'I'm going after him.' The light of excitement was back in his eyes.

I put a hand on his arm. 'It's all marsh. You don't know how deep the mud and water are.'

'I'll risk that,' Barak turned, ran across the path and plunged into the reeds. There was a great splashing and the water came up to his thighs, but he ploughed on. Harsnet and I stared. About fifty yards away a green-covered knoll rose from the reeds. For the merest second I saw a head outlined against the grey sky, then it was gone.

'I'm going to follow,' Harsnet said. I had to admire the way the coroner threw himself into the reeds after Barak, mud splashing on his fine coat. I followed in his wake, gasping at the chill of the muddy water against my legs.

Ahead, we saw Barak step on to dry land. He stood outlined against the sky, looking around. 'Shit!' he said loudly.

I followed Harsnet up on to the small knoll. Barak was looking out over the marshes. It was dotted with cottars' cottages in the distance but between us and them lay a wide bare expanse of waving reeds.

'I thought if I got up here and he ran, I could see where he went,' Barak said. 'But he's vanished.'

'But where to?' Harsnet stared out across the wide empty land' scape. 'It's not been a few minutes, we should see him running.'

'I'd guess he's lain down somewhere in those reeds,' I said. 'They're perfect cover.'

'Then we wait,' Harsnet said in clipped tones. 'No man could stand lying out among those reeds for long. The water's freezing.'

'Look at this.' Barak was pointing at something on the ground. A rough pallet of straw. He put his hand to it.

'It's still warm,' he said. 'He's been lying here watching us.'

Harsnet frowned. 'Then he knew we were coming. But how; How?' His eyes roved over the marshes, looking for movement. But there was nothing. I shivered. Was the killer lying out there in the freezing mud and water, watching us? Harsnet took a deep breath. 'I will not stir from this spot till dusk. He has to move sooner or later.' He looked at Barak. 'Good, you brought your sword.'

Barak looked at the sky, a deeper grey now. 'I think it will rain.'

'All the better to drive him out.'

The three of us waited, watching the marshland below. Occasionally a waterbird started up with a clatter of wings, but otherwise we saw no movement, even when a heavy shower came and soaked us all. I was becoming uncomfortable and my back hurt. How much worse the discomfort must be for someone lying down out there.

Harsnet looked at me, probably thinking I would be of little use in a tussle. 'You go,' he said. 'Barak and I can deal with this.' Barak was sitting down on the pallet, but the coroner stood like a rock.

'Do you want me to fetch some more men?' I asked. 'Search the reeds?'

'No. He could be anywhere in there. It could take hours. We will wait till he moves. If Barak might stay here.'

'Of course.'

I left them to their vigil, wading back to the path. A couple of early passers-by stared in astonishment as I appeared, my robe and boots mud-spattered. I cast a look back at the little knoll, where Harsnet stood outlined against the sky, a waiting, avenging angel.

AN HOUR LATER I walked through the Bedlam gates and approached the long building. This time, from somewhere within I heard two people shouting, the words indistinguishable. I did not want to enter. A monstrous killer and a deranged boy; it seemed as though this past fortnight I had left the world of normal behaviour, normal passions, behind, and entered a strange, terrifying new country. I remembered the companionable warmth of that last dinner with Roger and Dorothy. Now Roger was dead and Dorothy a shadow of herself, leaden with grief. I worried about her constantly. I thought of Barak and Harsnet waiting out there in Lambeth marshes, and prayed they would catch Roger's killer. It had been somehow terrifying, the contrast between the violence of the second identical, horrible death and the still emptiness of the marsh where the killer lay — unless it was some stranger who had chosen to camp on that knoll; but that seemed implausible.

On the doorstep of the madhouse I took a deep breath, then knocked. Keeper Shawms himself answered; perhaps he had been watching my approach from a window. He had a grim expression on his hard face. The shouting was louder now. 'Let me go, let me go, you churls.' There was a clash of chains.