C.J. Sansom - Revelation

I took it out. "What of it?'

'If we have learned anything about this man, it is how careful he is. He would not have simply dropped something as rare and controversial as a pilgrim badge from the Westminster Abbey shrine.'

'As Barak said, it may not have been him. One of the con- stables—'

'Would hardly be likely to carry a pilgrim badge.'

'So if the killer dropped it, he may have done so deliberately to mislead us?'

'Or to give you a clue. Perhaps that is part of his madness. But from the study of obsession, Matthew, a study I regretted making and which has haunted me ever since, there is one thing I am sure of. This man will not stop at seven. How could he, if killing has become the centre of his universe, the centre of a mind collapsed in upon itself?'

'But there are only seven vials of wrath—'

Guy nodded. 'But Revelation is a whole sequence of violent stories, one after another, layers of them. When this cycle is finished, he has many more to choose from.'

'Jesu.' I sat there feeling utterly drained, staring at Guy. A terrible thought occurred to me. Dorothy, like Roger, like me, was a lapsed radical. I told myself not to be so foolish; none of those murdered had been connected to each other and there was surely no reason why he should change his pattern and go after Dorothy. And she was a woman, whose opinions counted for less. Then my eyes widened, for I saw that behind Guy the door to his inner chambers was open, just a crack. Something glinting in the crack had caught my eye and now I saw it was another eye, staring back at me. For a second I was filled with terror. Had I been followed after all: Wordlessly, I pointed at the open door.

Guy turned, then before I could stop him he jumped up and threw it open. The boy Piers stood there, a large bowl in his hands.

'Piers.' Guy's voice was sorrowful as he stood over the boy. 'What are you doing? Were you listening to our talk?'

'I am sorry, master,' the boy replied humbly. 'I was bringing you the powdered henbane I had prepared.' He gestured at a bowl of powder he held. 'I knew you wanted it urgently. I heard you talking, was uncertain whether to knock.'

I knew he was lying, and I could see that Guy was not fooled either. In a moment the pain that had been deepening on his face throughout our talk turned to anger. 'Is this how you repay me after I took you in, when you were homeless and friendless after your old master died?' His voice rose, a note of real pain in it, then suddenly he broke off and looked at Piers, who had stepped back a pace and was clutching the bowl in both hands. Guy sighed, then reached out and laid a hand on the lad's broad shoulder. 'You must learn to curb your curiosity,' he said gently. 'The keeping of confidences, even secrets, is part of our trade.'

'I am sorry, master.' The boy cast down his eyes.

Guy took the bowl of henbane. 'Thank you, that was well and quickly done.'

Piers turned to go, but I called him back, standing up and looking at him with a stern gaze. 'Your master and I were discussing a matter of state. If you breathe one word of what you have heard outside these walls you will end in the Fleet prison or the Tower, and it will be me that makes sure you go there.'

'I heard hardly anything,' Piers answered quietly, somehow sounding humble and reproachful at the same time. 'But I promise to say nothing, sir. On my oath.'

'Be sure of that, boy.'

'Go, Piers,' Guy said wearily. The apprentice bowed and closed the door behind him.

'I have said you give that boy too much latitude, Guy.'

'That is my business,' he answered sharply, then shook his head. 'I am sorry, the terrible things we have been talking of disturb me. I will make sure he keeps quiet.'

'You must, Guy.'

He fell silent. I frowned. When he had criticized Piers I had seen that the boy met his gaze, not with humility but with a sort of cold challenge. It seemed to me that in some way I could not fathom, Guy was frightened of him.

I RODE BACK to Lincoln's Inn, the sun warm on my face, the breeze gentle for the first time that year. Normally I appreciated the spring, especially after a winter as hard as this last one, but the horrors I was labouring with seemed to make the brightness a mockery. I told myself I must not sink under this weight. My mind went back to Guy, how the terrible story of de Rais had struck him to the heart. My mind again turned to Piers and the strange sense that somehow Guy feared him. It was understandable that Guy should look for some sort of successor, even a memorial, in the boy. But I still felt he was using Guy, as a spoiled child will coldly manipulate an indulgent parent.

I rode under the great gate and into Lincoln's Inn, leaving Genesis with the ostler. First I went to Dorothy's rooms. Margaret, answering the door, told me that Dorothy had gone out, to see to the arrangements for Roger's funeral. Old Elias had accompanied her. I asked Margaret to send Elias to find me on his return, either in the library or my chambers.

I turned to the Inn library. I had much work to catch up on, there were more hearings at the Court of Requests tomorrow, but there was a piece of research I had to do first.

On Sundays Gatehouse Court was quiet, no one about. Then I noticed a black-clad figure walking towards me. It was Bealknap, coming across from his chambers. As he approached I saw he looked worse than ever: pale and feverish, eyes bloodshot. Even his short walk had set him breathing heavily.

'How now, Bealknap.' I felt sorry for him, he had only that arrogant fool Dr Archer to care for him. At the end of the day he was still a suffering man.

'You have destroyed my business,' he hissed at me, scattering my charitable thoughts.

'What;'

'You could have helped me over that paper I did not file. You know I have been ill. But you would not help a fellow-lawyer, and now I have lost my best client. Sir Geoffrey Coleswyn hoped for profit from that holding. He will pass the word around among the landowners he knows.'

'For heavens' sake, man,' I said impatiently. 'It was your own fault. This is ridiculous.'

'I have built a reputation on my success in getting rid of bad tenants and squatters. The people you act for. Riffraff, land-stealers, ne'er-do'wells. Sir Geoffrey will see I lose it—'

'I have no time for this nonsense,' I said. His pale, furious face aroused only my contempt.

'You will regret what you have done to me, Shardlake!' Bealknap was shaking, whether with rage or bodily weakness I could not tell. 'This time you have gone too far. You will regret it. I have made sure of that.'

'Bealknap, you sound like a demon in a mystery play.' I stepped round him, dismissing his absurd threats from mind as I walked on to the library.

'Just wait, master crookback!' he called after me. 'You will see!'

THE LIBRARY had its usual hushed atmosphere, seated barristers leafing through law books with stern, concentrated expressions, while elsewhere students grubbed through cases with puzzled frowns. I went and looked over the high shelves. The law books were organized by year, and there were fewer of them for the last century. From the time printing came in, more and more books of law cases had been collated, but the books from the middle of the last century were still few, and handwritten. I found the volume I wanted, a yearbook from 1461. It was ancient and battered, the leather covers stained and in places torn. I took it to a desk in a secluded part of the library away from the windows, lit by candles.

The report on the case was a long one, as though the reporter, like my fellow-students, had revelled in the gruesome details of ripped-open bodies. It had indeed been in Norwich, in the summer of 1461, that a young man called Paul Strodyr had been arraigned, tried and convicted of the murder of nine young women over the previous five years. Six had been prostitutes, three were described as 'respectable young women'. Reading between the lines, it appeared that it was the death of the respectable women that had galvanized the city. There seemed to have been a tremendous hue and cry that had ended with Strodyr's cousin reporting that he had seen him covered in blood on the night of the final murder. After a guilty verdict was brought in he had admitted committing the crimes, and had raged against the evil of prostitutes, said that God desired them to be destroyed.