C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'No,' Cranmer said firmly. 'We are not questioning them about a religious matter. We cannot just pluck people off the streets of London with the atmosphere as it is just now.'

'And we are not sure it is Goddard,' I said. 'Not yet.'

'What picture have you formed of him?' Cranmer asked.

'By all accounts Goddard was a cold man. A good doctor but one who did not care about his patients. He was sensitive about a disfigurement he had - a large mole on his nose. But somehow, from what those who knew him say, I cannot see him having the savage rage of this killer.'

'Unless he is possessed,' Harsnet said.

There was silence for a moment. Then Cranmer said, 'If Yarington was still a radical reformer, he does not fit the pattern you have drawn.'

'So far as we know,' I said. 'There may have been more to him than met the eye. We should go to his house. If Yarington was as godly as he seems, then my idea that the killer is punishing backsliders from radicalism falls down. But if not, it narrows the field of possible victims.'

Thomas Seymour grunted. 'To every lapsed radical in London. How many hundreds is that;'

'Many,' I admitted. I rubbed my arm; the stitches were pulling.

Lord Hertford looked at my paper. 'According to Revelation the pouring out of the next vial will result in people gnawing their tongues in darkness, in great pain. That could mean anything.' He stroked his long beard, frowning.

'I'd still like to know how he will dry up a river as the sixth vial is supposed to do,' Thomas Seymour said scoffingly. 'Or cause a great earthquake like the seventh.'

'He'll find something,' I said. 'Something that fits.'

Cranmer turned to Harsnet. 'You have made no progress in tracing Goddard;'

'Not yet, my lord. I am enquiring of the Surrey and Kent and Sussex authorities as well. Discreetly.'

The Archbishop nodded. Then he looked at me. 'Matthew, you are acting for that boy in the Bedlam. Yarington's neighbour Reverend Meaphon is his parish priest, is he not;'

'Yes. He was there yesterday, when young Kite got himself on top of London Wall. So was Yarington.'

'Make sure that boy is kept safe, out of sight.'

'I will, my lord. It seems the warden at the Bedlam may have let him out deliberately, to try to get rid of a problem. He will not do so again. There is a hearing in Requests tomorrow, to ensure his care.'

Cranmer nodded, then looked at my arm. 'And you think the killer is following you, taunting you.'

'Yes.'

'Only you?'

'It seems so. Barak's wife was hurt too, but I fear that is because of her connection to me. He wants me to leave the case.'

Thomas Seymour laughed. 'You are being overanxious. Why should you matter to him;'

'I do not know,' I answered. I turned to Harsnet. 'Nothing has gone amiss with you;'

'No. Though working at Whitehall Palace I would be harder to get at.'

Cranmer drew a hand down his face. 'There is nothing to do but keep on with the hunt. See Dean Benson and the man Lockley again tomorrow. Where does Lockley live;'

'Out by the Charterhouse.'

Sir Thomas frowned. 'My lord, I have said I do not like the Lady Catherine Parr being so near to someone who may be involved somehow with these murders.'

'She is surrounded by servants,' his brother answered with a note of weariness. 'And she hardly fits the pattern of his victims. A woman of quiet sincere faith.'

'Nor did Yarington. But that didn't stop him going up like a Christmas candle tonight.'

'My lord,' Harsnet said. 'I think we should go to Reverend Yarington's house now. The churchwarden told me he lived in the rectory, a couple of streets away from his church, alone but for his servants. I told him not to send word what has happened.'

Cranmer considered a moment. 'Very well. Matthew, Gregory, go now to poor Yarington's house, speak to his servants, find what you can about his life. Take a couple of my guards, and if you think it worth holding any of the servants in custody have them brought back here quietly. Now, Matthew, before you go, I would see you alone for a minute.'

The others filed out, leaving me alone with the Archbishop.

'This terrible matter affects you, Matthew, does it not:'

I felt tears behind my eyes. The Archbishop could have that effect. 'Yes,' I answered.

'Because your good friend was one of the victims: And because the perpetrator follows you and mocks you:'

'Yes. And because I have never seen such—' I hesitated — 'wickedness before.'

'It preys on me, too. I have seen many men - too many - killed for political reasons. But this is different. I sense this man enjoys what he does.'

'I think that is so.'

'How could someone possibly do such things and believe they are carrying out God's will:' Cranmer burst out with sudden emotion. 'Is it some blasphemous mockery of religion, inspired directly by the devil: Gregory Harsnet believes so.'

'I do not know, my lord. I try not to think too hard on that.'

'Fire,' he said quietly. 'It is a terrible way to die. The heretics I have pleaded with, begged with to recant, I frightened them by telling them of the skin shrivelling, the fat melting, the hissing and crackling.' He closed his eyes and sighed. 'I would have saved them if I could, but the King is always adamant for the harshest punishments. Once it was Catholics he thought to persecute, but he is returning more and more to the old ideas in religion. A Catholicism without the Pope. And he gets harder to persuade each year.' He shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment, then gave me a sudden piercing look. 'Can you bear this:' he asked.

'Yes, my lord. I have sworn to avenge my poor friend. I will hold to that. I will find courage.'

He smiled wryly. 'Then so must I. Catherine Parr still holds out, you know, she will not give the King an answer. She is frightened, poor woman, hardly surprising given it is scarce a year since Catherine Howard went to the block. Yet I must urge her friends to persuade her to yield, for the influence she could have on the King.'

'She will be in danger.'

'Yes.' He nodded firmly. 'That is what we must all face, for the sake of Jesus' truth. He endured the worst horror of all, for us.' The Archbishop sat silent a moment longer; frightened, sad, compassion- ate, yet implacable. Then he bade me go. 'Solve this. Find him.'

BARAK AND HARSNET were waiting for me in the corridor. Harsnet was pacing up and down, frowning. Barak sat on a chair, one leg jigging nervously. He looked impatient, angry, frightened. Harsnet looked at me curiously. 'He wanted a few words about the murders,' I said. 'They disturb him.'

'Does he too feel the devil is in this?'

'He does not know, nor do I. It is not a speculation that can profit us,' I added sharply. I turned to Barak. 'Come, we are going to Yarington's house.'

We went outside, where a couple of the palace guards joined us: big men in helmets with swords at their waists, for the Archbishop's palace needed guarding as much as that of any other great man of state. We went down to the pier and took the Archbishop's barge back to town, then walked up to Yarington's church through the city; dark and silent now, for it was past curfew, the constables raising their lanterns in the faces of late travellers. They bowed when they saw our fine clothes and the uniformed guards.

'I was scared shitless when I saw that man burning,' Barak said. 'That poor bastard burning like a candle, for a minute I really thought he'd been set alight by some supernatural power.'

'It was fish oil,' I said brusquely. 'This stuff about devilry does not help us.'

We reached the church, silent and empty now, the windows blank and dark. We walked a little way until we found a fine rectory, set in a well-kept little garden. Harsnet banged loudly on the door. Flickers of light appeared at a window as someone lit a candle, and a man's voice called 'Who is it?' through the door in a scared voice.