C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'Guy was here to dinner last night,' I said.

'Tell him all about us, did you?' Barak needled.

'He told me about some troubles of his own. Money has been going missing. He thinks it is Piers, but cannot quite bring himself to believe it.'

Barak gave me a penetrating look. 'When I saw the old Moor with Piers, he seemed to think the sun shone out of his arse.'

'He wanted someone to care for, to teach. But he is beginning to see what Piers is really like.'

'Are you sure?' I wondered whether he had read between the lines, guessed Guy's feelings were not so simple as that.

'Yes. But he will not accuse him yet. And Piers can be persuasive.'

'How about if we were to pay a visit to young Piers, put a bit of pressure on him? We could see how he reacts and take it from there.' He smiled briefly. A hard smile.

'You mean when Guy is not there?'

'He's not going to let us do it when he is there, is he?'

I hesitated, then said, 'I know Guy will be out this evening, he is going to see Bealknap again. Knowing his habits he will go after supper, probably around seven.'

'We go to Bucklersbury then?'

I nodded agreement. 'We only talk to him, though. Nothing rough.'

'Even if he's not a thief, he's an eavesdropper and a nasty bit of work. Won't do any harm if we put some salt on his tail.'

'All right.' I finished my bread and cheese, and got up. 'We must go,' I said. 'I had word last night. Harsnet has called a meeting to discuss the latest development. At Whitehall this time, not Lambeth Palace.'

Barak got up quickly. 'Yes. I need something to do, or I will end up as mad as Adam Kite.'

WHEN WE REACHED WHITEHALL, it was to learn that Lord Hertford and Sir Thomas Seymour were both with the coroner. Barak was forbidden to attend the meeting, told to wait on a bench outside Harsnet's room again. 'I am sorry,' I whispered to him as the guard knocked on the door.

'I'm getting used to it, common fellow that I am.' Barak gave one of his sardonic grins, stretching out his legs, his boots muddy from riding through the streets. The guard frowned; a respectful demeanour was expected within the royal palace. From within, Harsnet's voice called me to enter. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Harsnet was sitting behind his desk. Lord Hertford stood by the wall. Both looked grave. Sir Thomas Seymour lounged against the wall beside his brother, an angry look on his louche, handsome face. As always he was dressed like a peacock, a doublet in bright blue today, a cap with a huge feather in the band.

'Close the door, Matthew,' Harsnet said. 'And come over here. I do not want anyone overhearing us.'

'Barak is sitting outside, but he is safe.'

'No one is safe at Whitehall just now,' Hertford said. 'The very walls have ears.' He turned his penetrating gaze on me. 'We were to meet at the Lambeth Palace, but His Grace the Archbishop has other concerns today.'

'Not more bad news, my lord?'

'Not from the courtiers that were arrested. They are going to have to let them go. But Bonner is tightening the screw further on the London radicals. Early this morning the bishop's men and the Lon-don constables arrested eight men for possession of unlawful books, together with three printers and a bunch of apprentices for acting unlawful plays. By Jesu, they're keeping the London constables busy. The Archbishop is trying to find whether any of those arrested have associations with him.'

'Is there any danger of that:' Thomas Seymour asked.

'He thinks not.'

'The King has always loved him,' Harsnet said quietly.

'The King was close to Anne Boleyn, and Cromwell, and Wolsey,' Thomas Seymour said bitterly. 'Yet he destroyed them all. He has never truly trusted anybody, nor ever will.'

'Quiet, Thomas,' his brother said severely. 'Things are not so bad as that.' He looked at Harsnet, then me. 'Yet if this were to come out now — that the Archbishop has launched a secret hunt for a madman who is killing lapsed radicals because the Book of Revelation told him to — it would be very dangerous. And the longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to conceal. Have you learned nothing more, Gregory:' he asked Harsnet with sudden passion.

'I wish I had. I have been working day and night. None of the radical groups know about Goddard. There is no trace of him in London or the neighbouring counties. It is as though when he left his lodgings he vanished into the air.'

Lord Hertford turned to me. 'And you found the killer had been using a lawyer as his agent, but now he has killed the lawyer too.'

'He has.' I told him the story of Bealknap and Felday. When I had finished he stood pulling at his long beard anxiously, almost tugging it. Outside, rain slashed against the window.

'So there have been five murders linked to the vials of wrath. Two more to go. And this man Felday killed along the way. We must catch him.' Hertford turned to his brother. 'Judging by your news, the King is determined to marry Catherine Parr, however long she keeps him waiting.'

'What news, my lord:' Harsnet's head jerked up.

'My brother has been appointed Ambassador to the Regent of the Netherlands.'

'Because the King fears Lady Catherine may still have a mind to marry me,' Sir Thomas said. Angry as he had looked, he shifted his stance, swaggered lightly.

'We cannot be sure that is why you were chosen,' his brother said. 'And if it is, think yourself lucky the King is sending you on an ambassadorship, not to the Tower.'

'Perhaps.' Sir Thomas looked at me curiously. 'You, sir. Someone said the King made mock of your bent back, when he was at York two years ago.'

I took a deep breath. 'He did, sir.' Who had told him that story, I wondered.

'He would not get to York now,' Seymour said. 'He is so fat he can hardly walk. He has ulcers on both legs now. When they are bad he has to be taken around the palace in a wheeled chair. They say when the ulcers leak the smell as you enter the Privy Quarters would stun a bull. When you leave here, Master Shardlake, if you hear the squeaking of wheels in the corridors, I should run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.' He laughed bitterly.

Harsnet shifted uneasily in his chair. Lord Hertford shook his head. 'Your indiscretions will be the death of you one day, Thomas. But it is true the King's health worsens every month. He cannot live many years longer. And then, if a queen sympathetic to reform were in place, ready to assume the regency for young Prince Edward . . .' He spread his hands.

I thought, they have planned for this marriage, looking years ahead. How deeply my hunt for Roger's killer had become entangled in court politics.

'When do you go abroad, Sir Thomas?' Harsnet asked.

'I do not know. A few weeks, perhaps.'

Harsnet nodded, his face expressionless, though I guessed that, like me, he would rather Sir Thomas and his careless tongue were gone tomorrow. But we badly needed the support his household could give.

I jumped at the sound of a loud knock. After Sir Thomas' words, a shiver of fear seemed to pass through the room, but Lord Hertford called out in a firm voice, 'Come in.'

Barak entered. He knew when to be humble, and bowed his head under Hertford's glare. 'I am sorry to interrupt you, my lord, but the guard from Lockley's tavern is here. Janley. They have found him.'

'Alive?' Hope came into Harsnet's face.

'No, sir. Dead.' Barak looked around the company, took a deep breath. 'In the old Charterhouse. The manner of his death shows he is the sixth victim.'

Lord Hertford seemed to slump. He put a hand to his brow.

'Who knows?'

'Nobody who matters, my lord. Yet.'

'Shardlake, Harsnet, go there now.'

'I wish to go too,' Sir Thomas said.

'Very well,' Lord Hertford agreed. He looked between us. 'He has made us all dance, has he not? And now again. Will we ever have him dancing as he should, at the end of a rope?'