C.J. Sansom - Revelation

'There's no ill meant. I'm sure he's been called worse. Want a hand into the saddle?'

WE RODE OFF. A little group of half a dozen beggars had gathered on the chapel steps. All had something wrong with them, two carried crutches and the others had pale, sickly-looking faces. The balding boy who had held the horses the day we first visited Lockley and Mrs Bunce was there. Perhaps they had been inside, drawn out by the activity round the Charterhouse gate. Now they began walking and limping towards us, crying for alms. 'Out of the way!' Barak called. 'We're on urgent business.'

We rode on. 'Hope Harsnet arranges to question them,' Barak said. 'They may know if someone was asking about the Charterhouse.'

'He will. He is conscientious and thorough.'

'Bit of a plodder, though, isn't he?'

'He doesn't have much imagination, I grant you.'

'Pious hot-gospeller.'

I smiled. 'You've never liked him, have you?'

'Neither did you, at the start. Remember that inquest he fixed?'

'He's better than most of the men who work at the King's court. He's got some principles, some humanity. Maybe he's been a bit slow at times, but he's never faced anything like this.' I looked at Barak seriously. 'None of us have.'

'You're right there. You know what scares me most of all?' Barak asked suddenly.

'What?'

'The way every killing seems to be planned to show us the killer is cleverer than we are. He presents them to us like trophies. Yarington, Mrs Bunce, Lockley. The three killings that have happened since we got involved.'

'I know. He tried to stop me acting, by attacking Tamasin and then me. But when that failed he turned to — as you say, showing he could outwit us.'

'But why?' Barak asked. 'Why?'

'I do not know. Perhaps it is part of his madness.'

'And now he gives us his address,' he said incredulously. 'That's mad.'

'He gave us an address. I am still not persuaded it is Goddard. Surely he would have been known among the sects, at least by description. With that mole on his face they say he has.' I sighed. 'I keep asking myself, is there anyone else it could be?' I laughed, hearing a touch of wildness in my own voice. 'Do you know, I even considered the possibility that Piers might be the killer.'

Barak shook his head. 'What the killer does takes so much time and planning, how could Piers do that while working full time for Guy? And Piers doesn't have anything to do with religious groups, I'd doubt he has any religion at all.'

'I know. It's a crazy idea. I've got to the stage where I'm clutching at straws.'

'Because you don't believe it is Goddard?'

'I'm just not sure.' I winced, another slight pull on the reins making my arm hurt. 'You all right?'

'Yes. Just my arm. And I'm cold.'

'The sun's come out.'

'I know. But I feel cold so much of the time now.'

BARAK AND I left for Guy's house shortly after half past three. The apothecaries were working in their shops at Bucklersbury; through the window next to Guy's a man in a long robe could be seen, pouring powder into a large apothecary's jar. We tied the horses up outside. Barak spoke to me quietly. 'Will you let me take the lead in questioning him?'

'Do you think I will be too soft with him? I promise I will not.'

He looked at me seriously. 'I think a bit of rough questioning from me might throw him, take him off balance.'

I thought a moment, then nodded. 'All right.'

He knocked loudly on the door. We heard footsteps, then Piers opened the door, carrying a candle. He looked at us in surprise. 'Dr Malton has gone out, sir.'

'We know. It's you we've come to see, young cock,' Barak said cheerfully, shouldering his way inside. I followed him in, giving Piers a thin smile. I saw that either Piers or Guy had been experimenting: the table at the end of the room was crowded with flasks and vials of liquid.

'Cut anyone up today?' Barak asked.

'I was upstairs, studying. I do not understand.' Piers voice was quiet, his expression subservient, but there was anger in his eyes as he turned to me. 'Why do you allow your man to talk to me thus, sir?'

'I have some questions. Barak can ask them as one loyal servant to another.'

'I hear Dr Malton has had some money go missing,' Barak said. 'Know anything about it?'

Piers' expression did not change. 'I have heard nothing. Surely if Dr Malton has had money missing he should talk to me himself.'

'Ah, but Master Shardlake here is his attorney.'

Piers' eyes flicked between Barak and me, disoriented by the rapid-fire questions. 'I cannot believe Dr Malton has authorized you to question me like this,' he said.

'But here we are. Stealing is a capital offence.'

The boy's eyes narrowed. 'I have done nothing. I shall tell Dr Malton about this. He will not be pleased with you.'

'It was he who told us about the missing money,' I said.

'Where is your room?' Barak asked.

'Up the stairs. But you have no permission to go in there. I have rights as an apprentice!' His voice rose now, his face reddening.

'Tough.' Barak turned to me. 'Shall I go look in his room?'

'I will go. You stay here and keep an eye on him.' I stared at Piers. He was frightened now.

The boy stepped back, blocking the inner door with his sturdy form. 'No! You have no right!'

Barak drew his sword and used the blade to edge him away from the door. Piers watched with set lips, breathing hard, as I passed through. I mounted the narrow, gloomy staircase. Guy did not trust servants among his equipment; there was no one else in the house. On the upper floor I saw a door was open.

Guy's precious edition of Vesalius lay on a desk, open at a picture of a skeleton dangling from a gibbet, in the posture of a hanged man. Piers had been engaged in drawing a copy of the revolting thing, a quill was lying on the table. It was very well done.

I searched the room. Among volumes on the bookshelf dealing with medicine and herbs I found a copy of the Black Book, the summary of the most lurid cases of sodomy and fornication that Crom- well's agents had found eight years before in their investigation of the monasteries. Many copies had been sold to prurient readers. There was a chest containing clothes, some of surprisingly good quality. I explored the bed, turning over the mattress, and there I found a small leather bag. Inside was a collection of silver coins, totalling over a pound: far more money than an apprentice was likely to have. I took it, left the room and returned down the narrow staircase.

Piers was standing against the table, Barak facing him with his drawn sword. As I entered the room I held up the bag. 'Money,' I said.

'So, my pretty, you are a thief,' Barak said grimly.

A change came over Piers' face. It took on a hard, calculating look. Now, I thought, the mask is gone. 'I could say some things about that old blackamoor if I chose,' he said in a voice that was suddenly sharp as a file. 'Like how he prostrates himself before a big old cross in his bedroom, worshipping idols. How the priest he goes to is known as a secret papist. How he is a pederast, how he makes me commit immoral acts with him.'

'That is a lie!' I shouted angrily.

'Perhaps it is. But part of him would like to. I have seen enough of him to know he would look embarrassed and uneasy at such an accusation. You are a lawyer, imagine how that would look to a jury. Him being an ex-monk. Sodomy is a hanging offence as much as theft. If I lose all I will make sure he loses as well.' He looked at me grimly.

'Nasty little arsehole, isn't he?' Barak said.

Piers' next move was so sudden it took us unawares. He reached behind him to the table, grabbed a flask of liquid and threw the contents in Barak's face. Barak gave a loud yell and stumbled backwards, dropping his sword as he raised his hands to his face. Piers ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the night. I heard his footsteps disappearing into the warren of streets that made up Bucklersbury.