C. Sansom - Dark Fire

I nodded again. Barak began to move down St Paul's Walk, his stance casual. On the far side of the cathedral Cranmer's voice could be heard still rising and falling, a distant noise.

We reached the pillar; then, fast as a cat, Barak unsheathed his sword and leaped round the side. I heard a sharp ring of metal on metal; Wright must have had his own sword drawn already. He had been waiting there to kill us.

I ran round the other side of the pillar to see him and Barak with swords raised against each other, circling, Wright moving quickly and fluidly for such a big man. All around people stopped and flattened themselves against the wall. A woman screamed.

I drew my dagger. Wright had not seen me yet. If I could stab him in the arm or leg, disable him, we should have him. I had never attacked a man in cold blood before but my brain was clear, every nerve alert, my fear gone. I stepped forward. Wright heard me and turned, even as he parried a thrust from Barak. His expression was as it had been at the priory: brutish, inhuman, though intent on escape now, not murder.

He bounded to one side and ran down the nave, his sword flashing in the light from the stained-glass windows. 'Shit!' Barak said. 'Come on.' He ran after Wright and I followed, as fast as I could, down St Paul's Walk. Wright had paused, his way was blocked by a large family party heading for the door to the roof. Even if he slashed his way through them, Barak would have time to reach him and strike him down.

Wright turned and ran for the door. An elderly couple had just reached the bottom of the stairs; the woman yelled as Wright thrust her aside and began running up, Barak at his heels. I ran after them, my robe billowing around me. By the time I neared the top of the staircase I could scarcely breathe, my throat was burning as it had after the fire and for a second I tasted smoke. I saw the open door to the roof ahead, a rectangle of sky.

I raced up the last few steps. The breeze, colder and stronger here, struck my burning face. Ahead of me was the broad flat roof, the great wooden spire thrusting five hundred feet into the sky. Over the low parapet I saw all London laid out before me, the river curling like a snake, dark grey clouds looming right overhead now. Frightened strollers stood crouched against the parapet, staring at Barak. He had Wright at bay, his back against the steeple, sword held up as Barak circled. Wright was big and fast, but Barak was younger and faster. I ran over to join him, standing between Wright and the door to the stairs, holding my dagger just beyond reach of Wright's sword. Behind me, people began running for the door.

A mocking smile appeared on Barak's face. He waved a beckoning hand at Wright.

'Come on, bully, it's all up now. You shouldn't have left your mate Toky at home. Drop the sword and come quietly. We don't want you dead, just got some questions Lord Cromwell wants answered. Answer him nicely and he'll make you rich.'

'No, he won't.' Wright's voice was deep and heavy. 'He'll make me dead.' His eyes darted between Barak and me; I could see he was calculating whether he could rush me and get to the door. My stomach clenched with fear at that thought. But I would not let him escape, not now, no matter what the cost. I took a firm stance. Wright saw my resolution and his eyes roved between us wildly; he knew he was trapped.

'Come on,' Barak said. 'If you tell Lord Cromwell all, you may be spared the rack, eh?'

Then Wright jumped away from the steeple; not at me but away from us both, further out on the roof. The move took us by surprise. Barak jumped after him and I followed, helping him edge the big man towards the parapet to trap him again. Wright looked over his shoulder at the dizzying drop. He ran his tongue over his lips, swallowed, then spoke again, his voice suddenly high-pitched with fear.

'I always vowed I'd never hang! I vowed it again when I saw that man in the yard.'

'What?' Barak paused, his sword held in mid-air. I guessed what Wright meant before Barak and made a grab for his arm but he had already leapt onto the parapet. I believe he would have jumped anyway, but in glancing round at me he lost his balance and fell over. He vanished into the great void without even a cry. We ran to the parapet, but by then Wright had already hit the ground. He lay there a hundred feet below, his face a white blob, blood from his smashed body spreading slowly out across the yard.

BARAK PULLED ME FROM the roof and hustled me down the stairs. At the cathedral entrance a number of people who had already run down were talking excitedly to some cathedral officials; as we neared the door a woman ran in screaming that a man was fallen from the roof. The officials raised their hands and bade them speak quietly, concerned above all with not interrupting the archbishop's sermon. We slipped out unnoticed.

Barak led me at a half-run into the maze of alleys round Foster Lane. He stopped at last near the Goldsmiths' Hall, leaning against the wall of a candlemaker's shop where a moon-faced apprentice stood in the doorway calling out, 'Tallow candles, farthing a dozen!' over and again. I collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.

'Take off your robe,' Barak said. 'They'll be looking for a man in lawyer's garb.'

I pulled it off, bundling it under my arm. Barak straightened his doublet and looked around. The apprentice ignored us, calling his master's wares and occasionally pushing a lock of sweat-soaked hair back from his face.

'Come on,' Barak said. 'There'll be a hue and cry out soon. Bishop Bonner will be furious, a sword fight in the cathedral while the archbishop himself was preaching.'

'It'll be a murder hunt. And I'll be identified – a hunchback lawyer will be easily remembered. They'll be looking for a bald young man too. Here.' I gave him my cap – his own had fallen off during the struggle in the cathedral. He put it on.

'Thanks. I have the earl's seal, but we haven't time to argue with thick-headed constables.'

I wiped my brow. Over the roofs I could see the upper storeys of the Guildhall. Was it really only a fortnight since I had stood there as a respected barrister? Before Joseph came and set me on this dreadful, frantic journey?

'What now?' I asked wearily. 'The warehouse?'

'Ay, we should do it now.' He looked at me. 'God's nails, you're sweating.'

'I'm not used to fighting for my life, Barak. And it is so close.' I looked at the sky. The cloud had covered it completely and was thickening, darkening.

'We'll go by the back ways. Come on.'

I followed him through the lanes, jostling people and animals, squelching through the stinking channels. To reach the river we had to cross Cheapside, and as we crossed to the southern side someone called my name. I spun round, fearing to see a constable, but it was only Jephson, an alderman I knew, striding towards us with an attendant in tow. I bowed hastily.

'Master Shardlake, good morning. I must speak with you.' The expression on his round, clean-shaven face was serious. I cursed inwardly. If he had heard the news from St Paul's he might call the constable or even order passing citizens to arrest us. I did not relish a melee in the street. Already Barak's hand was slipping to his sword.

'I must tell you, sir. The Common Council wishes to thank you-'

'What?'

'For ordering those old stones from Ludgate to be brought to our attention. The Hebrew shows they were indeed from an ancient synagogue. Why, we have no other such examples of Hebrew writing in all London.'

My heart lurched with relief. I swallowed. 'I am glad I have been of service, sir. Now, urgent business awaits-'

'We shall arrange for the stones to be displayed at the Guildhall. The Jews are only a memory, but still these stones are a part of our City's history and should be preserved.'