Andrew Swanston - The King's Return

This side of the marsh was more populated than the other and they came across three more cottages, all inhabited by cottars. They avoided these, and after an hour sat down on the path to rest. Already Thomas’s spirits were low. He could have been wrong about Dartford. Perhaps it had been no more than coincidence that the letters spelt out the word. Perhaps it was just that he’d been so desperate to find something that he had invented a message. Or Henrietta might have been wrong. Even if Dartford, perhaps not in the marshes. The town itself, or the heathland to the south? Quite possible. This creeping about in the reeds was beginning to look foolish.

Aurum and Argentum – gold and silver. The Alchemist. Three murders. Four if Babb was included. A disfigured man. Bishop, Morland, Squire. A spy ring. A Franco-Dutch plot. Madeleine’s abduction. The ransom note. Jumbled thoughts in a jumbled mind. Take stock, Thomas, find the connections and you’ll find the murderers and traitors. He got up. ‘Two more hours, gentlemen, and then if we’ve found nothing we’ll go back and think again.’

The next cottage sprang out of the reeds before they had a chance to take cover. As soon as they rounded a bend in the path, they were on top of it. It was bigger than the others and better constructed. Stone walls and a roof newly thatched with reeds instead of wattle and straw. They must have been seen by the occupants. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out.

Thomas strode up to the door and knocked loudly. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He pushed on the door, which opened smoothly. Well fitted and unlocked. Yet this cottage was surely too sound to have been abandoned. He stepped inside leaving Josiah to keep watch. Charles was close behind.

The room they entered was square, with rough stone walls and an earth floor. There was a hearth on the left and doors leading off both the other walls. A plain table and four chairs stood in the middle of the room. Thomas carefully felt the ashes in the grate. They were warm.

The door opposite led to a kitchen. There they found the remains of a meal on an upturned barrel and a crate of unopened wine bottles in a corner. A back door was open. Behind the cottage was a small yard, from which a path led off through the reeds. In the third room were a narrow straw bed and a low chair set below a tiny window. This cottage had only recently been abandoned.

Thomas sat on the bed and tried to imagine Madeleine there. Had she been held in this room, and if so, why had she been moved? He picked up a rusty nail lying by the bed and turned it in his fingers. He concentrated on the room, trying to envisage Madeleine there. Were you here, Madeleine? Did you lie on this bed? If you were here, where are you now?

As if reading Thomas’s thoughts, Charles said quietly, ‘Even if she was here, she’s not here any more.’

Before Thomas could reply, Josiah stuck his head around the door. ‘Men coming, gentlemen. I ’eard ’em.’

‘Best make ourselves scarce,’ said Thomas. ‘The back door, Josiah, and quick.’

They were out of the back door and into the reeds within seconds. Josiah was right. They heard voices and then the sounds of men in the cottage. Thomas peeked out and through the door caught a glimpse of men in the kitchen. They were talking loudly. He heard one swear and the other laugh. He imagined them picking up the crate of wine left in the kitchen and manhandling it to the front door. Signalling to Charles and Josiah to follow, he crept around the cottage. Two men were making their way back up the path with the crate between them. They were finding it awkward to carry and were making slow progress. He waited until they had disappeared around the bend in the path before whispering, ‘Our guides, gentlemen, I fancy. Where they lead, we follow.’

Keeping well behind the two men and following them as much by sound as by sight, they retraced their steps up the path for about half a mile. There Josiah spotted a gap in the reeds to their right. It was so well hidden that they had missed it earlier. They followed the sounds of the wine-carriers down a narrow path. It was no more than three minutes before they heard other voices and the sound of the crate being dropped on the ground. A rough voice cursed the men for their clumsiness and ordered them to bring the wine inside. They crept forward along the path until they saw another cottage – this one smaller and shabbier – with two men outside it. They dropped into the reeds and watched. The two men were dressed, like the others, in leather trousers and leather jerkins, and wore high boots and narrow-banded hats. They carried pistols and knives stuck into their belts. In the still air the guards’ voices carried clearly to where they were hiding.

‘How long will we have to guard the woman?’ grumbled one.

‘You’ll have to ask the Dutchman,’ replied the other.

‘I don’t know why we don’t just kill her and be off. I’m sick of this place, it’s cursed.’

‘She’s sick too. Likely to die and save us the trouble.’

Thomas and Charles exchanged a look. She was sick, but they had found her. ‘Four,’ whispered Charles. ‘Any more, do you think?’

‘Four to guard one lady is surely enough.’

‘It might be a changeover of the guards,’ said Josiah. ‘Good time to get the wine. We could wait and see if any of them leave.’

‘Or we could rush them now and be done with it.’ Charles had his hands on the handles of his swords.

Thomas placed his hand on one of Charles’s. ‘That would be dangerous for Madeleine. We need a plan.’

After two days in the marshes and a night in a filthy inn, Charles was not in the mood to wait. ‘I have a plan, Thomas. Attack the swine, kill the lot and rescue Madeleine.’

‘A fine plan, Mr Carrington,’ whispered Josiah. ‘And it would be even better if one of us went around the back to cut off their retreat.’

‘Can we manage four, Charles?’

‘Shouldn’t present a problem.’

‘Right. We’ll give Josiah time to get to the back, then you and I will march straight in and wreak havoc. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

‘Good. Off you go, Josiah. No escapers, please.’

Josiah grinned. ‘Not a one, sir.’

They gave the little man two minutes, then ran up to the door, flung it open and ran inside. Three of the guards were sitting at a table, drinking. Two of them never saw the slashes from Charles’s swords that severed their windpipes and sent them crashing to the floor. The third had time to rise and draw a pistol from his belt, but not to fire it. Before he could, Thomas brought the flat of his sword down on the man’s arm and heard the bone snap. Charles thrust at his throat and he, too, was dead before he hit the floor.

Like the other cottage, there were two doors off the main room. Thomas followed Charles into the kitchen. The fourth guard, who was struggling to open a bottle and had not had time to move, took one look at the tall man with two swords who burst in, and ran out through the back door. There he was met by the end of a stout stick jammed into his face by a pair of long arms. He collapsed in a fountain of blood from his nose and mouth, rolled over on the ground, convulsed briefly and died.

Josiah stepped into the kitchen in search of another victim, saw only Charles and Thomas and followed them back into the main room where three bloody bodies lay on the floor. While Josiah checked that they were dead, Charles made straight for the other door, opened it and stopped.

Thomas peered over Charles’s shoulder. Madeleine sat on a low chair, a long knife at her throat. The man who held it had half a nose and a lip that had once been viciously sliced by a sword or a dagger. The disfigured Dutchman. He spoke quietly, with a guttural accent. ‘So, gentlemen. Mr Hill and Mr Carrington, I assume. Unexpected visitors, to say the least.’