The Medieval Murderers: King Arthur's Bones

Dale nodded sagely. ‘True, miss. But it is a business opportunity not to be passed up. Now, Malinferno, have you found the bones?’

Malinferno put on the most convincing tones he could muster, the sort of confident manner he used when unrolling a mummy for the edification and amusement of some duke or countess. ‘We are getting very close, Mr Dale. What I wanted to ask you was if you knew of anyone beside yourself and Augustus who has shown interest in the bones?’

‘What, recently? Or down through the ages?’

Silently Malinferno groaned, imagining from what Dale was saying that the coffin-maker proposed to expostulate on the whole history of Arthur and his errant bones. But in fact, what he did say proved very interesting.

‘You see, there is a murky tale that very few know or have chosen to record of a family whose duty it has been to protect the legend and the bones of King Arthur. Augustus had passed it off as another of the unsubstantiated myths surrounding the bones. But only a few days before he… disappeared, he asked me if I had heard tell of a family called Merrick in connection with the guardianship of the bones. When I laughed at the stories, he remained strangely quiet. In fact his face looked terribly pale, which I put down to the poor light of those candles he insisted on using. I have thought no more of it until recently. Do you think he was visited by someone from this family?’

Malinferno looked uneasily around him, aware more than ever of the hellish glow that shone through the factory doors and down the narrow alley. The walls seemed to be closing in on them as the sky above darkened. He was thinking of the Welshman mentioned by Crouch, and the man who had been following him for days. He noticed a shadow moving at the far end of the alley, and the click of a stick on the cobblestones. Could it be this Merrick fellow, hoping to hunt down Arthur’s bones by following him? On an impulse he ran full pelt down the alley, bringing a cry of alarm from Thomas Dale. The shadowy figure made to skulk off into the growing gloom, but Malinferno was young and sound in heart and limb. The other man had taken a fall and could only limp away from his pursuer. Seeing that he was not going to escape, he turned to face Malinferno and waved his stick in the air. He swung it like a Turcopole’s scimitar, slashing the air in front of his assailant’s face, and for a few minutes there was stalemate. Then Malinferno stepped inside one particularly ferocious swing and took a blow on his shoulder. It almost numbed his left arm, but he was inside the man’s defence.

‘Got you, you devil.’

He swung a fist at the man’s face and felt the satisfying crunch of a squashing nose. The man fell to ground, moaning and clutching a face that spurted red gore down the front of his capacious overcoat and down on to the cobbles. Malinferno might have thought he had captured a murderer at last, but he was to have his conviction shaken. The man who now lay at his feet was unrepentant and snarled his defiance.

‘You are the devil, sir. And will find yourself in very great trouble soon enough.’

But Malinferno was in no mind to listen, and he grabbed the man’s arm, dragging him along the cobbles towards the astonished Doll and Thomas Dale.

‘Dale. Is your coffin store secure?’

‘Why, yes it is.’ He tapped the heavy, wooden sliding door, and slid it back a little. ‘This is the only way in and out, save for a high window in the back that has bars over it.’

‘Then it will serve as a prison cell for our captive until such time as we can call the Bow Street Runners.’ He pushed the protesting man into the gloomy warehouse and slid the door closed. ‘Besides, he will have plenty of choice for accommodation, provided he is not fearful of sleeping in a coffin.’

Dale produced a bunch of keys from his coat pocket and locked the bulky padlock that hung from the door hasp.

‘There. It is done. Now let us have a little celebratory drink in my office, while I send one of my men for the magistrate. We may even discover where the bones are from this malefactor.’

Then all three left the ‘malefactor’ hammering in vain on the sturdy warehouse door. Unfortunately their celebrations were short-lived. Dale’s workman had been sent to Worship Street to fetch the Runners who had attended at Kitten’s death, and it was not long before Raleigh Pauncefoot and Constable Mayes were on the scene. Triumphantly Malinferno undid the padlock and let them into the coffin warehouse. The prisoner had given up his repeated hammering on the door, and for a long while after Pauncefoot and Mayes entered the store silence continued to reign. All three men eventually emerged, the prisoner leading the way. Malinferno was pleased to note that his nose had swollen to a size that meant it occupied most of the centre of his face, and that it was red and pulpy. Perhaps he would think twice about murdering innocent girls in future. Well, not so innocent in Kitten’s case, but the principle was the same. However, Malinferno’s smile was wiped from his face by the grim look on Pauncefoot’s. Even Mayes looked shifty, as he scuffed his heavy boots on the cobbles.

‘What’s wrong? You have before you the man who so foully murdered Kit… Kathleen Hoddy. And perhaps did for my friend Augustus Bromhead. Ask him if his name is not Merrick.’

The man’s face had a look that resembled thunder. He turned to the magistrate. ‘Tell him, Pauncefoot.’

The magistrate twirled his fashionable ebony cane with the Egyptian motif on the top, then cut Malinferno down with his words. ‘I have seen this man’s papers, and he is not called Merrick.’

‘Then who is he? And why has he been dogging my footsteps for days?’

The man stepped forward and brandished his fist in Malinferno’s face. ‘Sir, I am a government official, charged with winkling out radicals and French sympathizers in this great state of ours. You have shown yourself through your choice of friends to be a most untrustworthy character.’

Though this outburst brought Doll closer to Malinferno’s side, its effect on Thomas Dale was the very opposite. He gasped and took a step back.

‘Is this true, Malinferno? And with Bonaparte at our doorstep too.’

The government spy laughed harshly. ‘Napoleon is as safe as he ever was on St Helena. In fact the last I heard he has stated that he would rather be there than suffer the discomforts of flight. The rumour of his escape was planted in the newspapers by us to winkle out the likes of Monsieur Casteix, and his contacts such as Malinferno here. We wanted to see who would rush to his cause, so that we could deal with them in the future.’

Dale groaned. ‘Then Arthur is not needed after all.’

‘Arthur? Who is he?’ The spy looked puzzled.

‘Oh, it is nothing. It hardly matters any more.’

Raleigh Pauncefoot stepped forward and tapped Malinferno on the chest with the head of his cane. His question, however, was for the spy.

‘What do you wish me to do with this chap, sir? He has after all assaulted you and accused you of the most heinous of crimes.’

‘Though it displeases me greatly to say it, sir, I suggest we forget the matter of my assault. I do have to keep a low profile in my line of business, and a court case will not be conducive to the prosecution of my trade.’

Malinferno knew that the man, whatever his name was, would also be reluctant to reveal to his fellow spies and his employer that he had been bested by a mere dilettante in the field of investigation. He grinned insolently at the man, who added a chilling rider to his statement, however.

‘I will, on the other hand, pass his name on to my superiors as a dangerous radical and Bonaparte sympathizer. Mayes, here, found a book in his rooms dedicated to Napoleon, so he cannot deny it.’