Susanna GREGORY - Murder by the Book

‘That was different,’ objected Holm indignantly. ‘It was dark then, and I was frightened.’

‘You will do as I ask,’ said Michael sharply. ‘Or you may find your wealthy bride-to-be hears certain nasty truths about her beloved fiancé.’

Holm’s face was a mask of furious resentment as Michael turned on his heel and stalked out. Bartholomew stared at him for a moment, then followed.

‘We cannot trust him, Brother,’ he warned. ‘He is more likely to run straight to Julitta, and start spinning yarns as to why your accusations are untrue.’

‘He would not dare.’ Michael broke into the waddle that passed as a run for him. ‘He knew my threat was in earnest. Besides, what else can we do? We do not have time to explain everything to another messenger. Holm will come through, Matt. He has too much to lose by failing.’

Bartholomew was unconvinced, but they had reached the Carmelite Priory, and he was obliged to turn his thoughts back to Walkelate. The convent was deserted; the friars and their servants were in the chapel, singing gustily as they performed the first of many offices that would take place that day. He and Michael tore across the yard to the scriptorium. It, too, was empty, except for one man who was busily rifling through some ledgers, his hands stained red with ink.

‘Langelee!’ they exclaimed in unison.

Bartholomew and Michael were so astonished at seeing the Master that neither spotted the figure that had been loitering in the shadows until it emerged with a sword at the ready. It was Ayera, unshaven, dishevelled and tense.

‘Damn,’ he murmured softly. ‘Now what?’

‘Now they help us,’ said Langelee, beckoning Bartholomew and Michael forward. ‘Because we cannot do this alone.’

‘Help you do what?’ asked Michael warily, declining to move.

‘Foil the men who are determined to betray our country,’ replied Langelee, turning back to the ledgers. ‘Ayera and I have been racing about blindly for days now, and we are at our wits’ end.’

‘I know the feeling,’ said Michael icily, still not moving. ‘What is going on?’

‘Walkelate has invented a ribauldequin that can eject wildfire,’ explained Langelee tightly. ‘And we believe he has gone some way to producing wildfire itself. He and his cronies have been experimenting with the stuff in Newe Inn’s garden.’

‘Who are his cronies?’ asked Bartholomew, acutely aware that Ayera had not sheathed his sword, and that it hovered unnervingly close to his back.

‘Enough questions,’ said the geometrician sharply. ‘I do not like this.’

‘Northwood, the London brothers, Vale, Jorz and possibly others,’ replied Langelee, ignoring him. ‘Although I doubt any of them knew what they were doing, or what Walkelate intended to do with the formula once he had it. They have been mercilessly used. And all are dead, of course.’

‘Jorz drowned in a bowl of red ink.’ Michael looked pointedly at Langelee’s scarlet hands.

‘Knocked on the head first, though,’ said Langelee. ‘Otherwise there would have been too much splashing. Knocking people on the head is becoming quite a habit with Walkelate. I now know that it was he who attacked me in Newe Inn’s garden. Ayera found out.’

‘I overheard him telling Frevill about it,’ explained Ayera, although he spoke reluctantly.

‘How do you know Jorz was knocked on the head first?’ asked Bartholomew of Langelee.

‘Because I was spying here, and I saw it happen. I raced to help him the moment Walkelate had left, but it was too late. And I splattered ink all over myself into the bargain.’

‘Are you saying you delayed before going to Jorz’s assistance?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘You stood in the shadows watching while murder was committed, and only emerged when the killer had gone?’

Langelee waved a dismissive hand. ‘I could not afford to let Walkelate see that he was discovered lest he went to ground. And then we would never have answers. Still, at least one thing is clear: I now know why Northwood quizzed me so relentlessly about my battlefield experiences – he wanted information to share with those damned raiders.’

Michael turned suddenly to Ayera, who took an involuntary step backwards when he saw the dark expression on the monk’s face. ‘We have it on good authority that you were among the raiders, too. Walkelate might be betraying his country, but you have betrayed our town.’

Ayera regarded Langelee with weary resignation. ‘Did you tell them?’

Langelee looked indignant. ‘Of course not. However, I did say that you would be unlikely to deceive Michael, and that you should take him into your confidence. You should have listened.’

‘What is going on?’ snapped Michael. ‘And you can put down that blade, Ayera, because we all know you will not use it on us.’

Bartholomew knew no such thing, and waited, taut as a bowstring, while Ayera stared at the monk. Then the geometrician sighed, and the sword dipped towards the floor.

‘I did join ranks with the robbers, but I had my reasons.’

‘I suppose you wanted money because your uncle failed to bequeath you any,’ surmised Bartholomew coldly. ‘And you were eager to buy that horse.’

‘It is a little more complex than that,’ said Ayera shortly.

Michael folded his arms. ‘Then explain.’

‘Perhaps one day,’ said Ayera. ‘But not now.’

Michael took an angry step towards him. ‘That is not good enough.’

‘Leave him be,’ came a voice from the door. ‘He cannot tell you what you want to know, because he is under orders to keep his silence. You see, he is in my employ, as is Master Langelee.’

Bartholomew spun around, Michael’s dagger in his hand, but lowered it quickly when he recognised the speaker. It was Dame Pelagia.

‘At last!’ cried Langelee in relief. ‘Where have you been, madam? We need more directions, because Ayera and I are hopelessly out of our depth here.’

Michael gaped at his grandmother, still struggling to understand. ‘They are working for you ?’

Pelagia inclined her head. ‘Ayera has been with me for a while now, ever since the King decided it was time I had an assistant to perform some of my more physically demanding duties.’

‘Ayera is your apprentice ?’ Michael looked as astonished as Bartholomew felt.

Pelagia nodded again. ‘And he recruited Langelee when we needed more help.’

‘Why Langelee?’ demanded Michael indignant and hurt. ‘Why not me?’

‘Because Langelee is a warrior,’ explained Ayera. ‘We fought together at the Battle of Neville’s Cross, and we were friends in York. You are a brave and intelligent man, Brother, but I needed a soldier.’

‘Ayera joined the raiders on my orders,’ said Pelagia, when Michael was silent. ‘He told them he needed the pay because he feared his uncle’s bequest would prove to be a disappointment.’

‘It did prove to be a disappointment,’ said Ayera ruefully. ‘My family lending me money for that horse is not the same at all.’ He turned to Bartholomew. ‘I am afraid I did not handle your questions very well, Matt. You caught me off guard, and I suspect my answers did nothing to alleviate your concerns.’

‘And I am sorry I threatened to restrict your access to patients,’ added Langelee. ‘But it was the only way I could think of to bring an end to the discussion. You kept catching us in inconsistencies – such as whether Ayera found me wandering dazed in Cholles Lane or in Newe Inn’s garden – and I had to end it before it went any further.’

‘It was Ayera who saved my life last night!’ exclaimed Bartholomew in sudden understanding. ‘Frevill was about to kill me in the scuffle outside King’s Hall, but Ayera threw a knife. The shadow was too large to be Dame Pelagia.’