Hearts of Darkness (23 page)

I wandered discreetly about the yard, seeing if he stood as witness in some nook or cranny. I looked to the sky, to surrounding houses,
to see if he hid, but nothing. I looked up again at the two women and tried to work out in which direction they stared. What would he do, I wondered? He wouldn’t sit idly by, that was certain, yet neither would he charge out into the open with his sword, to be cut down by the small army about him. I tried to think like Josselin, but found it hard.

The sun passed the height of its day’s journey. Nearly three o’clock. I wondered what became of Dowling. I imagined he saw me waylaid on Fenchurch Street. He probably proceeded north, to approach by way of Leadenhall. St Katharine Cree was just around the corner.

With one last look at the window high above, I made my way through the crowd back onto the main street, and walked the short distance to the church. The churchyard was tucked down an alley, behind the church itself. Dowling sat upon a bench, hands on knees, white head standing out against the blue sky. He leapt to his feet as soon as I opened the gate and enveloped me in a crushing embrace.

I pushed myself away as soon as his grip slackened, wiping his perspiration from my face.

‘You were more circumspect than I, then,’ I said. ‘No one followed you?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think they’ll expect us here, not with so many soldiers. What did that fellow say to you?’

‘Asked me my name,’ I replied. ‘I told him John Fisher.’ I thought again of the scene at Duke’s Place. ‘Soldiers have taken over Josselin’s house. Mrs Josselin and Josselin’s betrothed stand staring from a top-floor window.’

Dowling grunted.

‘Josselin will not stand idly back,’ I exclaimed, agitated. ‘I cannot think what he’ll do, but he will do something. Arlington hasn’t read
him well. He shouldn’t have called him traitor, nor ransacked his house.’ I closed my eyes against the wind. ‘Josselin is close by,’ I said. ‘I sense it.’

‘Very well, Harry,’ sighed Dowling. ‘You propose we walk the streets?’

‘I am going back to Duke’s Place for a while,’ I decided. ‘We will meet back here at dusk.’

Dowling slouched, brow furrowed, mouth downturned.

‘Ask God, Davy.’ I patted him on the shoulder. ‘He shall guide thee continually and make fat thy bones. Thou shalt be like a watered garden.’ Something like that.

I patted him again and headed back to the Josselin house. Something was afoot.

I heard the shouting before I reached the court, the singing too, loud and tuneless. Soldiers crowded into the middle of the square, heads thrown back, swilling beer from glass bottles.

All fell silent, then a loud roar, ‘Arlington!’ Every man lifted a bottle to the blue sky. The first time in Arlington’s life he had been toasted so readily.

I thought to inspect one of the bottles, but the soldiers stood in a circle, like a pack of dogs guarding a pile of bones. Unlike Arlington to be so generous.

Josselin’s house stood empty; all the soldiers stood outside supping happily. There was enough beer for every man to drink at least two bottles. No sign of Mrs Josselin or Eliza at the window. Their
opportunity to feed themselves while the soldiers were distracted.

I walked the perimeter, across the shadow of a great oak growing in one corner, across the front of the other two large houses that bounded the small square. The side of Josselin’s house stood in shadow, but something moved, a flash of light catching the sun. I approached closer, wary of a drunken soldier. Before I could explore further, a bottle smashed. I turned towards the revelry to see two men fall to their knees, clutching at their throats. The rest watched, anxious, so quiet I could hear the sound of both men breathing, wracking gasps, like their lungs burnt. A third man held his hands in front of his eyes like claws. Six more pawed at their necks, wide-eyed and terrified. I stepped back into the shadow, pressed against the wall.

Those who didn’t succumb stepped nervously through the fallen, inspecting the bottles from which they drank, else throwing them as far away as they could muster. One man thrust his fingers down his throat and forced himself to gag. Others followed his lead, but too late. They too struggled to breathe, collapsing upon the dust, gasping for air. I placed my hands at my own throat, momentarily afraid the plague unveiled itself again.

A hand landed on my shoulder. I startled, and looked round into Josselin’s battered face, his naked, shaven head. He wore rough, plain clothes, wide, linen trousers, and flapping, cloth shirt, in the style of a butcher. A good disguise. With bruised face devoid of hair, he looked like any other common fellow. He smiled, calmly.

‘You are the apothecary,’ he whispered. ‘A fiftieth of a grain is deadly. I put half a grain in every bottle.’

I stared, disbelieving.

He gripped harder. ‘I wouldn’t see them suffer. They will die quick.’ He cast me an inquisitive gaze then nodded at a man close to us whose face contorted in agonized grimace. ‘First they burn from throat to belly. Then hands and feet, and all their skin. They feel like they are being flayed.’ The groans and screams confirmed it, as thirty men lay dying.

Three soldiers stood watching, aghast, and unaffected. The few who chose not to drink. They gathered in a huddle, seeking solace in each other, unable to tear their eyes from the dreadful scene.

‘Soon they will lose the power of sight, and will lie there deaf, ’til death comes,’ Josselin breathed. ‘With a fiftieth of a grain it would take half the day. With half a grain most will be dead before they realise what has happened.’

‘Wolfsbane,’ I guessed. ‘Monkshood.’ A plant with medicinal properties, rarely used because it was so poisonous. A white powder that dissolved only in strong drink.

Josselin patted my shoulder. ‘Well done, apothecary.’

‘Why?’ I asked, watching as one man clutched his belly, bending his neck back with eyes closed, a shallow, whining noise escaping his blue lips. An innocent man.

‘This is my house,’ Josselin said, grimly. ‘I didn’t invite them, nor did my mother. They invited themselves.’

‘Arlington ordered them.’ I seized his collar. ‘Some of these men had wives and children,’ I said. ‘Do you not care?’

He placed a hand on my arm and gazed at me, brow furrowed and eyes moist. ‘More soldiers will arrive soon.’

I pushed him away. ‘Do you not understand what Arlington will do to your mother and betrothed? Have you no idea?’

‘He’ll do nothing to them,’ Josselin answered. He slipped back
into the shadows and headed in the direction of Leadenhall. ‘I will find him tonight and smite him down.’

‘Wait!’ I called after him.

‘Talk as we walk,’ Josselin replied, tossing me the bottle he held in his hand. ‘That is the only bottle I did not poison. Drink.’

He laughed loud as I held it at arm’s length between two fingers. ‘Tell me who killed Berkshire, and tell me about this letter. Give me something I can use.’

‘Tut-tut!’ he exclaimed.

I tugged at his coat, trying to slow him down as he hurried south, down Lime Street. ‘We went to Clarendon on your behalf. We rescued you from Thomas Elks.’

I heard footsteps and turned to see Dowling running behind, stumbling from foot to foot in strange gait, blowing hard.

‘You did that for yourselves,’ Josselin replied, following my gaze. ‘I am not responsible for your poor souls.’

Dowling caught up with us, red-faced, sweat soaking his chest. As we crossed Fenchurch Street, the wind caught me in a sudden gust, nearly knocking me off my feet.

‘What news?’ he panted, watching Josselin.

‘He just poisoned half a garrison.’

Dowling stared at Josselin’s back, like he would tear him apart. ‘Then we should seize him now. Hand him over to Arlington.’

It would be easy enough to attract the attention of spies and soldiers, I reflected.

Josselin laughed. ‘Arlington will thank you with the promise of an earldom then kill you for what you know.’ He stopped at the top of Red Rose Lane. ‘You are welcome to join me, gentlemen, for I think we are in the same predicament.’

Dowling hesitated.

‘There are no spies here,’ said Josselin. ‘They walk along Eastcheap or Thames Street, peer in, then keep walking. I have my own little place to stay.’

‘They will come after you,’ I said.

‘They will search, but not down here.’ He looked about quickly then slipped into the gloom. He led us halfway down the dark narrow street and stopped outside a crooked door. ‘Welcome to the house of Farynor.’

He pushed open the door and hurried us over the threshold. A low, squat oven sat to the left of the main fireplace. A bigger oven with smaller mouth sat to the right of it, burning low.

‘Where is Farynor?’ growled Dowling.

‘Upstairs.’ Josselin jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. ‘Farynor, his son and daughter. I will release them when I leave.’ He sat down, threw his legs forward and stretched out his arms. ‘Go see them if you wish.’

I stepped cautiously towards the narrow, winding staircase, wary in case he changed his mind, but he just watched, hands rested upon his belly, eyes half lidded. Dowling shuffled forwards, positioning his great bulk between Josselin and the stairs.

The staircase was narrow, wood-warped and twisted. Every board squeaked as I climbed, but upstairs was silent. An open door led to a square room overlooking the alley below. Three sets of eyes watched. A boy and girl huddled either side of a lean fellow with sculpted arms. All three chewed on gags. Their arms were tied behind their back, legs bound with rope, the skin about their ankles red and raw. I thought to pull the gags from their mouths, but to what end? Our need for refuge was equal to Josselin’s. I waved a hand and nodded my head in an assuring manner before returning downstairs.

Josselin still slumped in his chair. I stared at his long face, angular and chiselled. His lips were red and seemed to smile. Black hair fell across his forehead and cheeks.

‘What’s up there?’ Dowling demanded.

‘The Farynors,’ I replied. ‘Bound with rope.’

Dowling glowered at Josselin.

‘I haven’t hurt them,’ Josselin protested, pulling himself up straight. ‘I don’t hurt people.’ Which was a great lie. ‘But I need somewhere to hide from Arlington. I cannot hide with friends, nor seek lodgings with strangers. Is that not apparent?’

‘When were they last fed?’ Dowling demanded.

‘Fed and watered this morning,’ Josselin replied. ‘There is dried beef and ale in the kitchen. Feel free to tend to them if you’re worried. By all means remove their gags and attempt to have a conversation.’

Dowling strode to the kitchen to fetch provisions, then stomped loudly up the stairs.

‘They are not very
interesting
people,’ Josselin whispered. ‘But then neither is your friend. He is so terribly serious.’

‘What now, Josselin?’

‘We wait a few hours,’ he said. ‘The soldiers will swarm to Aldgate and I’ll catch a boat from the bridge to Whitehall.’

A precarious plan at best.

‘Arlington said he doesn’t want to meet you,’ I told him.

Josselin closed his eyes. ‘He will change his mind.’

‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked.

He looked up, surprised. ‘Clarendon told you that?’

‘One of his men. A strange man who insisted on touching me. He said he was a colleague of yours.’

‘Thomas Villiers,’ Josselin smiled. ‘You met Villiers.’

‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked again.

He stared at the wall. ‘And while they abode in Galilee, Jesus said unto them, The Son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men.’

Did he compare himself to Jesus Christ?

‘Arlington destroyed any chance of peace,’ said Josselin. ‘The man is a beast and he knows I know it. Now I see he cannot harm me, even if he doesn’t recognise it yet.’

‘If he doesn’t recognise it, he will kill you.’

Cold vengeance clouded his eyes. ‘He will not get the chance.’

‘Nor will you,’ Dowling called, clumping down the stairs. ‘I think someone else betrayed you today. Two men just walked past in a hurry, peering through the window.’

Josselin jumped to his feet and hurried to the door. ‘God’s teeth,’ he muttered. ‘How did they find me?’

I shuffled uncomfortably. Our skills were less well developed than his. It was most likely
we
were followed, not he. The same thought must have occurred to him, for he turned to me with burning cheeks and jabbed a finger in the direction of the street. ‘Go and see what is happening.’

I opened my mouth then closed it again, for his eyes burnt too bright. I stepped to the door and opened it a crack. The street was empty. I opened it a little wider and stepped outside. The wind blew a gale down the narrow passage, pushing my breeches tight against my thighs. A small child stood to my left, face covered in dirt and mucus. His mother dashed out, grabbed him by the neck and was gone.

I held up a hand to protect my eyes from the savage dust, peering towards Thames Street. Four soldiers blocked the passage out. I stepped back quickly before they saw me and hurried up the hill until
I reached the turn into Eastcheap. More soldiers. I returned to the house, relieved to be out of the gale.

‘Why are there soldiers waiting at each end of the lane?’ I slammed the door closed. ‘Why do they not simply come down and fetch you?’

Josselin kicked the chair on which he had lounged so casually. ‘They will,’ he said, ‘after nightfall. If they come during the day they run the risk of inciting a riot.’

He paced the small room, as if scouring the emptiness for some magical instrument. With one eye he watched the sliver of sky visible betwixt the house tops. With the other he kept an eye on the baker’s oven, occasionally stirring from his stair to throw another log upon the fire. For what reason I couldn’t fathom, but by the time two hours passed, he stoked a blazing fire, into which he stared with gleaming dark eyes.

As the sun fell, he blinked and turned to Dowling. ‘Time to release the Farynors, butcher.’

Dowling hurried up the stairs. A few moments later the children appeared, cautious and smelling of urine. The father followed close behind, avoiding my eye.

Josselin opened the front door. ‘Tell them you left the ovens cold,’ he said to Farynor. The baker cast him a glance of disgust afore hurrying the children out into the wind.

Josselin stretched himself to his full height and breathed out deeply. ‘I have a plan,’ he said to me.

‘What plan?’

‘You will see.’