Murder by the Book (48 page)

‘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.’

‘Now you know why I am so certain that there will be an attack today,’ said Pelagia, as Ayera shot the physician a brief smile of acknowledgement. ‘Ayera heard it from the raiders’ own lips. We must do all we can to prevent it, so—’

‘Yes, but I still have questions,’ interrupted Michael. ‘Clippesby saw Ayera talking with the villainous Willelmus during the attack on the castle—’

‘Of course I spoke to him,’ said Ayera impatiently. ‘I needed to know what intelligence he had passed to the robbers. I did my best to win their confidence, but they never did trust me fully – especially after the first raid, when my premature battle cry gave the defenders time to grab their bows.’

‘You should have told me all this,’ said Michael accusingly to Pelagia. ‘Here is a terrible plot unfolding in my town, and you chose to keep me in the dark.’

Pelagia laid a conciliatory hand on his arm. ‘I did not know until a few hours ago that the four scholars in the library pond were connected with my mission here – or that Walkelate was the arch-villain. Meanwhile, you had several suspicious deaths to unravel, and two factions of querulous academics to hold apart. I admire your skills greatly, but you are only one man.’

‘You do?’ asked Michael, the wind taken out of his sails. Praise from Pelagia was not dispensed very often.

She smiled briefly, then became businesslike. ‘It seems that all our cases have converged – my French spy, the lunatic scholar-inventors whom Ayera has been monitoring, and Michael’s Newe Inn deaths – so it makes sense to join forces.’

‘What French spy?’ asked Bartholomew, puzzled.

A frown of impatience crossed Pelagia’s face. ‘The one I have been tracking for the past few months, and who I now know is commanding these raiders. There is no time for more detailed explanations. Now tell me what
you
have learned.’

Michael obliged, painting a succinct but detailed account of Walkelate’s dealings.

‘His Majesty has known for weeks that a few Cambridge scholars have turned their talents to designing weapons,’ said Pelagia, when he had finished.

Michael gaped at her yet again. ‘How? I did not!’

‘Because he had heard that a group of Oxford men had come here and bragged about their achievements, and he guessed that Cambridge would aim to outdo them. He asked me to monitor the situation, but an elderly woman is not the best person to infiltrate a community of male scholars, so I sent my trusty assistant to do it for me.’

‘Langelee enrolled me as a Fellow in January.’ Ayera took up the tale. ‘The cover has worked brilliantly, because no one suspects that a University geometrician – one of their own Regents – is a government spy. Then, about two months ago, I heard whispers that some scholars were devising a new and deadly weapon …’

‘He also heard tales that strangers were gathering in the marshes, recruiting men who were willing to risk their lives for quick gold,’ added Pelagia. ‘Ayce, Coslaye …’

‘I sent for Dame Pelagia at that point,’ said Ayera. ‘And I warned the King. But she was busy with her French spy, and it took some time for my message to reach her. She only arrived here a few days ago.’

‘We had better discuss this later,’ said Bartholomew, more interested in averting a catastrophe than satisfying his curiosity. ‘Something terrible is going to happen – and soon.’

‘You are quite right,’ agreed Pelagia. ‘Ayera learned last night that the robbers plan to make another assault on the taxes. This will achieve two things: first, provide a diversion so that Walkelate can hand over his ribauldequin and wildfire; and second, allow them to recoup their losses – this whole operation has been very expensive.’

‘Do they still believe the taxes are in the castle?’ asked Michael urgently. ‘Or will they assault King’s Hall again?’

Ayera grimaced. ‘Unfortunately, Walkelate was party to a conversation in the stationers’ shop, during which the
Senior Proctor denounced the rumour about the taxes being moved as a ruse. The robbers now know that they are in the castle, which is a pity. It was better when they thought they might have to search eight Colleges, forty hostels and half a dozen convents.’

‘We must warn Tulyet,’ said Bartholomew, as Michael winced. ‘He needs to prepare.’

‘He is as ready as he ever will be, and the town can be taxed again should he fail to repel these rogues,’ said Pelagia, coldly professional. ‘It is far more important to ensure that Walkelate’s invention does not fall into French hands. Forget the castle, and concentrate on him.’

‘But the taxes include a ribauldequin,’ argued Bartholomew, ‘which is in the castle chapel.’

‘It is true,’ Ayera told her. ‘I was told not an hour ago that we mercenaries will be given a hefty bonus if we acquire it in addition to Tulyet’s chests of money.’

‘Yes, but Walkelate made two ribauldequins, not one,’ said Pelagia. ‘And it is the hidden one that can deploy wildfire – Tulyet’s is just like any other.’ She nodded to the ledgers that Langelee was still rifling through. ‘Have you discovered anything in those to tell us where it might be?’

‘It is not in King’s Hall,’ said Ayera, when Langelee shook his head. ‘I searched it thoroughly.’

‘It must be in the Common Library,’ said Bartholomew suddenly. ‘Walkelate spends every waking moment there, so it stands to reason that he has been doing more than overseeing the construction of shelves. We should go there now and search for it. All of us, together.’

‘It is as sensible a notion as any,’ said Pelagia, indicating that he should lead the way.

Pelagia lagged behind as they ran to Newe Inn, reminding Bartholomew that while she seemed an unstoppable force,
she was actually an elderly lady who could hardly be expected to keep pace with men less than half her age. Ayera fell back to walk with her, but she waved him on with an impatient flick of her hand. When he ran to catch up with the others, Bartholomew noticed that he was limping.

‘Yes,’ the geometrician said, seeing what he was thinking. ‘I was injured during the raid on the castle. I had to fight Tulyet’s men, or my cover would have been lost.’

‘Speaking of Tulyet, Holm and my beadle will have reached him by now,’ said Michael. ‘After he has cancelled the pageant, he will almost certainly aim straight for Cholles Lane, because he will want more detailed answers from us. We shall soon have help in confounding these villains.’

‘If he does, he leaves the castle vulnerable,’ said Bartholomew worriedly. ‘And Dame Pelagia just said that grabbing the taxes is the diversion Walkelate needs to pass his weapon to the French.’

‘He has not cancelled the pageant,’ said Ayera, gesturing around him at the empty streets, and cocking his head at a distant cheer. ‘The warning must have arrived too late.’

With despair, Bartholomew saw he was right. The town was virtually deserted: everyone had gone to the Guild Hall to watch the start of the ceremonies. A few drunkards lounged outside an alehouse, and two dirty boys slunk along carrying a trussed goat between them, but there was no other sign of life.

‘Lord!’ he muttered. ‘It is a perfect opportunity for a hostile force to wade across the river or the King’s Ditch – both are low, because of the recent dry weather. And Dick said the ditch is so full of silt that it is possible to walk—’

‘Hurry!’ interrupted Langelee urgently. ‘We must find
and destroy this infernal machine, no matter what the cost to ourselves.’

He and Ayera drew their swords when they reached the library, and he indicated that Bartholomew and Michael should arm themselves, too. A heavy stick appeared in the monk’s beefy paw, while Bartholomew had his childbirth forceps in one hand and Michael’s dagger in the other. Treading with silent grace, Ayera led the way up the spiral staircase, turning to glare when Michael trod on a creaking floorboard.

They arrived upstairs and peered around the door to see Walkelate in the larger of the two rooms. A number of men were there with him. All wore armour, and they were unquestionably the raiders. One was limping from what appeared to be a wound in his thigh. They were cloaked and hooded, and Bartholomew knew, without the shadow of a doubt, that they were the men who had ambushed him. Mentally, he cursed Rougham again for caving in to their threats, but then supposed it was irrelevant if Walkelate had discovered the formula independently, anyway.