The Killer of Pilgrims (36 page)

Cynric raised his hands in a shrug. ‘A gate is an enormous thing, when you think about it – there are not many places you
can
hide them.’

‘Did you tell Langelee?’

‘Yes, as soon as I found them. They are being retrieved as I speak.’

Bartholomew was grateful that Michaelhouse would soon be secure again, but his relief did not last long. Now the time had
come, he hated the notion of sending Cynric into the lair of what might be some very ruthless villains, and wished he had
not suggested it. Cynric waved away his concerns, then slipped silently through the rear door, clearly relishing the opportunity
to practise the kind of skills his master wished he did not have.

‘Do not worry,’ said Michael. ‘He knows what he is doing.’

‘I am sure he does,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘But that is not the point.’

‘But we
need
answers. Earlier, when you were blowing up Meryfeld’s garden, Batayl Hostel marched on Bene’t College, claiming they were
going to avenge Gib. Gonville joined in, and the resulting altercation was the most difficult to quell yet.’

‘What does that have to do with Cynric raiding Chestre?’

‘The hostels cannot promote Gib as a martyr if we prove he and his cronies were involved in something untoward. In other words,
without one of its figureheads, the trouble might simmer down into something manageable.’

‘It will not,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘The Colleges will still have Jolye to rally around.’

‘But the hostels are unlikely to react to the challenge if their hero is discredited. Unless you have a better idea – in which
case, please share it with me – this is our best chance of averting a crisis.’

It seemed to Bartholomew that Cynric was gone for an age, although they made rapid progress with the trebuchet. Once the throwing
arm had been disengaged, the great machine was very quickly disassembled, and the soldiers began the laborious task of ferrying
the pieces up Castle Hill. It was not long before the last section was being eased through the door, at which point the onlookers
began to disperse. It was now very late, and most of the town had been asleep for hours.

‘Dick! Say something to make Chestre stay,’ hissed Bartholomew in alarm, seeing Kendale move towards home, students at his
heels. ‘Cynric is not back – they will catch him!’

‘They will not fall for such a ploy,’ said Michael, equally worried. ‘The Sheriff is not in the habit of encouraging folk
to stay out after the curfew, and Kendale will see through any attempt to make him do so. Worse, it may warn them that they
should not have left in the first place, and then Cynric really will be in danger.’

‘I am going there,’ determined Bartholomew. Michael seized his arm. Bartholomew tried to disengage it, but the monk was a
strong man, for all his lard, and the physician could no more break free from him than he could fly to the moon.

‘You may do more harm than good,’ snapped Michael. ‘Just wait for—’

‘There!’ whispered Tulyet, pointing into the darkness. ‘Here he comes.’

Bartholomew sagged in relief when the book-bearer
sidled into the Guildhall, his dark features alight with excitement and satisfaction. He was carrying a small chest, and
Bartholomew did not think he had ever seen him look so pleased with himself.

‘I have everything you want and more,’ Cynric declared. ‘It was hidden under Kendale’s bed, which was almost the first place
I looked. The man is a fool to store it in so obvious a location.’

Eagerly, Michael seized the box. It was an unattractive piece, carved – rather oddly – with illustrations of girdles, which
Bartholomew assumed was a play on the Latin word for Chestre.

‘I had to break the lock,’ said Cynric. ‘But I think you will agree it was worth it. Look inside.’

Michael obliged. It contained several letters, a
signaculum
and a packet containing powder. He shoved the box at Tulyet to hold, and began to read the letters.

‘They are from Drax,’ he said, scanning them quickly. ‘Threatening legal action unless Chestre agrees to pay more rent. The
tone is rude, confrontational and bullying, and I am not surprised Kendale took umbrage. I would have done, too.’

‘This is Gyseburne’s
signaculum
!’ exclaimed Tulyet, snatching it up. ‘He was proud of it, and once showed me how he had adapted the pin to make it stronger
– he was worried about it falling off his cloak. It is his badge without question.’

‘And I may be mistaken,’ said Bartholomew soberly, having taken the packet and sniffed at its contents, ‘but I believe this
is wolfsbane.’

‘The substance that dispatched Alice and almost killed Odelina?’ asked Tulyet.

Bartholomew nodded.

Tulyet slapped his hand on the box. ‘I knew it! Here is
ample evidence that Chestre is responsible for all the evils that have plagued our town ever since that yellow-headed villain
raided Emma’s home a week ago.’

Michael agreed. ‘These letters explain why Chestre dispatched Drax, the wolfsbane tells us they poisoned Alice, and Gyseburne’s
signaculum
tells us they are badge thieves, too. We have our answers at last. Now all we have to do is arrest them and try to think
of a way to cancel the camp-ball without a riot.’

‘Wait,’ said Bartholomew urgently. ‘I do not trust this – it is too neat. We could not have had better evidence had we put
it under Kendale’s bed ourselves.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Tulyet, staring at him. ‘That Cynric planted this box?’

‘Now just a moment,’ said Cynric, shocked and angry. ‘I would never—’

‘Of course not,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But we should take time to consider—’

‘We do not
have
time,’ snapped Michael. He brandished the box. ‘This is all the evidence we need, and it is time to act on it. I will assemble
my beadles. Are you coming, or will you go to the castle to make sure the trebuchet is not rebuilt back to front?’

‘My engineers can manage now, thank you,’ said Tulyet, a little stiffly. ‘Do you want me to come to Chestre with you?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Not unless we want the University screaming that the town was involved in raiding one of their foundations.
That would precipitate trouble for certain.’

‘Then send me word the moment you have a confession,’ said Tulyet. He glanced up at the sky. ‘I have no idea of the time,
but I doubt I will be sleeping tonight. Frevill will not be the only townsman itching to bloody a few
academic noses, especially once it becomes known that scholars really
are
behind all this mischief.’

‘I thought catching Chestre would calm troubled waters,’ said Cynric, crestfallen.

‘It will – if we can present them as a rogue foundation acting without the support or blessing of the rest of the University,’
said Michael. ‘But it will take time for the rumours to take hold.’

‘I shall help, by setting my soldiers to spread the tale now,’ said Tulyet. ‘They can pass it to anyone they happen to meet
on their patrols.’

‘I doubt they will encounter anyone of significance out and about at this hour,’ said Michael.

‘Then you do not know this town very well,’ said Tulyet tartly. ‘Excitement is running high about tomorrow, and even if folk
are asleep now, they will rise early, so as not to miss anything. I anticipate Cambridge will be awake and waiting long before
dawn.’

Bartholomew tried again to explain his misgivings to Michael, but the monk was too distracted to listen. He assembled his
beadles, and led them and Cynric towards Chestre, issuing instructions, orders and contingency plans as he went. It was clear
he expected the hostel to fight, and Bartholomew hoped this little army would be able to subdue Kendale before too much blood
was spilled.

He followed them through the dark streets. It was bitterly cold, and a mist had rolled in from the Fens. It reeked of the
marshes – of rotting vegetation, stagnant water and wet grass. It was a smell he had known all his life and it was as familiar
as sunshine or April rain, but there was nothing comforting in it that night – it felt dangerous and wild, and so did the
town. Shadows flitted, and he saw
Tulyet was right to say not everyone was sleeping peacefully in their beds.

‘Thank God we have our gates back,’ muttered Michael as they passed their College. Langelee and Ayera were setting them back
in their posts. Both looked uneasy as the monk and his pack of beadles trotted past, and Langelee indicated that Ayera was
to hurry. Michaelhouse was not the only foundation to be awake: lamps burned in nearby Physwick and Ovyng hostels, while Gonville
Hall was positively ablaze with torches.

‘Please, Brother,’ said Bartholomew, trying again to voice his concerns, which mounted with every step he took. ‘Something
feels very wrong about Cynric’s find.’

‘
What
is wrong?’ snapped Michael impatiently. ‘It provides everything we need to arrest these villains.’

‘Exactly,’ pounced Bartholomew. ‘And Kendale is not stupid. I seriously doubt he would keep such a neat collection of “evidence”
under his bed. Cynric said it was virtually the first place he looked, and Kendale would have been more wary about where he
left it.’

‘This is nonsense,’ said Michael with annoyance. ‘Like me, you have suspected Kendale of killing Drax from the beginning,
so do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, I doubt he anticipated that we would burgle him, so he probably saw no
reason to find a better hiding place for his box of treasures.’

Chestre loomed through the swirling fog, and Bartholomew saw several beadles cross themselves as they approached. The dampness
had darkened its plaster, and the ‘face’ formed by its windows was lit by lanterns within. It seemed to be scowling.

‘You were brave to go in there alone, Cynric,’ said Beadle Meadowman, ‘when everyone knows Kendale has invited a lot of evil
spirits to live with him.
I
am not keen on
entering, and I am with you and a dozen stalwart men. And Doctor Bartholomew, of course, who is on good terms with the Devil
and will see off any demons who try to harm us.’

‘Yes – we will be safe with him,’ agreed Cynric comfortably, while Bartholomew supposed it was not the time to reiterate that
he
had
no such understanding with Satan. He saw other beadles nod their appreciation of the protection they thought he afforded,
and wondered whether he would ever slough off the sinister reputation he had acquired.

Michael hammered on Chestre’s door, and every beadle crossed himself a second time when the sound boomed hollowly and eerily
along the hallway within. Bartholomew was tempted to do likewise, because it was certainly unsettling, especially in his unhappy
and agitated state. He leapt in alarm when there was a sudden hissing sound and something dark whipped past his face. It looked
like a huge bat, all jagged wings and pointed claws, which swooped for a moment, then fluttered into the shadows on the opposite
side of the lane.

‘Demons!’ hissed Cynric, and several beadles yelped their fright. ‘Come to inspect us.’

But Bartholomew saw a flash of movement at an upper window, and heard a muted snigger. He walked to where the thing had landed.

‘Parchment,’ he said, picking it up. ‘Cut into a sinister shape, and propelled by some kind of membrane that holds air under
pressure.’

‘A trick,’ said Michael in disgust. ‘Something that might impress children, but that has no impact on my bold beadles. It
will take more than a hoax to unsettle
their
brave hearts.’

His words had the desired effect, and his men stood a
little taller. He pounded on the door again, and eventually it was opened by Neyll, who did not seem at all surprised that
the Senior Proctor and a sizeable retinue should be calling at such an hour. Bartholomew suspected he was one of those who
had released the parchment spectre, in the hope that it would send them scurrying for their lives.

‘What do you want?’ Neyll demanded coldly. ‘We are all in bed.’

‘With torches burning?’ asked Michael archly. ‘And within moments of watching the Sheriff manhandle his trebuchet back to
the castle? I do not think so!’

‘The Colleges had to help Tulyet in the end,’ sneered Neyll, not bothering to deny the charge. ‘He is stupid! But even then,
it took them days to manage what the hostels achieved in hours.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Michael haughtily. ‘Once we had been invited to participate, the problem was solved in moments, not
hours. But we are not here to discuss foolery. We have come on a far more serious matter, namely murder. Stand aside and let
us enter.’

When Michael, with Bartholomew, Cynric and the beadles at his heels, marched into Chestre’s hall, Kendale was sitting in a
comfortable chair by the hearth. All his students were with him, every one of them holding a goblet. The place reeked of wine.

‘We are discussing tomorrow’s camp-ball,’ Kendale said. Then his eyes widened when he saw the number of beadles who were crowding
into his lair. ‘What in God’s name—’

‘There will be no game,’ interrupted Michael briskly. ‘Because you will be in my prison. You have committed theft and murder,
and I have evidence to prove it.’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Kendale, coming quickly to his feet. ‘We have not killed anyone.
And we have not stolen anything, either. At least, nothing of significance. My lads have just confessed to me that they were
responsible for borrowing your gates, but you have them back now, and it was only a joke. You cannot arrest us for a joke.’

‘We did it without his knowledge,’ added Neyll defiantly. ‘So you cannot detain
him
, because he had nothing to do with the escapade.’

‘I am furious about it,’ said Kendale. ‘It was a stupid prank, one unworthy of our talents.’

‘Never mind the gates,’ said Michael briskly. ‘I refer to evidence that says you stabbed Drax and left his corpse in Michaelhouse,
that you put poison in wine that dispatched Alice Heslarton, and that you have been stealing
signacula
. You doubtless murdered Gib, too.’