The Sweet Smell of Decay (30 page)

The air was particularly bad in the kitchen. I had thrown open all the windows before I left, but it hadn’t made much difference. I had thought to scrub and mop things, but I didn’t really know how, so I just sat there a while and relaxed, enjoying the feeling of the day washing past me. The door flew open and crashed against the wall.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Jane stormed into the kitchen with her coat on and carrying a small bag, breathing in the air and pulling a face.

‘I’m sitting here minding my own business. What are you doing?’ I did my best to ignore her.

‘You’re sitting there on your fat arse feeling pleased with yourself is what you’re doing. What the devil is that God-awful stink? The whole house smells like the butcher’s armpit, but this room smells like his crotch.’ She rushed to her cupboard
full of cleaning materials, mops, beazoms and polish.

‘There’s a reason for that.’ I leant back and watched her.

‘Aye, no doubt. And what might that be?’ Her muffled voice echoed from inside the closet.

I mulled it over a while, wondered whether I was cruel enough to tell her about the heads. Aye, I decided, I was.

She screamed at me, made me cower with those wild green eyes, made me feel it had been my fault, regarding me as she might a great black roach. ‘Well you will have to find the money for a new table, won’t you –
sir
?’

I could but agree.

‘I will arrange for this table to be chopped up and taken away. Today. You have money?’

‘Half as much as I had before,’ I admitted, ‘but I have a new job working for the King as a King’s agent. Dowling recommended me.’

‘You, a King’s agent? God have mercy on us all. Bring on the next republic.’ She took off her coat and hung it on a hook. ‘And I thought Mr Dowling was an able man.’

‘I might remind you that you said Hewitt was as guilty as a quire bird.’

‘So he was, wasn’t he?’ she snapped, then disappeared out of the kitchen with her bag. The house shook as she stomped up the stairs.

I reminded myself that it was
my
house, screwed my courage to the sticking plate and lit up a pipe. I sucked in the smoke and let it run slowly out of my nose. Harry Lytle – King’s agent. A fine young man worth fifty pounds. All in all, a very pleasing conclusion.

The judge had issued an indictment for the arrest of William Hill, much to my satisfaction. He wasn’t able to
do much about Shrewsbury – that noble Lord would find it easy enough to dissociate himself from Hill and Burton, but Dowling assured me that he was finished. Be in Holland by morning. Yes, I had done very well – well done, Harry!

‘Harry?’ Jane entered quietly. Unlike her.

‘Yes?’ I tilted back on my chair with my feet on the table and puffed at my pipe.

‘There is a man at the door called Simon. He has a big knife. He says that since you didn’t pay him what you owed him he is come for retribution.’

Boggins!

I fell off my chair and knocked myself unconscious on the hearth.

With sincere thanks to Tara Wynne for retrieving
Sweet Smell
from her slush pile, and to Annabel Blay at Curtis Brown.

To Susie Dunlop, Sophie Robinson and the rest of the crew at Allison & Busby - thanks for brushing Harry down and helping him back to his feet.

With gratitude to my parents and brother Mark. And with all the love in the world to Ruth, Charlotte, Callum, Cameron and Ashleigh.

Finally I must acknowledge John Ray for his wonderfully rich descriptions of the flora of Cambridge that head every chapter of this book.

We hope you enjoyed this book.

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Born in a convent hospital in Malpas in 1963, P
AUL
L
AWRENCE
lived in Spain, Japan and the UK before finally settling in Australia with his wife and children. Paul is currently busy writing the fourth book in the Harry Lytle series, while living a second life as a management consultant and executive coach specialising in leadership development.

www.harrylytle.com

The Sweet Smell of Decay

A Plague of Sinners

Hearts of Darkness

1666. London is recovering from the Great Plague which has now slithered out of the City to breed in other towns. Shyam is one such place, a disease-ridden village shut off from the rest of the world. And it is here where Harry Lytle, who works for Lord Arlington’s intelligence service, is ordered to go, to track down a traitor and bring him back alive.

Under a killer’s watchful eye, and with the help of his reluctant friend, David Dowling, a hulking butcher of uncommon wit and ability, they set off on their mission. The road to Shyam is long and dangerous, and the story that awaits them will turn their world upside down.

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