'I'd still like to know how he will dry up a river as the sixth vial is supposed to do,' Thomas Seymour said scoffingly. 'Or cause a great earthquake like the seventh.'

'He'll find something,' I said. 'Something that fits.'

Cranmer turned to Harsnet. 'You have made no progress in tracing Goddard;'

'Not yet, my lord. I am enquiring of the Surrey and Kent and Sussex authorities as well. Discreetly.'

The Archbishop nodded. Then he looked at me. 'Matthew, you are acting for that boy in the Bedlam. Yarington's neighbour Reverend Meaphon is his parish priest, is he not;'

'Yes. He was there yesterday, when young Kite got himself on top of London Wall. So was Yarington.'

'Make sure that boy is kept safe, out of sight.'

'I will, my lord. It seems the warden at the Bedlam may have let him out deliberately, to try to get rid of a problem. He will not do so again. There is a hearing in Requests tomorrow, to ensure his care.'

Cranmer nodded, then looked at my arm. 'And you think the killer is following you, taunting you.' 'Yes.'

'Only you?'

'It seems so. Barak's wife was hurt too, but I fear that is because of her connection to me. He wants me to leave the case.'

Thomas Seymour laughed. 'You are being overanxious. Why should you matter to him;'

'I do not know,' I answered. I turned to Harsnet. 'Nothing has gone amiss with you;'

'No. Though working at Whitehall Palace I would be harder to get at.'

Cranmer drew a hand down his face. 'There is nothing to do but keep on with the hunt. See Dean Benson and the man Lockley again tomorrow. Where does Lockley live;'

'Out by the Charterhouse.'

Sir Thomas frowned. 'My lord, I have said I do not like the Lady Catherine Parr being so near to someone who may be involved somehow with these murders.'

'She is surrounded by servants,' his brother answered with a note of weariness. 'And she hardly fits the pattern of his victims. A woman of quiet sincere faith.'

'Nor did Yarington. But that didn't stop him going up like a Christmas candle tonight.'

'My lord,' Harsnet said. 'I think we should go to Reverend Yarington's house now. The churchwarden told me he lived in the rectory, a couple of streets away from his church, alone but for his servants. I told him not to send word what has happened.'

Cranmer considered a moment. 'Very well. Matthew, Gregory, go now to poor Yarington's house, speak to his servants, find what you can about his life. Take a couple of my guards, and if you think it worth holding any of the servants in custody have them brought back here quietly. Now, Matthew, before you go, I would see you alone for a minute.'

The others filed out, leaving me alone with the Archbishop.

'This terrible matter affects you, Matthew, does it not:'

I felt tears behind my eyes. The Archbishop could have that effect. 'Yes,' I answered.

'Because your good friend was one of the victims: And because the perpetrator follows you and mocks you:'

'Yes. And because I have never seen such—' I hesitated — 'wickedness before.'

'It preys on me, too. I have seen many men - too many - killed for political reasons. But this is different. I sense this man enjoys what he does.'

'I think that is so.'

'How could someone possibly do such things and believe they are carrying out God's will:' Cranmer burst out with sudden emotion. 'Is it some blasphemous mockery of religion, inspired directly by the devil: Gregory Harsnet believes so.'

'I do not know, my lord. I try not to think too hard on that.'

'Fire,' he said quietly. 'It is a terrible way to die. The heretics I have pleaded with, begged with to recant, I frightened them by telling them of the skin shrivelling, the fat melting, the hissing and crackling.' He closed his eyes and sighed. 'I would have saved them if I could, but the King is always adamant for the harshest punishments. Once it was Catholics he thought to persecute, but he is returning more and more to the old ideas in religion. A Catholicism without the Pope. And he gets harder to persuade each year.' He shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment, then gave me a sudden piercing look. 'Can you bear this:' he asked.

'Yes, my lord. I have sworn to avenge my poor friend. I will hold to that. I will find courage.'

He smiled wryly. 'Then so must I. Catherine Parr still holds out, you know, she will not give the King an answer. She is frightened, poor woman, hardly surprising given it is scarce a year since Catherine Howard went to the block. Yet I must urge her friends to persuade her to yield, for the influence she could have on the King.'

'She will be in danger.'

'Yes.' He nodded firmly. 'That is what we must all face, for the sake of Jesus' truth. He endured the worst horror of all, for us.' The Archbishop sat silent a moment longer; frightened, sad, compassion- ate, yet implacable. Then he bade me go. 'Solve this. Find him.'

Barak and Harsnet were waiting for me in the corridor. Harsnet was pacing up and down, frowning. Barak sat on a chair, one leg jigging nervously. He looked impatient, angry, frightened. Harsnet looked at me curiously. 'He wanted a few words about the murders,' I said. 'They disturb him.'

'Does he too feel the devil is in this?'

'He does not know, nor do I. It is not a speculation that can profit us,' I added sharply. I turned to Barak. 'Come, we are going to Yarington's house.'

We went outside, where a couple of the palace guards joined us: big men in helmets with swords at their waists, for the Archbishop's palace needed guarding as much as that of any other great man of state. We went down to the pier and took the Archbishop's barge back to town, then walked up to Yarington's church through the city; dark and silent now, for it was past curfew, the constables raising their lanterns in the faces of late travellers. They bowed when they saw our fine clothes and the uniformed guards.

'I was scared shitless when I saw that man burning,' Barak said. 'That poor bastard burning like a candle, for a minute I really thought he'd been set alight by some supernatural power.'

'It was fish oil,' I said brusquely. 'This stuff about devilry does not help us.'

We reached the church, silent and empty now, the windows blank and dark. We walked a little way until we found a fine rectory, set in a well-kept little garden. Harsnet banged loudly on the door. Flickers of light appeared at a window as someone lit a candle, and a man's voice called 'Who is it?' through the door in a scared voice.

'We come on Archbishop Cranmer's business,' Harsnet answered. There was the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the door opened to reveal a small, elderly fellow, his scant grey hair disordered and his nightshirt tucked hastily into his breeches. His eyes widened with fear at the sight of the guards.

'Is it the master?' he asked. 'Oh, God, he hasn't been arrested?'

'It's not that. You men, stay outside,' Harsnet told the guards, then walked past the old man into a little hallway, doors and a staircase leading off. I followed. 'Are you his servant?'

'His steward, sir. Toby White. What has—'

'Why should he be arrested?' Harsnet asked sharply.

'They say Bonner will arrest all godly men,' he answered, a little too quickly I thought. I did not like the steward; he had a mean look.

'Who else lives here?'

The servant hesitated then, eyes darting rapidly between me and Harsnet. 'Only the boy, and he's abed in the stable.'

'I am afraid I have bad news, Goodman White,' Harsnet said. 'Your master died this evening.'

The old man's eyes widened. 'Died? I didn't know where he was, I was starting to worry, but — dead?' He stared at us incredulously.

'He was murdered,' Harsnet said. The steward's eyes widened. 'When did you last see him?'

'He had a message late yesterday afternoon. A letter. He said he had to go and see a fellow cleric. He didn't say where. I thought he must have stayed overnight.'

'What happened to the letter?'

'Master took it with him.'

Harsnet looked at me. 'Like Dr Gurney and your friend.' He turned back to the trembling servant. 'You knew he was going to the reopening of the church tonight?'

'Yes, sir. I thought perhaps he'd gone straight there.'

Harsnet stood silent a moment, thinking. I saw the servant glance quickly at the staircase, then away again.

'Perhaps we should look over the house,' I said.

'There's nobody here,' the servant said, too quickly. 'Just me.' 'If your master had forbidden books,' I said, 'we do not care about that.' 'No, but—'

Harsnet looked at him suspiciously. 'Give me that candle,' he said firmly. The old man hesitated, then handed it over. 'Stay here,' Harsnet told him. 'Barak, keep an eye on him.' The coroner inclined his head to me, and I followed him up the stairs.

The first room we looked into was a study, well-thumbed books lying among papers and quills on a big desk. I picked one up, peering at it to try to make out the title. Institutes of the Christian Religion, by John Calvin. I had heard of him: one of the most radical and uncompromising of the new generation of continental reformers.

Harsnet held up a hand. 'I heard something,' he whispered. He pointed across the corridor to another door, then marched across and threw it open. A shrill scream came from within.

It was a bedroom, dominated by a comfortable feather bed. A woman lay there, naked; a girl, rather, for she was still in her teens, smooth-skinned and blonde-haired. She grabbed the blankets and pulled them up to her neck. 'Help!' she shouted. 'Robbers!'

'Quiet!' Harsnet snapped. 'I am the King's assistant coroner. Who are you?'

She stared at us with wide eyes, but did not reply.

'Are you Yarington's whore?' There was anger in his voice.

'What is your name, girl,' I asked quietly.

'Abigail, sir, Abigail Day.'

'And are you the minister's woman? There is no point in lying.'

She reddened and nodded. Harsnet's face twisted in disgust. 'You seduced a man of God.'

A look of defiance came into the girl's face. 'It wasn't me did the seducing.'

'Don't you bandy words with me! A creature like you in a minister's bed. Do you not fear for your soul? And his?' Harsnet was shouting now, his face filled with anger. I had grown to respect and almost like the coroner these last few days but the terrible events of the evening were bringing out another side of him: the hard, implacable man of faith.

The girl made a spirited reply, her own fear turning to anger. 'Keeping body and soul together's been all I've worried about since my father was hanged,' she answered fiercely. 'For stealing a gentleman 's purse.' There was bitter contempt in her voice. 'It killed my mother.'

Harsnet was unaffected. 'How long have you been here?' he snapped.

'Four months.'

'Where did Yarington pick you up?'

She hesitated before answering. 'I was in a house down in Southwark where he used to come. We get many ministers down there,' she added boldly.

'They are weak men, and you tempt them to fall.' Harsnet's voice shook with anger and contempt.

This was wasting time. 'Did you ever hear of a whore called Welsh Elizabeth?' I asked her.

'No, sir.' She looked from one to the other of us, frightened again. 'Why, sir, why?'

'Your master is dead,' Harsnet said bluntly. 'He was murdered, earlier tonight.'

Abigail's mouth opened wide. 'Murdered?'

He nodded. 'Get some clothes on. I'm taking you to the Archbishop's prison. There'll be some more questions. Nobody will miss you,' he added brutally. 'And after this you'll find yourself whipped at the cart's tail as a whore, if I have anything to do with it.'

'It's only some questions about your master,' I said as the wretched girl began to cry. 'Come, pull yourself together and get dressed. We shall be downstairs.' I took Harsnet's arm and led him out.

Outside, he shook his head sorrowfully. 'The snares the devil sets to pull us down,' he said.

'Men are men,' I answered impatiently. 'And always will be.'

'You are a cynic, Master Shardlake. A man of weak faith. A Laodicean.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'That phrase comes from Revelation.'

Harsnet blinked, frowned, then raised a hand. 'I am sorry. I am — affected by what we saw tonight. But do you realize, if Yarington hadn't been keeping that whore he wouldn't have died tonight? He was killed for his hypocrisy, wasn't he?'

'Yes. I think he was.'

Harsnet closed his eyes wearily, then looked at me. 'Why did you ask about Welsh Elizabeth?'

'That was what the cottar Tupholme's woman was called. I wondered if the killer might have got his information through a whorehouse. About the two carnal sinners punished with death,' I added. 'It's clear now that Yarington did fit the pattern.'

'Yes he did.' Harsnet's face set hard. 'I'll find out what house she was at.'

'Be gentle with her, please. Nothing will be served by harshness here.'

He grunted. 'We'll see.'

The steward Toby was sitting in the kitchen, together with a scared-looking boy of around ten, ragged and smelling of the stables, with dirty brown feet. He stared at us, wide-eyed, from under a mop of brown hair.

'Who is this?' Harsnet asked.

'Timothy, sir, the stable boy,' Toby said. 'Stand up for your betters, you silly little shit.' The boy stood, his legs trembling.

'Leave us, boy,' Harsnet said. The child turned and scurried out.

'Well,' Harsnet said sarcastically. 'So much for there being nobody at home.'

'He paid me well for keeping her presence quiet,' Toby said, his voice surly.

'You connived at sin.'

'Everyone sins.'

'Who else knew?' I asked.

'No one.'

'People must have seen the girl coming in and out,' I said.

Toby shook his head. 'He only let her go abroad after dark. It was easy enough in the winter, she didn't want to go out anyway in the snow and ice. I wondered how he'd keep her secret now the days were getting longer, and spring coming. He'd probably have kicked her out soon.' He smiled sardonically, showing yellow stumps of teeth. 'He had a good excuse to keep folk away, his precious copies of Luther and that new one, Calvin.'

'How long were you with your master?' Barak asked.

'Five years.' His eyes narrowed. 'I was paid to be a loyal servant, not question my master's deeds. That's what I did.' He paused. 'How did he die? Was he robbed? You can't move in London for sturdy beggars these days.'

'No,' Harsnet answered noncommittally. 'You can't.'

Toby shook his head sadly. Yet I sensed he had had no great affection for his master.

'So he found the girl in the stews?' I asked.

Toby shrugged. 'I think he went there often. Funny thing, since he brought Abigail here you'd think he'd be happier, but he only ranted against sin more and more. Bad conscience, I suppose. Religious folk are mighty strange, I say. I just go to services as the King commands.'

'What about the boy? He must have known she was here.'

'I told him to keep his mouth shut or he'd lose his place. He wouldn't dare do anything — he's an orphan and he'd end on the streets if he was kicked out of here. Master kept her well hidden. If the churchwardens had found out he'd have been defrocked.'

'We have reason to believe whoever killed him knew he had the girl here,' I said.

Toby sat up, alarmed. 'I told you, I said nothing to anybody—' 'Then who else could have known?' Harsnet asked. 'Who came

here?'

'If he had business to conduct he met people in the church. No one came into the house but me, I had all the cleaning of it. If I went out I left Timothy with instructions to tell callers to come back later. He's bright enough, he knew what to do.'

Harsnet got to his feet. 'You are coming with me, Goodman White. You and the girl can spend a night in the Lollards' Tower, see if you remember any more. Jacobs!' he called. One of the guards came in. Toby looked at him in fear.

'I've done nothing,' he said, his voice rising.

'Then you've naught to fear,' Harsnet replied, as the guard lifted the old man to his feet.

I rose. 'I think I'll question the stable boy,' I said.

Harsnet nodded. 'Good idea.'

I went out to a little yard at the side of the house. Candlelight winking through an open door led me to the stable. The boy sat there on an upturned bucket beside a straw mattress, leaning against the side of a big grey mare and stroking it. I saw a crude straw bed in one corner. He looked up, terrified, his dirty face stained with tear-tracks. I felt the softening I always did when faced with lonely, unhappy children.

'Are you Timothy?' I asked gently.

'Yes, sir,' he whispered. 'Sir, Toby says Master is dead. Did a bad man kill him?' 'I am afraid so.'

'What is happening to Master Toby?'

'He is going with the coroner. I would like to ask you some questions.'

'Yes, sir?' Soothingly as I had spoken, he still looked frightened.

Hardly surprising, a group of strangers clattering in at near mid- night.

'You know about Abigail, the woman who lives here?' I asked. He did not reply.

'Were you told to keep it secret? It does not matter now.'

'Toby said Master would beat me if I ever mentioned her name. Master did hit me once, for swearing. But I wouldn't have told, sir, she was kind to me for all Toby said she was a great sinner. Sir, what will happen to Abby? Will she be all right?'

Not if Harsnet has his way, I thought. I took a deep breath. 'You told no one about her? You will not be punished for telling the truth.'

'No. No, I swear I didn't. On the Bible, sir, on the Bible if you wish. I told no one about her. I liked her being here. She was kind, sometimes this last winter she would give me pennies, let me sit by the fire indoors if Master and Toby were out, She said she knew what it was to be cold and hungry.' His eyes filled with tears again. I guessed he had had no kindness from Yarington nor from the steward. Only from the whore.

I sensed there was something more, something he was keeping back in his fear. But if I told Harsnet of my opinion, the boy would be dragged with the others to the Archbishop's prison. And some- thing within me rebelled at that, I could not do it.

'Master Shardlake!' Harsnet's voice called from outside, making the boy jump.

'I must go now, Timothy,' I said. 'But I will come and see you tomorrow. You will be without a place now your master is dead. Toby said you have no family.'

'No, sir.' He sniffed. 'I will have to go a-begging.'

'Well, I will try to find you a place. I promise I will come again tomorrow, and we will talk more, eh? For now, close the stable door and go to sleep.'

'I told the truth, sir,' he said. 'I told nobody about Abigail.'

'Yes, I believe you.'

'Did the constables catch the man who killed Master?' 'No. Not yet. But they will.'

I left the stable. Outside, I bit my lip. What if he ran away? But he would not, not with the prospect of another place. He knew something, and it would be easier to find out what it was once he had got over his initial shock.

'Master Shardlake!' Harsnet called again impatiently from the open doorway.

'Yes, I am coming!' Suffer the little children, I thought bitterly.

I joined Harsnet, who had gone down the street and stood looking at the church with Barak.

'How did the killer know about Yarington's whore?' He sighed. 'I'll have the girl and that servant questioned hard, but I don't think they know anything. What about the boy?'

'He told no one about Abigail. I said I'd come and see him again tomorrow, when he's calmer. He will be without a place now. I told him I'd try and find him one.'

He looked at me curiously. 'Where?'

'I don't know yet.'

'I hope you can. Or if he lives he'll grow to be another beggar starving in the streets and threatening the peace.' He shook his head. 'I would they could be cared for, and brought to God.' His anger seemed to have passed.

'My friend Roger was starting up a subscription among the lawyers for a poor men's hospital.'

'Good,' he said. 'That is needed. Preachers too. The beggars are utterly devoid of the fear of God. I've seen that in my work.'

'They are outcasts.'

'So were our Lord and his disciples. But they had faith.' 'They thought a better world was about to come.' 'It will,' he said quietly. He smiled at me. 'I am sorry for my anger earlier. You will still come to dinner tomorrow?'

'Of course.'

'I wonder if Yarington had any family. I will find out from the servants.' He turned as the guards appeared in the doorway. Abigail and Toby slumped between them, looking terrified. 'I must go with them.' Harsnet bowed quickly, and walked away.

'I don't envy them,' Barak said as the two were led away.

Chapter Twenty-five

Barak and I walked back to Chancery Lane. I was bone-tired, the stitches in my arm tweaking and pulling.

'We should have a few hours' sleep when we get back,' Barak said. In the moonlight he too looked exhausted. 'There's Adam Kite's case tomorrow, then Smithfield with Harsnet, then the dean.' He groaned at the thought of it all.

We walked on in silence for a while. Then Barak said, 'That poor arsehole Yarington a lecher, eh?' He sounded almost back to his usual mocking self, perhaps glad to be dealing with ordinary human weakness again after the horror at the church.

'Yes. And the killer knew that somehow.'

'How?'

'I don't know. If we can find out, we may have him.' 'What will he do next?'

'It's impossible to say. As Hertford said, the fifth prophecy is vague.'

'What do you think those people are hiding — Lockley and the dean? They're hiding something.'

'Yes, they are. We must find out tomorrow.'

'Do you think they were part of some nest of sodomites? The monasteries were full of those filthy creatures.'

'I don't know. Lockley certainly didn't strike me as being inclined that way.'

'You can't always tell.'

'You sound as fierce against sin as Harsnet.'

He grinned. 'Only sins I don't feel drawn to myself,' he said with a flash of his old humour. "Tis always easy to condemn those.'

We arrived back at Chancery Lane. 'I must go and see that boy Timothy first thing,' I said wearily. Behind a window I saw a lamp raised. Harsnet's man Orr, on watch.

'What if he makes a run for it in the night;'

'He won't run. I told you, he needs a new place.'

'And how are you going to conjure that out of thin air for him?'

'I have an idea. I will not let him down. Now come, I am too tired to talk more. We need a few hours' sleep, or we shall be seeing double tomorrow.'

When we reached home I asked Barak to have me wakened no later than first light, and wearily mounted the stairs to bed. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep. Lying in bed in the darkness I kept turning Yarington's terrible death over in my mind, trying to fit it into the pattern of the others. At length I got up, threw my coat over my nightshirt and lit a new beeswax candle. The yellow glow spreading from my table over the room was somehow comforting.

I sat at the table, thinking. I was sure the killer had been there when we got Adam down from London Wall. Yarington had been there too. Was that when the killer had decided that Yarington would be his next victim; No, that spectacle had been planned a long time, and Yarington's fornication with that poor girl had been known to the killer. But how, when the cleric had kept it so secret; It had not been a matter of common knowledge like Roger's and Dr Gurney's turning away from radical reform, or poor Tupholme's noisy affair with Welsh Elizabeth.

It was important to see that boy tomorrow, find out if he knew anything. I had not seen nearly enough evidence to be sure that Goddard was the killer. But if not Goddard then who was he, this man who knew about medicine and the law and mixed, or had mixed recently, with the radical sectaries; I wondered uneasily whether Harsnet was pressing the radical reformers enough for information; he would be far gentler with his own people than with Abigail.

The old law book was on my desk. I had borrowed it from the library. I opened it again to the case of Strodyr, smelling dust and ancient ink again. Strodyr too must have planned his killings with care, to go undetected for years. I read again how he refused to say anything at his trial but that he had often raged 'most obscenely' against the wicked trade of whores. Did our killer too somehow believe he was doing God's work, or was it all some terrible game? Or were both the same in his unfathomable mind? I remembered the German Anabaptists, who in overthrowing society in Munster believed that in their violence they were pushing forward God's will, bringing Armageddon about all the faster. Perhaps the killer believed each step was a symbolic fulfilment of the Revelation prophecies, that he would bring about the end of the world. I resolved to talk to Guy again. At last, I fell asleep.

I was still deeply asleep when Joan knocked gently at the door. I rose slowly, my back stiff and sore, although my arm ached less. I decided to leave off the sling. I went to the window and looked out. The sky was lightening, clear and blue with light fluffy clouds. For the first time in several days I did my back exercises, grunting as I twisted and stretched. Then I dressed and went downstairs. I scratched at my stubbly cheeks, conscious I needed a visit to the barber.

In the parlour Barak, dressed in his shirt and upper hose, was already breakfasting on bread and cheese and wizened apples.

'Last year's apple crop is drying out quickly,' he said.

'I'll get Peter to open up a new barrel. They'll be fresher.'

'Is your arm better?'

'Yes, it is today.'

'Young Piers did a good job, then.' I pulled the loaf towards me. 'Is Tamasin not up yet?' 'Just. She is getting lazy.' I looked at him and he reddened. 'Her bruises are going down, and her mouth is healing, but she still doesn't like to be seen. She'll be all right in another day or two. She's still furious about that tootlvdrawer asking her to sell him her teeth.'

'She could have been killed that night,' I said seriously. 'And it happened because of our work. My work.'

Barak put down the remains of his apple. He was silent a moment, then said, 'I hate this job, chasing after this lunatic or devil' possessed man or whatever he is. I suppose I've been taking it out on Tamasin.' He shifted uncomfortably.

'Why?' I asked gently.

'Because she's there, I suppose. It's no way to treat your wife, I know.'

I asked quietly, 'Do you still want her for your wife?'

'Of course I do.' He glared at me, and I wondered if I had gone too far, but then he sighed and shook his head. 'I know I've been a churl, but—' he ran his fingers through his thick, untidy brown hair—'somehow you get into a way of behaving and it's hard to get out of it.' He sighed again. 'But when all this is over I've decided to leave the Old Barge and see if I can't find a decent little house for us to rent nearer to Lincoln's Inn.'

I smiled. 'That is marvellous news. Tamasin will be so pleased.'

'And I'm going to stay home more. Spend less time in the — er — taverns.' His hesitation made me wonder if Tamasin's suspicions had been right and he had been seeing other women.

'Have you told her?' I asked.

'Nah. I'll wait till things have settled down a bit.'

'But you should tell her now.'

He frowned. I realized I had gone too far. 'I'll tell her when I think it's right,' he said brusquely. 'I'll get dressed, then I'll tell Peter to get Sukey and Genesis saddled and ready.' He got up and went out.

His mention of Peter reminded me of my promise to the boy Timothy. I paused to eat some bread and cheese, slipped one of the wrinkled apples into my pocket and went to the kitchen. There I found Joan and Tamasin. Tamasin was sitting at the table, slicing vegetables for the evening meal. Her bruises were less puffy now, but still horridly colourful, red and black, and her face was still swollen. Joan looked up at me and smiled, but Tamasin put a hand up to hide her face.

Joan was washing, bent over a large wooden bucket. Her face, surrounded by her white coif, was red as she kneaded the wet fabric. I reflected with a pang of guilt that she was near sixty now. Her late husband had once been my steward, and when he died fifteen years ago I had kept her on as housekeeper. It was an unusual arrangement for a single man, despite the difference in our ages, but I had always liked her quiet, motherly ways. I had been going to ask her if she knew of any help that might be needed in the houses near by, but last night a new idea had occurred to me. 'I wonder, Joan,' I said, 'if you could use the help of another boy in the kitchen.'

She thought a moment. 'Peter has a lot to do, between the stables and helping me in here.' She smiled tiredly. 'But I do not know how he would take to having a second boy around.'

I smiled. 'This boy is younger than Peter. We would make it clear he is the senior. I need to talk to this other boy some more, though.'

'It would be good to have someone else, sir.' 'Then I will see what I can do today.'

'Thank you,' she said gratefully. She lifted the bucket of clothes in their dirty water and headed for the yard. Tamasin rose and opened the door for her, then returned to the table.

'Your bruises seem better, Tamasin.'

'They are still a dreadful sight, sir. But I suppose they will be gone soon.'

'How is your mouth?'

'I have little pain there now. That tooth-drawer was good after

all.'

'Guy would not have recommended someone who did not know his work.'

'I still can't believe he offered to buy my teeth, take them all out. I'd be a hideous sight.'

Her tone was sad, drained of emotion. She looked at me. 'What happened last night? Jack would not tell me anything when he came in. Just told me to go back to sleep.'

'He would not have wished to worry you, Tamasin. I am afraid there has been another killing.'

Her eyes widened. 'Were you and Jack in danger?'

'No. No, we found the body.'

'Will this never end?' she asked. 'It is having a bad effect on Jack. On you too, sir, I can see that.' Then she gave a sardonic smile that made her seem years older. 'Or maybe I mistake the fact that Jack is tired of me for the effect on him of hunting this brute.'

'You still love him?' I asked directly.

'Yes,' she answered quickly. 'But I will not go on like this for ever, I will not be ground down to powder as some women are.'

I smiled. 'It was your spirit that attracted him to you in York, I know that.'

She ventured a smile in reply, but it still held a sardonic edge. 'Not my pretty face? Not that it is pretty now.'

'Your pretty face as well. And it will heal. Tamasin, perhaps I should not tell you this but I will. Jack still loves you. He knows he has not been behaving as he should. He has told me that when this is over he will move you out of the Barge, to a good house.'

'He said that?'

'Yes, on my honour. But in confidence, you must not tell him what I have said.'

She frowned. 'But why did he not tell me?'

'He only told me because I was goading him. You know what he is like.'

'Do I? I thought I knew him . . .'

'Give him time, Tamasin. I know he can be difficult but — give him time.'

She looked at me seriously. 'I will, but not for ever,' she said quietly. 'Not for ever.'

The yard door opened and Joan returned, holding the bucket to her hip. 'I had better go to the stables,' I said. 'Jack will be wondering what has happened to me. We have some visits to make this morning. Think of what I have said, Tamasin.'

She nodded and smiled. I went out to the stables, where Barak was talking to Harsnet's man Orr, who straightened his cap as I approached. I liked him. He was quiet, watchful, unobtrusive. 'A quiet night?' I asked him.

'Yes, sir.'

I looked at Barak, feeling a sudden rush of irritation. How could a man be so foolish as to go into a prolonged sulk - for that was how it seemed — with a woman of Tamasin's qualities? If it had been me and Dorothy — I suppressed the thought.

'Ready?' I asked brusquely. 'Then let's get going.'

We rode back through the city to Yarington's house. The horses plodded along contentedly. When we reached our destination we tied Sukey and Genesis up outside and I feared for a moment the boy had run off after all. If so, my softness might have lost us vital evidence. But Timothy was in the stable, sitting on his bucket beside the horse. He had been crying again; there was a bubble of snot at one nostril.

'Good morning, Timothy,' I said gently. 'This is my assistant, Barak.'

He stared at us with frightened eyes.

'It's cold in this stable,' Barak said gruffly. Timothy would remind him of his own urchin childhood.

'I have a position for you,' I told the child. 'Working in my house. Kitchen and stable work. How would you like that?'

'Thank you, sir,' he brightened. 'I — I will do my best.'

I took a deep breath. 'There is a condition, though.'

'A what, sir?'

'Something you must do for me. You must tell me something. Yesterday you said that you told no one about Abigail?'

'No, sir. I didn't. I didn't.' But he reddened, squirmed uneasily on the bucket. The horse, sensitive to changes of mood, turned and looked at him.

'But there is something else, isn't there?'

He hesitated, looked between me and Barak.

'Come on, lad,' Barak urged.

'I promise you Abigail will come to no harm,' I added. 'But I think there is something more you did not tell me.'

Timothy breathed hard, the snot quivering at his nostril.

'Tell us, lad,' Barak said. 'Master Shardlake's house is warm. You'll like it there.'

'I watch people,' the boy blurted out suddenly. He pointed to a knot-hole in the stable door. 'Through there. I get tired of being in here all the time.'

'Master Toby did not let you out much?'

'Only to help clean the house. I'm sorry if it was wrong, looking.' 'What did you see?' I asked quietly.

'Tradesmen who called. The egg-man. The chimney-sweep, and the carpenter to repair the wooden screen when Toby knocked it over. But that was before Abigail came.'

'And after?'

'A man used to come and see Abigail sometimes. When the master was out and Toby had his day off. Toby didn't know about it.' He bowed his head.

'Who was he?' I asked.

'Don't know.' He shook his head.

'Did he come often?'

'A few times. This winter. When there was snow on the ground.' 'Was he a tall man, a gentleman?' I asked, thinking of Goddard. 'No, sir.' Timothy shook his head again. 'He was young.' 'How young?'

He thought for a moment. 'I don't know — maybe twenty.'

'What did he look like?'

'Taller than either of you. Strong-looking, like him.' He pointed to Barak.

'Fair or dark?'

'Dark. He was handsome. Abigail used to say he had a handsome face.'

'She talked to you about him?' I tried to keep a tremor of excitement from my voice.

'Not much, sir. I told her I'd seen him. She said the less I knew the less I could tell. She didn't like me knowing.'

'So he used to visit her secretly.'

'Yes.'

'Did she know him before she came here?'

'I don't know,' Timothy said again. 'Honestly, sir, I don't know that.'

'Was he in the reverend's congregation?' I asked.

'Don't know, sir. I only saw him because he came round the back door. When master was out. Please.' He began to look upset. 'Please, sir, I've told you all I know.'

'All right,' I said. 'Thank you, Timothy. Now come, you are coming back with us. Barak, take my papers on to court. I will join you there after I have delivered Timothy home.'

He looked dubious. 'Shouldn't you clear it with Harsnet, before taking him?'

'No. Timothy's master is dead, and I am buying his services.' I leaned close to Barak. 'And I want him kept safe at my house. He may be the only one that has seen the killer and lived.'

'Whoever he was trying to describe, it doesn't sound like God- dard.'

'No.' I nodded and looked at him. 'It doesn't, does it?' Timothy had got to his feet. He laid a hand on the horse's flank. 'Please, sir, may I take Dinah too?'

'I am sorry, lad, no. We already have two horses.'

He bit his lip. I thought, the horse and Abigail are probably the only friends he has ever had. But I could not take another horse I did not need.

Barak reached out a hand. 'Come on, sniffly,' he said kindly. 'Let's get you home and safe.'

Chapter Twenty-six

I rode along slowly back to Chancery Lane, the boy trotting along at my side, one hand on Genesis' harness to avoid being separated from me in the crowded streets. I reflected that Harsnet would not be pleased at my news, certain as he was that Goddard was the killer. As of course he still might be, but we must find the identity of this man who had visited the prostitute. It was still early, the shopkeepers again opening up and throwing out any beggars they found in their doorways. One, a young man, had collapsed in the street and was being half carried by two others. Timothy looked at the scene then up at me, his face frightened. On impulse I halted and told him to climb up behind me.

We reached my house, and I could see from his wide-eyed expression that Timothy was overawed by its size. I led him inside and through to the kitchen, where Joan was working. I was pleased to see that Harsnet's man Orr was helping her, peeling potatoes. Joan exclaimed at the boy's dirtiness, gave him a bucket of water and ordered him to the stable to wash himself down. He went out obediently. Young Peter was in the kitchen and greeted Timothy with a surly nod. Joan frowned at him. 'You had better treat Timothy well, he is younger than you and in a new place. You should be pleased he will be doing some of the jobs you don't like. Now take him those old clothes of yours I looked out to cut up because they had got too small.'

'Yes, Mistress Joan.' Peter sidled out of the room. Joan smiled at

me.

I smiled back. 'Degree matters for everyone, does it not? Even kitchen boys.'

'It's as much the fear of losing a place. So many beggar boys in London now, you can always find one cheaper than the one you have.'

'Yes. Such competition brings fear.' When this was over, I decided, I would hire a man, too, to help Joan. I could easily afford it.

I went upstairs to change into my best robe. Although the day was the warmest so far, I felt cold, and the stitches in my arm ached as I dressed. I ran over the arguments I had prepared for Adam's case, for the court to receive regular reports on his care, and for his fees to be met out of the Bedlam funds. I had arranged for Guy to be present to testify that Adam was so ill he needed the court's protection. As for his release, I felt there was no question now but that he was safest where he was.

Would he ever be cured, I wondered, or would he stay forever imprisoned in that terrible agony of soul? And what of the killer we were hunting? Did he suffer? My sense was that he enjoyed what he did, the meticulous planning and the cruel execution. Already, somewhere out there, he was planning his next killing. I had the part of the Book of Revelation that dealt with the seven angels off by heart now: 'And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom waxed dark; and they gnawed their tongues for pain.' The seat of the beast, I knew, was supposed to be the lair of the devil. 'They gnawed their tongues for pain.' I shivered.

Barak was waiting for me in the crowded vestibule of the Court of Requests. I looked around the familiar scene: the parties sitting round the walls watching the lawyers negotiating in the centre of the room. I recognized an elderly couple sitting with my fellow-'pleader in Requests, Brother Ervin. Ervin gave me a curt nod; I had greatly added to his workload by standing out of most of my cases. I would lose money by this, I supposed, though that was the least of my worries; I had enough. The old couple, who were pursuing a claim against their landlord and had come all the way from Lancashire to find justice, gave me hurt looks. Daniel and Minnie Kite stood huddled together in the doorway with Guy, dressed in his physician's robe and cap. Barak and I joined them.

'Adam's not here, sir,' Daniel said anxiously.

'We are a little early. They will bring him.'

'Will they be gentle with him;' Minnie asked anxiously.

'This judge is a fair man. Is Reverend Meaphon not with you today;'

'He's been detained at a neighbouring parish. The minister there is sick.'

I was interrupted by a hard tap on my injured arm, which made me wince. I turned to find myself looking at a short, spare man in his forties, dressed in an expensive fur-lined coat, a silk velvet cap on his head. His thin face had the red puffiness and broken veins of a hard drinker.

'Are you here for that Kite boy;' he asked in a peremptory tone. I bowed. 'I am, sir.'

'I am Sir George Metwys. Warden of the Bedlam. I am here at the request of Archbishop Cranmer.' He glared at the Kites and at Guy. 'I do not know why the Archbishop has interested himself in these people.'

'I am grateful for your attendance, sir,' I said smoothly. 'Perhaps you could indicate whether you will be opposing my applications. For Master Kite's welfare to be reported regularly to the court, and his fees to be paid from the Bedlam funds.' Paid by you from the profits you take from the paying inmates, I thought. You will have a little less to get drunk on.

'I won't be opposing,' Metwys grunted. 'I've had a hint from Cranmer's people. Though if I had my way—' He broke off as a rattling sound and then a groan echoed round the crowded chamber. Everyone turned round. Keeper Shawms, assisted by two stout under- keepers, was dragging Adam into the vestibule. His legs were chained together, and the keepers held him up by his stick-like arms. He was trying to sink to the floor to pray, groaning when they would not let him. Shawms looked red with embarrassment. Daniel Kite bit his lip and his wife let out a sob. Adam, his head bowed, did not even look at us as he passed. He gave off a foul odour.

I watched as the keepers manhandled Adam on to a bench and sat beside him. On either side people shuffled away, one man crossing himself. Somehow the spectacle of Adam's condition seemed more terrible in this familiar environment, than it had in the Bedlam or even when he was shrieking on top of London Wall. Minnie made a move towards him. Guy laid a restraining hand on her arm. 'Not now,' he whispered.

'What an exhibition,' Metwys said. He glared at Adam and his keepers. Shawms, seeing the warden, rose and bowed deeply.

We waited uncomfortably for a further half-hour. From where Adam sat there was a periodic clank of chains as he tried to lurch down on to his knees. Guy went over to try and talk to him but today he made no impression; he returned defeated.

Barak had been watching the scene fixedly. 'Jesu,' he muttered as Adam tried to lurch forward again. 'This is a nightmare.'

At last the usher appeared and called everybody into court. I went to the advocates' bench in the front and laid out my papers. Metwys took a seat at the back, away from Adam and his keepers. Barak and Guy and the Kites sat with Adam on a bench near the front. Judge Ainsworth appeared from an inner door and sat down on his bench. As he cast his eyes over the court Adam let out a groan. Ainsworth looked at me.

'I think we will take the case of Adam Kite first,' he said. 'Brother Shardlake?'

I outlined my applications. Ainsworth nodded slowly, then cast a sharp look at Shawms. 'This poor creature looks to be at death's door,' he said. 'Are you feeding him?'

Shawms rose, looking red and uncomfortable. 'Sometimes he will not eat, your honour. He has to be spoon-fed like a child, and sometimes he spits it out over the keepers.'

'Then you must redouble your efforts, fellow.' He turned to Metwys. 'Sir George, you are Warden. What say you to these applications?'

Metwys rose. 'I am willing to consent, your honour. I wish to discharge my responsibilities to the best of my abilities. But it is our rule that we only take people in the Bedlam who can be cured, and for a limited time.'

'But surely there are many who have been there for years, their relatives paying for their keep?'

I thought of the keeper Ellen, who had said she could never leave.

Metwys looked as if he might choke. 'Only when their relatives cannot care for them themselves.'

'And are rich enough to pay to be rid of them.' Ainsworth tapped his quill on the desk. 'I am minded to grant this order, though normally this would be a matter for the Court of Wards and Liveries. But I am concerned at how long this situation may last.' He turned to Guy. 'Dr Malton, you have been treating this boy. What do you say?'

Guy stood. 'Adam Kite is very sick, your honour. He has come to believe himself cast out of God's favour, for reasons I do not fully understand. Yet I believe that I can help him.'

'Then he is not some wild heretic?'

'No, your honour. Though I can see how his actions could be interpreted in that way.' He paused. 'From the point of view of public order he is best kept where he is. But I too would not want him to be left in the Bedlam indefinitely.'

'That would be a little unfair on Sir George Metwys' purse.' Ainsworth permitted himself a little smile, then looked again at Adam.

'Is there any point in my questioning him?' Ainsworth asked me. 'None, your honour. I doubt Master Kite is even clear where he

is.

'Yet you think he can be helped; How long do you think you will need?'

Guy hesitated. 'I do not know. But I am willing to treat him without payment.'

'Then I will make the order. Reports to me every fourteen days. Payments to be made from the Bedlam funds subject to review by me. Review hearing in two months.' He looked again at Adam. 'This boy is very young. Too young to be left to rot indefinitely in the Bedlam because in his madness he says dangerous things.' He turned to me. 'At law, if he is insane, he should be made a ward of court. Yet the Privy Council have not warded him. So at the moment he is in a state of legal non-existence.'

'That is so, your honour.'

'At the Privy Council's will. But these, I suppose, are the times we live in.' He looked at me. 'Make sure he is cared for, Serjeant Shardlake.'

'I will, your honour.'

Ainsworth looked down at his papers, and I nodded to Barak. He nudged Shawms. The keepers manhandled Adam into the passage, and I walked out with Daniel and Minnie. Metwys followed at a distance.

Outside, Daniel and Minnie expressed their thanks. Guy offered to walk part of the way home with them. They nodded, turning sorrowful eyes to where Adam was being hauled through the door, followed by many curious looks. Barak and I left them on the courthouse steps. The rain had stopped, though the skies were still leaden.

'No sign of Harsnet,' Barak said.

'We'll have to wait.' I watched the receding figures of Guy and the Kites. Guy's tall head was bent to hear something Minnie was saying.

'By God, the old Moor will need all his skills.' Barak's voice was suddenly full of angry emotion.

I turned to him. 'The hearing today upset you?'

'Wouldn't it upset any human creature; Sometimes. . .' He hesitated.

'What?'

'Sometimes these days I feel that everywhere I look there is madness and darkness and devils.'

'We are bound to find the killer now, as we are to aid Adam Kite.' I spoke quietly, to myself as much as to him.

'Ay, and here comes the man of sure and certain faith to tell us where to go next.' Barak nodded to where Harsnet was approaching, his coat swirling round him as he shoved through the crowds around the court. He looked weary, exhausted.

'The girl's escaped,' he began without preliminary.

'Abigail?' I asked. 'The prostitute? How?'

'Asked to go to the jakes and slipped out through the window. It's on the first floor, she's lucky she didn't break her neck.' 'What about Yarington's steward?'

'Oh, he's safe in the Lollards' Tower. Whining creature. But there's no more to be got out of him.'

'I have some news at least,' I said. I told him what the boy Timothy had said. Harsnet thought hard for a moment, then shook his head.

'That might mean nothing. Abigail's visitor isn't necessarily the killer.'

'But who else would know Yarington was keeping a whore? Unless he had a history of it.'

'He didn't.' Harsnet shook his head. 'I've spoken to all the congregation. As far as they were concerned, Yarington was a man devoted to celibacy. It was only in these last few months he started being cautious about people coming to his house.'

'Any progress in finding Goddard?'

'I've asked the London city council and the coroners and sheriffs of Kent, Surrey and Middlesex to seek out a well-to-do family of that name, whose son went for a monk. Nothing. And I've put the word around so that questions are being asked among all the radical churches and religious groups.' He looked at me seriously. 'That is a delicate matter, it is fortunate I am trusted there. But no one so far knows anything of a man of Goddard's description.'

'Perhaps a handsome young man with dark hair, such as Timothy described, should also be asked for?'

'There could be hundreds such,' Harsnet said irritably. 'But I will ask,' he added more quietly. He looked at me. 'I am going to have to change our arrangements today. I am due to meet with Lord Hertford. Bonner is extending his search for butchers and performers of forbidden plays down to Westminster, but it's not his jurisdiction. We are going to try and stop him.' He looked across the courtyard to the Painted Tower, where Parliament was meeting, two guards in the red coats of the King's livery standing with pikes at the bottom of the steps. 'They are going to pass the Act forbidding Bible-reading to all but men of gentleman status,' he said quietly. 'The King has sanctioned it. Our backs are against the wall.' He sighed. 'I will have to leave you to go to Lockley yourself, Serjeant Shardlake, but say you have my authority and he'll find himself arrested if he doesn't cooperate. Let me know what happens. Can you meet me here again in three hours?'

'Yes. It might be worthwhile using the time to visit young Cantrell again,' I suggested. 'Though I don't think he knows any thing more.'

'Yes. Anything. Anything that may help us, Master Shardlake.' He gave me a desperate, harried look, then turned to go.

'Should we cancel our dinner tonight?' I called after him.

He waved a hand. 'No, no, we have time for that.' Then he walked quickly away.

We returned to Chancery Lane. The streets were crowded now, and I felt nervous and vulnerable as we rode along. My arm hurt too. When we arrived home Philip Orr was sitting in the kitchen, repairing a broken box. 'No sign of anyone around that shouldn't be?' I asked.

'No, sir,' he said seriously. 'Thank the Lord. Just the usual beggars in Chancery Lane.'

'Hanging around up to no good, like the lawyers?'

He gave me a puzzled look. Like many of the radicals, he had little sense of humour.

'I expect you will be glad when this is over, to be able to get back to your normal work,' I said. I realized I did not know what Orr's usual work was.

He smiled sadly. 'Spending my days in this kitchen is restful compared to my normal duties, sir. I assist Master Harsnet in collecting the bodies of those who die. I take them to the storage place. And I ensure order in the court, and sometimes go and chase up witnesses who do not wish to appear.'

'Your master will be missing you, then.' I realized Harsnet had deprived himself in order to ensure our security.

‘I have an assistant, he will aid him as he can.'

We set out again to Smithfield. 'Harsnet didn't sound like he's having much luck with his search,' Barak said. We had reached the country lanes now and relaxed our watchfulness.

'London and the neighbouring counties are a large area to scour. Sixty thousand people in London, they say, and more every year.'

'Ay. And the godly folk will be suspicious of questions, even from Harsnet.'

'That is what this man relies on. The anonymity of this heaving city. He could not do what he does in some country parish, or even a small town, without running a much greater risk of being caught.'

'Mad and possessed, Harsnet called him.'

'He is not possessed.' I decided then to tell Barak of the conversation I had had with Guy. As we turned into Holborn and passed the great houses of the rich facing the north side, I told him of De Rais and Strodyr. 'They did what they did for perverted pleasure, neither God nor the devil came into it.'

He nodded slowly. 'Well, that is true of most of the stronger urges men are subject to. If someone has a desire to beat whores, or sodomize boys, the urge seizes them and they have to follow it. Sometimes men who otherwise are quite normal.' He gave me a sidelong look. 'Lord Cromwell knew that, and took advantage of it with his spies in the brothels over at Southwark that cater to special tastes.'

'I know. Obsession,' I said quietly. 'A hidden, all-consuming obsession with violent killing.'

We passed through a busy throng at Smithfield, for it was market- day, and arrived at Charterhouse Square. There were only a couple of beggars sitting on the steps of the old chapel, two older men and an old woman who looked as though they could not move far. The others would be begging at Smithfield, I guessed. I wondered if they supported these old folk, shared the meagre charity they received.

There were a couple of other horses at the rail where we tied Sukey and Genesis up, and the tavern doors were open. Inside it was busy, a group who looked like Smithfield drovers sitting together. Three ragged, weatherbeaten men whom I took to be from the community of beggars sat at one table quaffing ale. Mrs Bunce and Lockley were busy, the latter moving among the tables and the former serving behind the bar hatch.

The clientele looked up curiously as we entered. Lockley caught sight of us, and exchanged a glance with the widow. 'We would like another word, sir,' I said loudly.

'Come into the back.' His tone was low and angry. The clientele looked on with interest as I followed Lockley into a back room, where a moment later Mrs Bunce joined us. It was a cheerless place, with a scored table and some stools the only furniture.

I decided it would do no harm to let Mrs Bunce remain; she might let something slip.

'What is it?' Lockley asked us. His manner today was one of angry hostility. He stood with his fists bunched and glared at us with those sharp, deep-set eyes.

'How now, potman,' Barak said sharply. 'That's no way to talk to a man on business for His Majesty's coroner.'

Lockley sighed, shrugged and sat down at the table. Mrs Bunce stood beside him. 'What do you want?' Lockley asked, more quietly.

'We have not found Infirmarian Goddard yet.'

'Pox on him.'

'Are you sure you know nothing about him that could help us?'

'I told you all I knew last time. Goddard wasn't interested in the lay infirmary. He sneered at me for my ignorance but let me get on with treating the patients. I had to do everything myself. So far as he was concerned the patients in the lay infirmary were just a nuisance.'

'And those in the monks' infirmary? The ones the young Cantrell dealt with?'

'Goddard had to take better care of them, or he would have had to answer to the community. He kept a close eye on young Cantrell. Made him get glasses when it was clear he couldn't see properly.'

'I told you before that we are investigating a death. We think it possible that Goddard may have murdered someone.'

'How?'

'I may not say. Only that it was a violent attack.'

I would swear that Lockley seemed relieved. He laughed contemptuously. 'Goddard would never attack anyone. He was a cold man, and a lazy devil, never there when you wanted him. And he had plenty of money, I know that. Why should he kill someone?'

I nodded slowly. 'Yes, I can see you believe that,' I said quietly. Then I looked him in the eye. 'But I think you are hiding some- thing. Something else to do with Goddard. I advise you to tell me what it is.'

Lockley clenched his fists harder on the table. Strong, solid fists, callused with years of hard work. His face grew red.

'Will you leave me alone!' His sudden exclamation startled me, and I saw Barak's hand go to the hilt of his sword. 'I know nothing — nothing! Leave me alone! All my life it's been nothing but pester, pester, pester. The patients, Goddard, that wretched barber-surgeon and that church of his, saying I was damned. And you!' He turned round to Mrs Bunce and glared at her. Then he put his head in his hands and groaned. 'I don't know whether I'm coming or going.'

I looked at Barak, astonished by this childish outburst. Ethel Bunce's mouth set in a tight line, but I saw tears in her eyes.

'What are you hiding, Master Lockley;' I asked quietly. 'Tell us, and perhaps that will resolve your confusion.'

'He knows nothing, sir, I'm sure,' Mrs Bunce said. 'You should have seen the state he was in when I met him, given over to drink, spending the last of the money he had. Francis is not as strong as he looks—' Lockley jumped up suddenly, the chair banging on the floor behind him. 'Get out, both of you, get out!'

'You could find yourself arrested, and questioned in a hard place if you will not answer me,' I said quietly.

'Then do it, do it! I'm past caring! To hell with you all! I'm going back to my customers!' He started walking to the door. Barak made to step in front of him, but I shook my head. Lockley left, moving quickly for a fat man. Mrs Bunce hesitated, then looked at us beseechingly.

'Francis is not strong in his mind, sir,' she said. 'What he says is right, all his life he has been pestered by people who think they are better than he is.'

'So have most people,' Barak answered unsympathetically.

'But Francis can't take it, it affects him. I have tried to help him, but I think it has ended by him seeing me as another — persecutor. Though I'm not, I love him.' She looked at us bleakly.

'All right, madam, leave us,' I said.

When she had gone Barak said, 'We should arrest him.'

'We don't have the authority.' I sighed. 'We'll tell Harsnet what's happened. My guess is he'll send some men up tonight, when the tavern is closed.'

'Could he be our man?' Barak asked. 'Most people would be terrified at the prospect of arrest, but he seemed hardly to care. His own woman said he is not quite right in himself.'

I shook my head. 'Running a tavern is a full-time job. He couldn't possibly have done what the killer has done without Mrs Bunce knowing. And I can't see him killing Roger or the others, I just can't see it.'

'You don't know.'

I looked at him seriously. 'If the killer was Lockley, do you think he would let us take him alive? No, let Harsnet deal with him.'

Chapter Twenty-seven

We decided to ride back down to Westminster from Smithfield; it would take less time than riding the horses back home and catching a wherry. We rode along Holborn, right out into the countryside, taking a short cut over the fields to Drury Lane. A pair of hares were boxing in the field, jumping wildly about. 'Spring is truly here,' Barak said.

'Ay, yet I seem to feel cold all the time these days, as though winter has lingered on in me.'

I felt anxious as we rode down into Westminster, with all its noise and smells and danger. Under the old bell-tower in the Sanctuary we saw a group of gypsies had set up a stall, a piece of brightly coloured canvas showing the moon and stars with a table in front. Two were playing flutes to attract attention, while at the table an old woman was telling fortunes from the cards. Barak stopped to look, and indeed with their faces almost as dark as Guy's and their fantastic costumes of embroidered turbans and bright, trailing scarves, the gypsies were an arresting sight. These colourful newcomers to our shores were expelled by the King some years ago, but many had escaped and some had gravitated to the Sanctuary. They seemed to be doing a good trade, though a black-clothed man stood on the fringes of the crowd, waving a Testament and denouncing them for heathenish practices. The crowd ignored him; the Sanctuary was not a godly place.

'Come on,' I said, looking nervously over the crowds. 'I don't want to stop here, make a target.'

Barak nodded and pulled on Sukey's reins. We rode past the railing preacher. 'Woe to those who follow the ways of the devil!' he cried.

We rode down into the southern precinct. We had seen from the clock tower in Palace Yard that we were a good hour and a half early for our meeting with Harsnet. We turned towards Cantrell's house. Nearby a pack of wolfish dogs nosed and picked at a pile of rubbish on the corner. I knocked loudly on the door under the faded carpenter's sign while Barak tied the horses to the rail. I was unhappy at leaving them there but we had no choice and Sukey at least would neigh and kick if a stranger tried to untie her. Once again footsteps approached slowly from within, but this time they stopped before reaching the door and Cantrell's voice called out in timorous, cracked tones.

'Who's there? I am armed!'

'It is Master Shardlake,' I called out. 'The lawyer who was here before. What is the matter?'

There was a brief pause, then the bolt was drawn back and the door opened a few inches. Cantrell's thin face looked out; he peered closely at us from behind those thick spectacles that magnified his eyes. 'Oh, sir,' he said with relief. 'It is you.' He opened the door wider. I stared at a long piece of wood he held in his hand. On the end was a large smear of what looked like dried blood.

'Someone attacked me,' he said.

'May we enter?' I asked gently. He hesitated, then opened the door wide to allow us in. The sour, unwashed smell hit us again.

He led us into the bare parlour. A wooden plate with the remains of a greasy meal lay on the table, a pewter spoon black with dirt beside it. I saw the dirty window giving on to the yard was broken. There was glass on the floor.

Cantrell sat down on one of the hard chairs, facing us. We sat at the table. I avoided looking at the filthy plate. I saw rat-droppings in a corner. Cantrell's face looked strained and miserable, several spots coming out on his forehead beneath the greasy blond hair. He placed the stick on the floor.

'What did you want, sir?' he asked wearily. 'Have you found Infirmarian Goddard;'

'Not yet.'

‘I told you all I know.'

'Only a few more questions. But what happened here; Is that blood on your piece of wood;'

'It was two nights ago. I couldn't sleep. I heard breaking glass downstairs. I always keep a piece of wood by the bed in case of burglars.'

'What would they steal;' Barak asked.

'Burglars wouldn't know there is nothing here. I went downstairs. It was dark but I saw the window was open wide. A figure was there, a man. When I came into the room, he just stood there. I don't think he saw the piece of wood. He said something and that let me know where his head was and I hit out.'

'The edge of that piece of wood is sharp,' Barak said. 'You seem to have done some damage.'

'Ay, I got him on the head. He groaned and staggered and I hit him again. Then he got out of the window again, stumbled away.'

'What did he say to you;'

'It was a strange thing for a burglar.' Cantrell frowned. 'What;'

'He said, "It is your time now." Why would he say that;' I looked at him, appalled. Had Charles Cantrell escaped becoming the killer's fifth victim?

'Did you tell the constable?' I asked.

He shrugged his thin shoulders. 'What's the point? There are always burglaries in Dean's Yard. He won't try here again, though. I hope I hurt him hard, I hope he dropped in the gutter somewhere,' Cantrell added with gloomy viciousness.

I chose my words carefully. 'Was there anything you recognized about the man? Anything familiar about his voice?'

He stared at me with those half-blind, fishlike eyes. 'He was just a figure in the dark, a shape. I cannot see anything unless it is close to. Your face is just a blur from here even with my glasses.'

'Was he tall or short?'

'He must have been quite tall. I aimed high.' He thought a moment. 'There was something familiar about that voice. A sharp voice.'

'Could it have been your old master?' I asked quietly. 'Infirmarian Goddard;'

He stared at me in silence for a long moment. 'I — I suppose it could have been. But why — why would that old bastard attack me in my house: I haven't seen him in three years.'

'He would have known your father's house was near the abbey.'

'But why — what has he done, sir: You never told me last time.' There was an edge of shrill panic in Cantrell's voice now.

I hesitated. 'Could I see that piece of wood:'

'I won't get into trouble for this, sir: I was only defending myself

'I know. I just want to see it.'

Reluctantly he passed it over. I had noticed a few hairs among the blood. They were black. Like Goddard's; like the whore Abigail's unknown visitor.

'You dealt him a couple of good blows, by the look of it. But scalp wounds bleed a lot. He may have been more shocked and hurt than damaged.' I passed the stick back to Cantrell. His wrists were skinny, lumps of bone. I thought of Adam.

'You did not answer my question, sir,' Cantrell said.

I sighed. 'Infirmarian Goddard may be - deranged.'

'But why attack me:'

I looked at the broken glass on the floor. Yes, someone had broken in there from outside. Cantrell had not picked up the glass. I wondered whether with his poor vision he was afraid of cutting himself.

'Have you ever had anything to do with the radical religious reformers? The godly men.'

He was silent for a moment. Then he bowed his head.

'It is important,' I said. 'It may explain why you were attacked.'

'When I was a monk,' he said in a quiet voice, bowing his head as though ashamed, 'my father became a reformist. He joined a group that used to meet together at an unlicensed preacher's house, in the Sanctuary. When I left the abbey and came home it was all "You monks got what you deserve, you will go to hell unless you follow the true path of the Word.'" I could sense anger in Cantrell's voice as he imitated his father's harsh, rough tones. 'I was losing belief in the old faith then. I let him drag me to some of these house meetings. There were only half a dozen in the group, they believed they had to prepare for the end-time, had a mission from God to find those he had elected to save and convert them. They were stupid, they only knew a few bits of the Bible that suited their arguments and didn't even understand those. Some couldn't even read. I had read the Bible for years, I could tell they knew nothing.'

'There are many such,' I said.

'Theirs was all idle talk and frantic babble.' Cantrell's voice was louder now, full of bitter anger. 'I only went to keep Father quiet. They kept saying they could save me, they would baptize me in the true faith.' He shook his head. 'My father was already ill when I came home, after he passed away I stopped going.' Cantrell looked up again, staring around the room. 'He had a growth.'

Cantrell's voice was quiet again. 'When he died I feared he might somehow still come back, to chide and rail at me. But he has not, there has been only silence in this house since.' He gave an exhausted sigh then and fell silent himself, lost in a world of his own. I looked around the room, at the filthy table and the broken window. Cantrell might be just about surviving from his monk's pension, but he needed help, someone to take care of him.

'How will you get the window repaired?' I asked. He shrugged. 'Perhaps the neighbours might help,' I suggested.

He shook his head fiercely. 'They're a nosy lot. The old shrew up the street used to come in. Tidying up, interfering with my things, telling me I needed to get married.' He laughed angrily. 'Perhaps I could find a blind woman and we could stumble around the house together. I hardly dare go out for victuals in case a cart runs me down.'

'What happened to this little religious group? Are they still active round Westminster?'

He shook his head. 'The vicar of St Margaret's heard there was some radical preaching going on. He got their leader arrested and the others fled. Last year.' A bitter laugh again. 'So much for their cleaving fast to the True Word. They ran like rats.'

So the fate of the group had become public. What had happened to them, I wondered. The members had probably become involved with other groups, other churches. Perhaps, somewhere among them, the murderer had mixed with them, where he heard Cantrell's name spoken of as a backslider. If the killer was Goddard, he would have recognized the name.

'Can you remember the names of the people in the group?' I asked. He gave me half a dozen. They meant nothing to me, but they might to Harsnet.

'But, sir,' Cantrell asked. 'What is all this to do with Master Goddard?' He blinked at me helplessly. I dared not tell him the whole story.

'I am not sure, Master Cantrell. But I think you may be in need of protection. I might be able to arrange for a guard to come to the house, stay here with you.'

Cantrell shook his head vigorously. 'No. I do not want anyone here. Criticizing and saying the place is filthy.' He looked at me again with those wide swimming eyes. 'If Goddard comes to me again, let him. You won't tell me why he's after me, but I care little if I live or die.'

I looked at Barak, who shrugged. I would try and arrange for a guard to be posted, just the same.

'Do you think me a great sinner,' Cantrell asked suddenly. 'Not to care if I die?'

'I think it a great shame.'

'What is death anyway? Afterwards it will be eternal bliss or eternal torment, one or the other, who may know which these days?' He gave a humourless cracked laugh.

'There is one last thing I would ask you,' I said. 'I have just been to see Francis Lockley again. I gained the impression there was something he was keeping back about Infirmarian Goddard. Some- thing he did not want us to know about the man. Can you think what that might be?'

'No, sir. I had nothing to do with the lay infirmary. I only saw Francis when he came to see Master Goddard, to borrow some implements perhaps.' He shrugged, and I thought, he really does not care about anything, not even his own life or death.

We left the house, returned to the stink and the noise of Dean's Yard. 'He's in a bad way,' Barak observed.

'A state of deep melancholy, I would say. Not surprising given what is life has become, and the condition of his eyes.'

'He could pull himself together a bit. Accept some help. Imagine not caring if you lived or died, but caring if someone thought your house was filthy.'

'When we see Harsnet, I will see if I can arrange a guard. I could not bear to see Cantrell tortured like the others.' I did not think the killer would return to Cantrell now his victim had been alerted, but I could not be sure. 'There is one more piece of information we have,' I said. 'We are now looking for a man with an injured head.'

We led the horses across the road to the gate in the abbey wall. Barak nodded to the guard. There was still an hour before Harsnet was due. I felt a need to be alone for a while. 'Barak,' I said, 'see if you can find somewhere to stable the horses. I am going to take a walk inside the precinct. I will meet you back here in an hour.' 'Are you sure that's safe?'

'I shall be within the precinct. It is guarded. I will see you soon.' To settle the argument I turned away from him, nodding to the guard. Recognizing me, he opened the door in the wall to let me through. I stepped again into the precinct of Westminster Abbey.

Inside, I picked my way through the maze of rubble to the old cloister. All was still and quiet. I walked the ancient flagstones, looking out at the deserted inner courtyard, thinking. I had picked up clues, but they only seemed to deepen the mystery. Was it Goddard we were looking for, or the young man who had visited Abigail? And why had the killer chosen Cantrell to be the fifth victim, as it looked likely that he had? If it was Goddard he would know the lad would be unlikely to be able to help himself. I felt an uncharacteristic satisfaction at the thought of Cantrell bringing that piece of wood down on his assailant's head. I thought how Cantrell, like Meaphon, had a peripheral link to me. I shook my head. It was dangerous and foolish to imagine that the killer was somehow focused on me as an audience. Had the killer not gone out of his way to try and terrorize me into dropping the case? Yet I could not prevent a clutch of fear at my heart at the recollection that I fitted the pattern of a man who had turned away from radical religion.

I realized how weary I was. I decided to take a walk through the ancient Westminster Abbey church, to calm myself. As I paced slowly I saw that the door to the chapterhouse stood half open, and heard voices from within. Hesitantly I walked across. To my surprise, I heard the sound of hammering. I stepped into the vestibule.

A group of black-robed clerks were carefully removing thick rolls of yellow parchment from old chests, laying them on the tiled floor. Workmen, some on ladders, were putting up heavy wooden shelves along the walls. One by one, the maroon-framed scenes from the Apocalypse were being hidden from view. As I watched, a heavy nail was driven through the body of the seven-headed monster.

One of the clerks, a tall young fellow, looked up at me enquiringly. 'Are you from the Rolls House, sir?'

'No — I was just passing, I heard the hammering. Of course, I remember now. The chapterhouse is to be made into a repository for state documents.'

He nodded seriously. 'The paperwork of state just grows and grows, we have to put the ancient documents somewhere.'

I looked at the walls. 'So the old paintings are being covered up.'

He shrugged. 'The windows too, I hear. Well, 'tis all old monkish stuff. What are those little pictures anyway? They're not very good.'

'That is the Apocalypse of St John. The story of Revelation.' At my words one of the clerks looked up, and a workman stopped hammering. The clerk who had spoken to me walked over to the wall, studied a painting of the Great Whore uneasily.

'Is it?' he asked. He thought a moment. 'Well, the end-time should not be portrayed in crude pictures like these.' Another gospel man, I thought.

I left them, following the cloister walk to the door to the abbey church. The church was deserted except for black-robed attendants walking slowly to and fro, their footsteps echoing on the stone flags. The great hushed space, stripped now of all its images and ornaments, was lit dimly by a grey light from the high windows. The monks had prayed here for centuries, now all was stillness, silence. There was only one guard, by the door, and he was asleep. There was nothing of value left to steal; the King had it all.

I walked up to Henry VII's chapel where the King's father lay. There the great vaulted shrine was still in place, the white stone bright in the light from the large windows, contrasting with the dimness of the abbey. I returned to the nave, and walked among the old royal tombs.

I found myself in front of the sarcophagus of Edward the

Confessor, naked stone now. I had seen it in the days before the Dissolution, magnificently framed by rich gold and silver statues and images reflecting the glow of a thousand candles. There had been crutches and walking sticks piled there too, for the tomb was believed to have the power to cure cripples. I remembered that one of the tomb's first cures was supposed to be a hunchback. All nonsense, but nonsense of such power.

I became aware of a group of people nearby, grouped before a bare stone altar adorned only with a cross. Four stout men in livery, holding their caps in their hands, while their other hands rested on their sword-hilts. In front of them a woman knelt on the stone floor, her head bowed. She was beautifully attired, in a red silk dress with black cuffs inlaid with gold leaf, and the hands which she held in front of her, palms pressed together in an attitude of prayer, had jewelled rings on each finger. Her black hood was inlaid with pearls. One of the guards, seeing me looking, shot me a warning glance that said I should not approach. Then the woman lowered her hands with a sigh, and I saw it was the Lady Catherine Parr. She rose to her feet, her dress rustling. The expression on her face was similar to the one she had worn at her husband's funeral, closed in and worried, but as she stood up her face relaxed, the small mouth settling into a mild, gentle expression as she smiled at her guards. She nodded, and they began walking away.

They were halfway to the door when there was a sudden disturbance. I saw a ragged little man was praying before one of the tombs, and no sooner had I registered his presence than he got up and darted out before Lady Catherine, throwing himself to his knees in front of her. I started forward out of some instinct to protect her but her guards had got there first. One of them pointed a sword at the man's throat. Lady Catherine stood with a hand to her breast, shocked and frightened. The man raised his head and I saw it was the mad beggar whom Barak and I had encountered in the infirmary, talking about looking for his teeth.

Then another figure stepped from the shadows with a drawn sword. It was Sir Thomas Seymour, dressed in a dark blue doublet with jewels to match. Lady Catherine turned pale. 'Are you safe, my lady?' Seymour asked.

'Quite safe, Thomas,' Lady Catherine said. She frowned. 'Put down your sword, you foolish man.' She looked down at the beggar.

'Good lady,' the wretched man burst out. 'I cannot find my teeth, I cannot eat, please, my lady, make them give them up to me!'

'You madwag,' the guard said, still holding his sword to the beggar's throat. 'What do you think you're doing, accosting Lady Catherine?'

'My teeth — only my teeth—'

'Let him go,' Lady Catherine said. 'He is out of his wits. I know nothing of your teeth, fellow. I see you have none. But if they are gone, they are gone. Mine will go too one day.'

'No, good lady, you do not understand—'

'We should have him taken in charge, my lady,' the guard said.

'No,' she answered firmly. 'He cannot help himself. Give me a shilling.' The guard lifted his sword, delved in his purse and brought out a silver coin. Lady Catherine took it, then bent and handed it to the man, who still stared up at her with beseeching eyes. She smiled, a gentle smile that reminded me of Dorothy's, though their faces were quite unlike.

'There, fellow, go and buy some pottage.'

The beggar looked from Lady Catherine to the hard faces of the guards, then rose to his feet, bowed and scampered away. Sir Thomas was still standing there, a faint look of amusement on his face. Her guards looked away as Lady Catherine took a step towards him. 'Thomas,' she said, her voice quivering. 'You were told—'

'A servant in your household said you would be coming to the abbey today,' he said. 'I wanted merely to see you, watch you from a distance.' He looked serious. 'But when I saw you might be threatened, I had to draw my sword.' He put his hand on his heart. It seemed to me an actor's gesture, but Lady Catherine's face flickered with emotion for a second. Then she said quietly, 'You know you must not try to see me. It is cruel of you, and dangerous.' She cast a worried look around, her eyes resting on me, still standing at some distance. Sir Thomas laughed. 'The crookback will say nothing, I know him. And I bribed the attendants to stay away from this part of the church for a little while.'

Lady Catherine hesitated a moment, then gestured to her guards and walked away rapidly. Her men followed. Sir Thomas gave the tiniest of shrugs. Then he turned to me.

'You won't say anything, will you?' His tone was quiet, but with a threatening undertone. 'Not to my brother, or Cranmer?'

'No. Why should I wish to be involved?'

Seymour smiled, white teeth flashing in his auburn beard. 'Well judged, crookback.' He turned and walked away, his steps loud and confident.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I rejoined Barak at the gate to Dean's Yard. He stood with the horses, looking watchfully over the crowds going to and fro. I told him about my encounter with Catherine Parr and Thomas Seymour.

He raised his eyebrows. 'He's taking a risk meeting her in Westminster Abbey, if the King's told him to leave her alone.'

'I don't think Seymour intended to talk to her. I think he just wanted her to see him in the shadows, know that he had not forgotten her.'

'He doesn't strike me as the lovelorn type.'

'No. But I think she may be. Where he's concerned, at least.' I shook my head. 'She struck me as an intelligent, good-hearted woman - what could she see in a man like Seymour?'

'A bedmate? She's had one older husband, and another in pros' pect if she marries the King.'

I shook my head. 'Her expression while she was praying seemed fearful, desperate—'

'Sounds like the Lady Catherine really made an impression on you.' Barak grinned wickedly.

'Don't be stupid. It was just — she seemed to have something good and honest in her, that you don't often see in ladies of the court.'

'Nor anyone else there, for that matter—' Barak broke off. 'Watch out, here comes Harsnet. I take it we are saying nothing about Seymour being in the church.'

'No. That's not our business. We know now these killings have nothing to do with Catherine Parr.'

I watched as Harsnet walked across Dean's Yard with his confident stride, looking neither right nor left. The beggars and pedlars did not approach him; perhaps they knew who he was and that he could arrest them on the spot. I had heard they had their own body of knowledge. 'Good afternoon,' Harsnet said. He looked more cheerful than before.

'A good meeting? I asked.

He nodded. 'We are going to be able to stop Bonner spreading his persecution down here. Westminster is well out of his jurisdiction.' He fixed me with his keen eyes. 'What news from Lockley?'

I told him of my suspicion he was still keeping something back, and of the attack on Charles Cantrell.

'I'll have Lockley taken in for questioning after we've seen the dean,' he said. 'What about the wife? Should we take her too?'

'No. I do not think she knows anything.'

'And young Cantrell attacked?' He looked across the yard to the run-down carpenter's shop. He frowned. 'But why in God's name does Cantrell not want someone posted at his house?'

'He says he does not care if he is attacked again. I am not sure he is quite in his right mind.'

'How so?'

'He is half blind, he was thrown out of Westminster Abbey and then saw his father die. He has suffered much.'

'Yet his father and his friends seem to have offered him salvation. I know some of those groups have more wild enthusiasm than deep faith. Yet they are on the right path.' Harsnet looked at me earnestly.

'Whether they are or not, Master Cantrell joined this conventicle and then withdrew from it. That would be enough for our killer to believe he deserved death.'

'I'll arrange for a guard. I'll have one posted there whether he likes it or not.' He sighed. 'But I'm running out of men. I'll have to speak to Lord Hertford, see if he can supply anyone. What were those names that Cantrell gave you?'

I gave Harsnet the names of the group Cantrell's father had belonged to. He rubbed his chin. 'I've heard of one or two of those. I will ask around my contacts.' He took a deep breath. 'And now, let us see what we can get out of Dean Benson.'

The Dean was in his study again, in the fine house set amidst the warren of half-demolished and half converted monastic buildings, labouring over papers. The sound of hammering and sawing was louder today, and his plump face was irritable. When we were shown in he gave us a look of hostile enquiry, bidding us sit down with a patrician wave of the hand.

'I see by your expressions this matter is not resolved,' he said. 'I confess I found the insinuation of involvement from ex-monks from Westminster distasteful.'

'It's more than distasteful,' Harsnet replied sharply, causing Benson to raise his eyebrows. 'There has been another murder, and we can find no trace of Goddard or his family. No trace at all.' His manner was steely, he looked the dean squarely in the eye. Benson frowned.

'And do you know of any direct connection between Goddard and these killings?' he asked smoothly. 'Beyond the suspected use of dwale, and the pilgrim badge? That's little enough to go on.'

'Maybe. But we need to find him.'

'I have told you all I know. I have no idea where Goddard is.'

'Master Shardlake here has been talking to the lay brother who worked in the public infirmary. Francis Lockley.'

The dean grunted. 'Where is Lockley now? Somewhere there's a bottle, I'll warrant.'

'Never mind that,' Harsnet countered sharply. 'The point is we believe he knows something about Goddard, and is hiding it.'

'I do not think he knows Goddard's whereabouts,' I said. 'But he knows something.'

'Well, I do not.'

'I am having Lockley brought in for questioning,' Harsnet said.

'What is that to do with me?' Benson's look did not change, but one plump hand slid across the desk to a quill. He picked it up and began fiddling with it. 'Be very careful how you deal with me,' he went on. 'I have important contacts. I have the gratitude of the King himself for the way I brought Westminster Abbey to a peaceful surrender. I am dean now, I have the responsibility for this great church and its royal tombs.'

'We are hunting a murderer,' Harsnet said. 'Someone who has brutally murdered four people and already tried to murder a fifth.'

'And I tell you again, it has nothing to do with the abbey.' Impatience entered his voice. 'God's bones, man, I knew Goddard. I used to talk to him, he was one of the few monks in this place with any intelligent conversation. But all he ever cared about was his comfort and his social status. The idea of him killing people to fulfil some prophecy in Revelation is — ludicrous.'

'If a man is possessed by the devil,' Harsnet said quietly, 'it does not matter what he was like before. He will be consumed by the desire to do the devil's bidding.'

Benson stopped playing with his quill. 'Possession.' He laughed cynically. 'Is that what you think? That idea will get you nowhere.'

'I saw the wall paintings telling the story of the Apocalypse in the chapterhouse,' I said. 'They are being covered up now, behind shelves and documents.'

'Yes, that was my idea to use the chapterhouse to store surplus records. We have plenty of space in the precinct now. What of it?'

'The monks must have seen those paintings hundreds of times. So must you. I do not think one could look at them day in, day out, and not think about the story they portrayed.'

He shrugged. 'I used hardly to notice them, except to think what poor quality the paintings were.'

'They could still affect a certain type of man.' I met Benson's gaze. He stared at me fixedly for a moment, then pointed his quill at me. 'I know who you are now. I have been trying to think why your name is familiar. You are the lawyer the King mocked at York two years ago. What was it he called you? A bent spider? I heard that story when he returned. People said he compared you to some big Yorkshire fellow you were with. It went down well with the Yorkers.'

I did not reply. 'You are no man of God, sir,' Harsnet said quietly.

Benson turned to him, suddenly angry. 'I am a realist. In the end people like me cause less trouble in the world. When I was a young monk, I saw the system was corrupt and rotten. So I made myself known to Lord Cromwell — there was a realist, if ever there was one — and he gained me the post of abbot. And I made sure this house made a quiet surrender, with no opposition and no scandal, because the King would not have wanted that in the royal resting place. He intends to be buried there one day. And he will be angry if you make a scandal now. So be warned. You may get more than an insult from him the next time.' Benson stood up, indicating the interview was over. I saw from Harsnet's expression that he would have liked nothing better than to take the dean in for questioning himself. But Benson was right, he was a powerful man, and in the absence of any evidence Harsnet had to proceed cautiously. I thought he had not handled the dean well, making his hostility so obvious.

Outside the house, Harsnet turned to me. I could see that he was battling with anger. 'Did you believe him?' he asked.

'I think he, too, is hiding something. But either he believes it is immaterial to our investigation, or he thinks himself safe because of his powerful contacts.'

'His contacts wouldn't protect him if he were hiding information about a murderer four times over.'

'No.' I paused. 'At least, they shouldn't.'

Harsnet set his lips tight. 'Let's see if Lockley says something that will help us put Benson under a bit of pressure. Now I must find a couple of constables and pick Lockley up. I will see you tonight at six, Serjeant Shardlake.' He bowed and strode away.

'I don't envy Lockley,' Barak said.

'No.' I looked back at the dean's house. 'A realist, Benson called himself. Well, he is. I should think, like most of the monks who helped Cromwell, his motives were money and power. I wonder if he ever thinks about the monks who were thrown out, I wonder if his conscience ever pricks him.'

'Didn't look to me like he had one.' Barak winced slightly as a huge block of stone crashed down from the refectory. He looked around the demolition work. Then he laughed.

'What's so funny:'

'That arsehole Benson going on about how he became dean of this place. Look at it. He's master of a heap of rubble.'

'He still runs Westminster Abbey church under the King's favour,' I said seriously.

Barak looked over at the huge church. 'So Henry wants to be buried there,' he said quietly.

'The sooner the better,' I said, more quietly still.

Harsnet lived at the top end of Westminster, in a row of fine old houses in King Street, just down from the Whitehall Palace gatehouse where pennants flew, outlined against the clear blue sky, the setting sun reflected in the tall gatehouse windows. I turned to Harsnet's front door, which had a brightly polished knocker in the shape of a lion's head. I wondered what dinner with his family would be like, but even more I wondered what Lockley had told him.

I knocked at the door and a manservant ushered me into a large parlour. Gold plate shone on the tall wooden buffet, and a wall painting showing the journey of the Magi to Bethlehem covered one wall, with camels and caravan-trains picked out in soft, pleasing colours.

Harsnet was there with his wife. The coroner looked neat and spruce in a black velvet doublet, his beard newly trimmed and showing flecks of grey in contrast to his dark hair. But he had a worried, preoccupied look. His wife was a small round-faced woman, in a brown dress of good quality, with fair hair and bright eyes full of curiosity. She had been sitting on a pile of cushions, embroidering. She got up and curtsied to me.

'Elizabeth,' Harsnet said, 'allow me to present Serjeant Matthew Shardlake, who is working with me on an assignment of - some difficulty. There are some things we should talk about after our meal,' he added. He gave me warning look, and I realized his wife knew nothing about the murders. So I would have to wait for news of Lockley.

Elizabeth spoke in a high, pleasant voice. 'I hardly see Gregory these days, and when I do he looks tired out. I hope you are not responsible for all the work he is doing, sir.'

'Indeed not, madam. I am only his fellow-toiler.'

'Gregory speaks well of you.' I looked at Harsnet, a little surprised for I had thought he would have scant respect for someone not of his rigid faith. He smiled uncomfortably, and I realized again that he was a shy man.

'I have not thanked you properly for sending your man to my house,' I said. 'He is a good fellow, and gives the women a sense of security.'

Harsnet looked pleased. 'I knew he would give good service, he is a member of my church.'

Elizabeth invited me to sit at a table covered with a bright embroidered cloth. 'I hope you like roast mutton, sir,' she said.

'It is one of my favourite dishes,' I answered truthfully.

She rang a little bell, and servants brought in a large dish of mutton and bowls of vegetables. I realized this was the first time I had been out to dinner since that last night at Roger and Dorothy's. Samuel would be gone by now, she would be alone again. I would visit her tomorrow.

The door opened again and a maid ushered in four children, two boys and two girls, ranging in age from perhaps four to ten, hair combed tidily, the younger two in nightshirts. 'Come, children,' Harsnet said. 'Meet Master Shardlake.' The children went and stood obediently beside their father; the two boys bowed to me, the girls curtsied. Harsnet smiled. 'The boys are Absalom and Zealous, the girls Rachel and Beulah.' All Old Testament names, except for Zealous; one of the strange names the radical reformers gave their children now, such as Fear-God, Perseverance, Salvation. The two little girls stared with scarce-concealed interest at my back; the younger boy had his head cast down, but the elder, Zealous, had a surly, angry look. His father laid a hand on his head.

'I hope you have learned well from your beating,' he said seriously. 'To take Our Saviour's name in vain is a great sin.'

'Yes, Father,' the boy said, quietly enough, but his eyes looked angry still. Harsnet dismissed the children, watching as they left the room, then shook his head sadly. 'I had to strike Zealous with the cane for swearing when I came in,' he said. 'An unpleasant part of a father's duty. But it had to be done. I was unaware he knew such words.' He was silent again for a moment, that preoccupied look on his face again.

'Children can be a trial,' Elizabeth said, 'but they are a great comfort, and they are the future.' She smiled at me. 'My husband tells me you are not married.'

'No,' I answered briefly, reaching for another slice of mutton with my knife.

'Marriage is a state to which man is called by God,' she said, keeping her eyes fixed on me.

'So your husband has said,' I answered mildly. 'Well, God has not called me.' I turned to Harsnet. 'You said you had been assistant coroner six years. Where did you read law, sir?'

'At the Middle Temple. Then I worked in Lincolnshire, where my parents came from, for some years. Then the Northern rebellion came six years ago. I raised a troop of men against those papists. Though we had no fighting. They surrendered to us immediately.'

'In Yorkshire it was a different story,' I said.

'By God's grace the rebellion was put down there too. But afterwards I had a message to see Thomas Cromwell. You knew him too, I think.' Harsnet fixed me with that penetrating stare of his.

'Yes, from his early days as a young radical.'

'He was in the days of his great power then. He said he had marked me as a man of ability, asked me to take the post of the King's assistant coroner, the old one having just died.' Harsnet sighed. 'We were happy in Lincolnshire, we did not wish to move, and although the post carries a good salary, like all royal appointments, money has never been our main concern in life.'

'Lord Cromwell was not a man who could be easily refused.'

'Oh, I did not wish to refuse. He told me the post meant one more man of faith at court.'

'He works himself to death, Master Shardlake,' Elizabeth said. 'But we must all play our part as God wills.' She smiled, and I wondered if that was an oblique reference to my single state.

'You said you are thinking of starting a hospital for the poor,' Harsnet said.

I was glad of the change of subject. 'Yes, it was Roger Elliard's idea. To take subscriptions from the members of Lincoln's Inn, perhaps from all the Inns of Court, to fund a hospital for the poor and sick. When I have enough time I intend to start work on the matter.'

He nodded agreement. 'That would be a fine thing. Between these four walls, the King has no interest in spending any of the money gained from the monasteries on replacing their hospitals with some- thing better.'

'No,' I agreed. 'Building palaces is all that interests him, and war with France now the Scots are beaten.'

Harsnet nodded in agreement. 'Ay, and all for vainglory.' 'Gregory . . .' his wife said uneasily.

'I know, my love, we must be careful. But to return to the hospital, Serjeant Shardlake. I would like to help you when your project gets going. I still have contacts at Middle Temple. Where would you build it?'

'I confess I have not thought. Though there is no shortage of land in London since the monasteries went down.'

He nodded. 'Somewhere central. That is where they all gather to beg. We see how they suffer every day. And suffering and uneducated as they are, they lie under a great temptation to doubt God's providence and care.'

'They could be taught the Bible in the hospital,' Elizabeth added.

'Yes.' Harsnet nodded thoughtfully. 'After their bodies have been mended.'

We had finished the meal now. Harsnet caught my eye. 'If you will excuse us, my dear,' he said to his wife. 'Serjeant Shardlake and I need to talk. Shall we go to my study, sir?'

I stood up and bowed to Mrs Harsnet. 'Thank you for that excellent repast, madam.'

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. 'I am glad you enjoyed it. Think, sir, if you were to take a good wife for yourself, you could have such a table every night.'

Harsnet led me to his study, a small room whose main item of furniture was a paper-strewn desk. On one wall was a large fragment of stained glass enclosed within a frame, a design of red and white roses with golden leaves on a dark background in between. It had a pleasing effect, lightening the room. 'That came from the old nunnery at Bishopsgate,' he said. 'I thought it a pretty design, and there are no idolatrous representations of saints to spoil it.'

'It is pretty indeed. But, sir - what of Lockley?'

His whole neat, erect posture seemed to sag as he sat down, waving me to a chair opposite him. My heart sank as I realized there was more bad news to come.

'He's gone,' Harsnet said bleakly. 'Made a run for it. When my men arrived at the tavern they found the Bunce woman in a great state. Lockley had gone out to make an order at the brewer's three hours before and never come back. She said he'd been on edge ever since you came.'

'Well, that proves he was hiding something.'

He had laid a hand on the table, and he suddenly clenched it into a fist. 'Lockley gone. He could be the killer.'

'I don't think so. I don't think he is clever enough, apart from anything else. No, it's some secret to do with those connected with the abbey infirmaries. Barak speculated that there might have been some sodomites there, but I doubt that too.'

'I would bring Dean Benson into custody here and now, but that is not so easy. I have an appointment with Lord Hertford tomorrow, I will see what he can do. He will not be pleased,' he added.

'We do not have much luck.'

'And the killer does. Perhaps that should not be a surprise. With the devil inside him, everything he does succeeds. He seems invisible, untouchable.' He looked at me with an intense, haunted gaze.

'He failed with Cantrell,' I said. 'Would the devil have allowed that?'

Harsnet stared at me, suddenly stronger and harder again. 'I know you do not believe the killer is possessed, sir. But how else can you explain someone doing such wicked, evil things? For no possible personal gain.'

'He must gain something. In his disordered mind. I think he has an insane compulsion to kill. He would not be the first.'

'Madness? If you are to justify that definition, sir, if it is to be more than just a word, you must tell me in what ways his mind is dis- ordered, how and why he is mad.'

'I cannot,' I admitted. 'I can only tell you that there have been similar cases in the past.'

'When?' he asked, surprised.

I told him about Strodyr and De Rais. When I had finished he spread his hands, gave me a sad smile.

'But surely, sir, those are further examples of possession rather than madness as we know it. Whatever that ex-monk Dr Malton may say.'

'Perhaps there will never be an explanation for such men as these.'

'But surely possession is an explanation,' Harsnet said. He leaned forward. 'Acts that make sense only as a wicked mockery of true religion.'

'True religion?' I asked quietly. 'Is that how you would describe the Book of Revelation?'

'How else?' Harsnet spread his hands wide. 'It is a book of the Bible, and all of the Bible is God's word, telling us how to live and find salvation, how the world began and how it will end. We cannot pick and choose which parts of the Bible to believe.'

'Many have doubted whether the Book of Revelation is inspired by God. From the early church fathers to Erasmus in our own day.'

'But the church fathers did accept it. And Erasmus remained a papist. Not a true Bible man. The Book is Holy Writ, and the devil has entered this man to make him blaspheme.'

I did not reply. Harsnet and I would never agree. To my surprise, he smiled suddenly. 'I see I will not convince you,' he said.

I smiled back. 'I fear not. Nor I you.'

He looked at me, not in a hostile way but with compassion. 'I am sorry my wife was so insistent about the virtues of the married state. Women these days will say what they please. But she has a point. Matthew, I may call you Matthew—'

'Of course—'

'I have watched you with interest this last week. Working together gives one a chance to weigh up a man. You are clever, and a moral man.'

'Thank you.'

He looked at me earnestly. 'You were a successful lawyer, who was close to Thomas Cromwell in his early days. You could have been one of the commissioners appointed to do away with the monasteries, I think.'

'I did not want that job. It called for more ruthless men than I.'

Harsnet nodded. 'Yes, a moral man. But a moral man should surely not lack faith.'

'I shared my law chambers once with a good man, a man of the new faith. He left to become a preacher on the roads. I think he is still out there somewhere. I often think of him. But then I have known good men who cleaved to the old faith too.' I looked at him. 'And evil men of both.'

'I think you are uncertain, you are indeed what the Bible calls a Laodicean.'

'Laodicea. One of the churches St John of Patmos criticized in Revelation. Yes, I am uncertain.' I let a coldness enter my voice. I did not want this conversation, I did not want Harsnet trying to convert me in his patronizing way, but I did not wish to be rude to him. His compassion was sincere, and I had to work with him.

'Forgive me,' he went on, 'but do you not think perhaps the state of your back makes you bitter, resistant to God? I saw how it affected you when Dean Benson mentioned the King's mockery of you at York. Sadly that is the sort of thing some men will remember, to throw in your face.'

Now I felt anger. He had gone too far. 'I was a hunchback when I was a man of faith,' I said firmly. 'If I am a doubter now, a Laodicean as you say, it is because for ten years I have seen men on both sides who talk of the glory of God yet harry and persecute and kill their fellow men. By their fruits shall you know them, is not that what the Bible says? Look at the fruits of religion in these last ten years. This murderer has many examples of cruelty and violence to inspire him.'

Harsnet frowned. 'The agents of the Pope show true religion no mercy, and we have to stand fast. You know what Bonner is doing. I do not like hard measures, I hate them, but sometimes they are necessary.' A tic flickered on his cheek momentarily.

'What do you believe, Gregory?' I asked quietly. 'Like Cranmer, that the King has been appointed by God to supervise the doctrine of the Church, that all should be in accordance with his will?'

'No. I believe the true Christian church should be self-governing. No bishops, nor ceremonies. As it was in the early church, so it should be at the end. I believe the end-time is coming,' he concluded.

'Yes. I thought you might.'

'I see the signs, the strange things everywhere in the world like those great fish the waters threw up and the persecution of Christians. The Antichrist is here and he is the pope. This is no time for half- measures.'

'I believe the Book of Revelation was written by a false prophet,' I said. 'Who repeated his dreams and fantasies.'

I thought Harsnet would burst out angrily but the compassionate look remained on his face. He sighed heavily. 'I see you believe what you say, Matthew. And I can see things from your point of view. Believe me, I do not like the things I sometimes have to do, like the way I had to conduct that inquest.' The tic fluttered again on his cheek, twice. 'I prayed hard that day. And I believe that God answered me, confirmed that I must keep the truth of poor Elliard's death secret. I never act without praying, and God answers, and then I know that I have taken the right path.' He smiled. 'And in the end I answer to him, not to mortal men.' He looked at me with passionate seriousness. 'I too doubted when I was young, I think we all doubt then. But one day when I was praying for enlightenment I felt God came to me and it was as if I wakened from a dream. God's love for me was clear, as though my mind had been washed clean.' He spoke with passion.

'I thought I felt the same, once,' I said sadly.

'But it was not enough?'

'No.'

Harsnet smiled. 'Perhaps that time will come again. After this horror is over.' He hesitated, the shyness showing through again. 'I would like to be your friend, Matthew,' he said. 'I am a loyal friend.'

I smiled. 'Even to Laodiceans?'

'Even so.'

I shook his hand. And I wondered whether at the end of this trail of horror, I would regain my faith, or he would lose his.

Chapter Twenty-nine

It was dark when I rode back along the Strand, weary after the long day, past the houses of the wealthy that lined the road from Westminster to London. Gentle yellow candlelight flickered in their windows, lighting the road dimly. There were few people about after the London curfew, but as always these days I was watchful.

The air was still mild, but damp, and looking up at the sky I saw the stars were hidden by cloud. We were going to have rain. The stitches on my arm pulled painfully. Tomorrow if time allowed I would go and see Guy and ask when I might have them out. I wanted to talk to him again too, about Adam Kite and about what sort of creature the killer might be. The conversation with Harsnet had remained in my mind; I did not believe the killer was possessed, but was unsure that I really had any better idea what he was. And I did not know when he might strike again, or where.

When I entered the house Harsnet's man Orr was sitting in the hall, reading a Testament.

'All quiet, Philip?' I asked him.

'Yes, sir. I walked up and down the street a few times, made myself seen. Just the normal traffic. A lot of legal men, a pedlar with his cart crying his wares most of the morning.'

'He's a long way out. I shouldn't think he'd get much passing trade here.'

'So many workless men have gone for pedlars these days, they are getting everywhere.'

'True.' I passed inside, glad Orr was there. I liked his solid conscientiousness. His presence would be a deterrent if our dreadful visitor thought of doing more damage to us.

Inside, all was quiet. I headed for the stairs, then paused on the bottom step as I heard something faintly from behind the closed kitchen door. A woman crying. I walked quietly across and opened the door.

Tamasin was sitting at the table, weeping. A hard, wrenching sound, full of deep misery. Joan was sitting beside her, an arm round her shoulders. Looking past them to the window I saw the two boys, Peter and Timothy, standing outside in the yard, their noses pressed against the pane. I gestured at them and they turned and fled.

'What has happened;' I asked.

Tamasin raised her head and looked at me. Her bruises were almost gone, but her face was red and streaked with tears. I realized it was a long time since I had seen it looking normal.

'It is nothing,' she said.

'Of course it is something.' I heard the impatience in my voice.

'Just a disagreement between her and Jack,' Joan said.

'He came back drunk an hour ago,' Tamasin said bleakly. 'Crashed into our room and gave me foul language for reply when I asked him what was wrong. I will not stand for much more of this,' she said with sudden fierceness.

I frowned. 'Then I will see him. I will not have him drunk in this house.'

I left the room and went upstairs, angry with Barak, and myself too. I had offered to help her, yet had achieved nothing.

I found Barak in his room, sitting on a stool by the bed. When he looked up his face was red, too, but with drink. 'Don't you start,' he said.

'I'll start where I like in my own house. Is this how you keep your promise to make things up with Tamasin;' 'None of your business,' he muttered. 'It is my business if you upset her. Where have you been;' 'Drinking with some old mates. In town.'

'You never used to get drunk like this. Why now? Still because of the lost child?' I added more gently. He did not reply. 'Well?'

'I am sick of this business,' he said. 'Sick to the heart, if you must know. He could strike again tonight. We have nothing, nothing but bits and pieces of information.'

'I know,' I replied, more quietly. 'I feel the same. But you have no right to take it out on Tamasin.'

'I didn't.' His voice became truculent again. 'I came in here and she started going on at me for being drunk. I told her to let me be and when she didn't I called her some names. She doesn't know when to let me alone.'

'You could have told her what ails you.'

He looked at me. 'What? Tell her the man who attacked her is still free, we know fuck all and are waiting for him to kill again? Perhaps attack us again? I hate being so powerless. I wish we could get at him.' He shook his head.

'I think you should sleep this off,' I said. 'And when you wake up, apologize to Tamasin. Or you will lose her.'

'Maybe one of Harsnet's devils has entered me,' he said bitterly.

'Ay, from out of a bottle.' I closed the door, leaving him.

Strangely, I slept well that night, as though my expression of anger and frustration at Barak had released something within me. It began raining heavily as I prepared for bed, drops pattering against the window the last thing I heard. I woke early; the sky was still cloudy, but the rain had stopped for now. It must have gone on all night, for there were large puddles on the garden path beneath my window.

The rest of the house was still quiet; Barak and Tamasin did not seem to be up and I wondered if they had managed to mend things between them at all. From Barak's frame of mind last night, I doubted it. It had felt strange to berate him, for a long time now I had looked on him as a friend rather than a subordinate.

Until some news came from Harsnet's enquiries, and his efforts to put pressure on Dean Benson, there was plenty of work awaiting me at Chancery Lane. First, though, I would visit Dorothy. I wondered how she was faring without Samuel. I wished I had some news of Roger's killer for her. I heard Joan's voice in the kitchen, talking to Orr, but I did not wish to become embroiled in a discussion with her about Tamasin and Barak, and I did not feel like breakfast either, so I left the house quietly. I walked the short distance up Chancery Lane to Lincoln's Inn. The road had turned to mud and I was glad I had put on my riding boots.

At Lincoln's Inn the working day had begun, blacks-robed lawyers stepping to and fro across Gatehouse Court with papers under their arms, the fountain splashing under the grey sky.

Margaret answered the door to Dorothy's rooms. She told me her mistress was at home, going through papers. 'How is she?' I asked.

'Trying to get back to a normal life, I think, sir. But she finds it hard.'

Dorothy was in the parlour. She still looked wan and pale, but greeted me with a smile. 'You look tired,' she said.

'This hunt.' I paused. 'He is still at large. It has been nearly two weeks now, I know.'

'I know you will be doing all you can.' She rose from the table, wiping her quill and setting it by the papers. 'Come, this wretched rain has stopped. Will you take me for a walk in Coney Garth? I need some air.'

'Gladly.' I was pleased to see she could give mind now to such ordinary things. 'You will need boots, the ground is wet.' 'I will get them.'

She left me in the parlour. I stood by the fire, the animals peering at me from the undergrowth on the wooden frieze. Dorothy returned, dressed in a black cloak with a hood and high walking boots, and we went out of doors and crossed Gatehouse Court. Lawyers nodded to us, their stares a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. I noticed Dorothy still resolutely avoided looking at the fountain.

We walked into the bare heathland of Lincoln's Inn Fields. The murderer had escaped this way after killing Roger. Nearby was a long hillock, the sides dotted with rabbit holes, where students would come to hunt their dinner later in the season. We followed a path that led to the top of the hillock, the ground drier there. Dorothy was silent, thoughtful-looking.

'Samuel will have arrived in Bristol by now,' I said.

'Yes. He very much wanted me to go back with him.'

'He also said you would not be driven away from your home.'

'No, I will not. I will stay here until the killer is caught. And there is business I must finish here. Master Bartlett has kindly made a summary of monies due to Roger for his cases. And I am not lonely. Many kind people have visited.' She smiled sadly. 'You remember Madam Loder, who was at the dinner last month. She called to see me two days ago. I had no sooner sat her down on some cushions and handed her a glass of wine then she leaned forward and those false teeth of hers fell out on her lap.' She laughed. 'Poor woman, she was very embarrassed. She is going to have some firm words with the tooth-drawer who prepared the denture.'

Her words reminded me of Tamasin's experience. I wondered whether Mrs Loder ever thought to wonder where those teeth of hers came from.

'Are you still taking care not to go out unaccompanied?' I asked. 'It is only a precaution, but I think it is as well.' 'Yes.'

'Will you stay in London, do you think, or go to Bristol? In the long run?'

She sighed. 'I think it would be hard for me to buy a house in London. But perhaps in Bristol I could.' She raised her eyebrows. 'Treasurer Rowland has sent a message; kindly worded, but he made it clear he wants me out of our rooms as soon as possible now.'

'He is a heartless man.'

She shrugged. 'There is a vacancy at the Inn now, he will want to fill it.' She gave me a searching look. 'Samuel would like me to move back to Bristol permanently. But it is not just obstinacy that makes me stay. It is too early to decide on something like that.' She sighed. 'It is hard to think clearly. Everywhere the empty space of Roger's absence follows me. It is like a hole in the world. Yet do you know, I realized this morning that I had worked for half an hour without thinking of him. I felt guilty, as though I had betrayed him.'

'I think that is how grief is. The hole in the world will always be there, but you begin to notice the other things. You should not feel guilt.'

Dorothy looked at me curiously. 'You have known grief too?'

'There was a woman I knew who died. In the plague of 1534. Nine years, but I still think of her. I used to wear a mourning ring for her.'

'I did not know.'

'It was after you and Roger went to Bristol.' I looked at her. 'Dorothy, may I ask you something?' 'Anything.'

'The business you feel you must stay for. Is part of it waiting for the killer to be caught; Because I do not know when that will be.'

She came to a halt, turned and laid a hand on my arm. Her pale face, outlined by the black hood, was full of concern. 'Matthew,' she said quietly. 'I can see this dreadful thing is burning you up. I am sorry it was me that set you on this hunt. I thought officialdom did not care. But now I know they are seeking this man, I want you to leave the matter to them. This is having a bad effect on you.'

I shook my head sadly. 'I am bound tightly into the hunt for him now, bound into those official chains. He - he has killed again.'

'Oh no.'

'You are right, Dorothy, the horror eats into me, but I have to see it through now. And I have involved others too. Guy, Barak.' And even if I was willing to leave the killer alone, I thought but did not say, would he leave me; 'Do not be sorry,' I continued. 'We think we may know who the killer is. We will catch him. And one thing we are certain of now is that Roger was a chance victim, in the sense that the killer could equally have chosen someone else.'

'That is little comfort, somehow it makes it worse. But it has happened, I must bear it. Nothing will bring Roger back.'

I smiled at her. 'You are so much calmer now. Your strength is helping you.'

'Perhaps.'

'Do you feel God helps you in your grief;' I asked impulsively. 'Succours you:'

'I pray. For help in dealing with what has happened. Yet I would not ask God to take away my grief. It must be borne. Though I cannot understand how God would allow a good man to be destroyed like that. That is what I mean by his being a chance victim making it worse.'

'I suppose one could answer the killer is an evil man, who has turned from God and all that is good. And God allows us the free will to do that.'

She shook her head. 'I have not the heart for such speculation these days.'

We walked on in silence for a little. Then she said, 'You have much courage, Matthew, to do this hateful work.' She smiled at me. 'For anyone it would be bad, but you — you are affected by things.'

'It has affected Barak too. And Guy, I think.'

'Are you sure you cannot give it up:'

'No. Not now.'

We had reached the edge of the little escarpment and stood looking out over Lincoln's Inn Fields, towards the more distant fields of Long Acre. Clouds in varying shades of grey raced across the sky, promising more rain.

'Do you remember when we first met:' Dorothy asked suddenly. 'That business of Master Thornley's paper:'

I smiled. 'I recall it as though it were yesterday.' Thornley had been a fellow student who studied with Roger and me twenty years before. The three of us shared a little cubbyhole of an office at the Inn. It had been a summer evening. I had been sitting working with Roger when Dorothy had called, with a message from her father, my principal, about a case the following day where he required my assistance. Scarcely had she told me when Thornley had burst in. 'He was such a fat little fellow,' Dorothy recalled. 'Do you remember? He had a round red face, but that evening it was white.'

I remembered. Thornley had been set a fiendishly complicated problem in land law, one on which he had to present a paper on the morrow. 'The story he told us.' I laughed aloud at the memory. 'He would be unable to present his paper because his dog had eaten it. The lamest excuse in the world, yet that time it was true. Did you ever see that dog?'

'No. It lived in his lodgings, did it not?'

'A great big lurcher he brought up from the country. He kept it in that tiny lodging room of his in Nuns Alley. The beast chewed all the furniture to shreds, then started on the contents of his open workcase. Those chewed-up fragments of paper he pulled from it. Some of them still wet with dog-spittle, the ink all run.'

'And we helped him. You sorted out all those torn bits of paper, as Thornley and Roger and I copied out the exercise again. Some of it was illegible and Thornley had to cudgel his brains to remember what he had said.'

'Roger filled in some of the blanks for him.'

'And next day Thornley presented it, and was praised for the precision of his answer.'

'What became of Thornley? I never saw him again after we qualified.' I looked at her. 'Was that the first time you and Roger met?'

'Yes, it was. But it was you I came to see that day.' 'Me?'

She smiled gently. 'Do you not think my father could have got a servant to deliver his message? I offered to bring it round so that I could see you.'

'I did not realize,' I said. 'But I remember noting that you and Roger got on very well, and feeling jealous.'

'I thought you were not interested in me. So when I met Roger—'

'So you came to see me,' I said quietly. Something seemed to pull at my heart. I looked out over the greens and browns of the flat landscape 'How little we know each other,' I said at length. 'How easy it is to make mistakes.'

'Yes,' she agreed with a sad smile.

'Recently - I am not even sure I know Guy as well as I thought.' I hesitated, full of confused emotion, then looked at her. 'I hope you do not go to Bristol, Dorothy. I will miss you. But you must decide.'

She lowered her eyes. 'I feel I am a burden to my friends.'

'Never to me.'

She stared out over the fields. There was an awkward moment of silence. 'We should go back,' she said quietly. She turned and led the way, her skirts rustling on the wet grass. I feared I had embarrassed her. But I knew then, amidst all my trouble, that if she stayed, then after a decent period I would seek to gain her hand. I felt in time her old feelings for me might be resurrected. Perhaps they were budding already, or why had she recalled that story? And I had a sudden certainty that Roger would have approved.

Recognition of my feelings for Dorothy, which perhaps had never really gone away in the intervening years, and the thought that there might be some hope for me in the future, cheered me. Amidst all the danger and confusion it was something optimistic to hold on to. And then, going across the courtyard from Dorothy's to my chambers, I saw Bealknap again. He was walking across Gatehouse Court, stooped and bent, and I saw that now he needed the aid of a stick. His head was cast down and I could have avoided him, but I did not do so. I remembered my meeting with his physician in Guy's shop, the man's confident talk of bleeding and purging.

Bealknap looked up as I approached. His face, always thin, was skeletal now. He glared at me, an expression full of spite and malice. I remembered how in the days of his health he would never look you straight in the face.

'I am sorry to see you with a stick,' I said.

'Leave me, get out of my way.' Bealknap grasped the stick tighter, as though he would have liked to strike me with it. 'You will end by regretting the way you have treated me.'

'At the Court of Requests? I had to do that. But believe it or not, I do not like to see anyone ill.' I hesitated, fought a sudden urge to walk away. 'I met your doctor some days ago,' I said. 'Dr Archer.'

His eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'What has my physician to do with you?'

'He was at my friend Dr Malton's premises when I called there. He mentioned you as a patient he had at Lincoln's Inn. He sounded like a great old purger.'

'So he is. He bleeds and purges me constantly, he says my body is badly disordered and keeps producing bad humours which must be forced out.' He put a hand to his stomach and winced. 'He has given me a new purge to take now. The lax comes on so quick it plucks my stomach away.'

'Some doctors think of nothing but purging. Have you thought of getting a second opinion?'

'Dr Archer was my father's doctor. What would going to a second doctor serve except - confusion? And expense. Archer will get me right in the end.' He looked at me defiantly. It surprised me that Bealknap, of all people, should place his trust in a physician who was clearly making him worse. But a man may be as cunning as a serpent in one sphere of life, and naive as a schoolboy in another. I took a deep breath, then said, 'Bealknap, why do you not go and see my friend Dr Malton? Get another opinion?'

'That brown Moor? And what if Dr Archer found out? He would stop treating me.'

'Dr Archer need not know.'

'Dr Malton would want paying in advance, I imagine. A new fee for him.'

'No,' I said evenly. But if Bealknap went to Guy, I would pay him myself rather than leave Guy to chase him for payment.

Bealknap's eyes narrowed into a calculating look. I could see he was wondering whether he could get a free appointment out of this, and thus to his strange way of thinking score a point against me.

'Very well.' He spoke aggressively, as though accepting a chal- lenge. 'I will go. I will hear what he has to say.'

'Good. You will find him down at Bucklersbury. I am seeing him tomorrow, shall I make an appointment for you?'

His eyes narrowed. 'Why are you doing this? To find some profit for your friend?'

'I do not like to see anyone brought low by bad medical treatment. Even you, Bealknap.'

'How can laymen know what is good or bad treatment?' he muttered, then turned and walked away without thanks.

I watched him go, his stick tapping on the stone flags. Why had I done this, I asked myself. I realized that if Guy was able to help Bealknap, which was at least possible, it would be me who in a way would have scored a point against my old enemy. And given myself a sense of virtue, too. I wondered if that was partly why I had offered to help him. But if we never acted except when we were certain our motives were pure, we would never act at all.

Chapter Thirty

For the rest of the day I worked steadily in my office. The rain began again, coming down heavily all afternoon. Barak was there too; in no mood for conversation, occasionally wincing, probably at the pains in his head after his drinking bout; so far as I was concerned, he deserved them. Towards evening a rider came from Cranmer's office summoning me to a conference at Lambeth the following afternoon. I reflected there could have been no dramatic developments or he would have wanted to see me at once. It must be our lack of progress he wished to discuss. I went to bed early; it rained heavily again in the night and I woke a couple of times to hear it pattering on the roof. I thought of the killer, out there somewhere. He could be watching the house now, for rain and cold meant little to him. Or he could be sitting in some room, somewhere in the vast city, listening to the rain as I was, while heaven knew what thoughts went through his mind.

Next morning was fine and sunny again, the warmest day so far. The spring was moving on. Sitting at breakfast I saw Tamasin walking on her own around the garden, pausing to look at the crocuses and the daffodils. She walked back towards the house and sat on the bench next to the kitchen door. I went outside to join her. Her bruises were quite gone now, her face strikingly pretty once again. But she looked preoccupied. She half rose as I approached, and I waved her to stay seated.

'Is that bench not wet:' I asked.

'It is kept dry by the eaves. Your garden is beautiful,' she added wistfully.

'I have had a lot of work done here over the years. How is Jack this morning; I think he did not go out again last night.'

'No. He still had a sore head.' She took a deep breath. 'But he has apologized. He said what he told you, that when this business is over he will move us to a little house somewhere. Perhaps even with a garden. He said it would give me something to do. I wish he had told me first.'

'Would that cheer you?'

'I would like a garden,' she replied in a flat tone. 'But I doubt we could afford that.'

'Perhaps it is time I reviewed his salary.'

'I am surprised you do not dismiss him, after how he has behaved in your house,' she said with cold anger.

'We have all been under great strain, Tamasin.'

'I know.' She looked at me seriously. 'But the troubles with Jack began long before this, as you know.'

'He knows he has done wrong, Tamasin. When all this is over, and you are settled somewhere else, things will be better. You will see.'

She shook her head. 'You know what a sharp tongue he has. He has sulked and got drunk and insulted me before. Then he is sorry and says he loves me, then he does it again and says he is sorry again and so it goes on. It is our lost child that has driven us apart.'

'There are worse husbands,' I said quietly. 'He does not beat you.'

'Am I to be grateful for that?'

'Give him time, Tamasin.'

'Sometimes I think, why should I bear this? I even think of leaving, only I have nowhere to go.' She bit her lip. 'I should not burden you with this, sir.'

'Only you have no one else.' I looked at her seriously. 'For what it is worth I think you should remember Jack is under great pressure now.'

‘I used to admire his adventurousness, at the same time as I wanted him to settle down. After this I think he will be only too happy to live a quiet life. But will he want to live it with me?'

'I believe so. I am sorry; it was I who involved him in all this. Because my friend was killed.'

She looked at me. 'How is his widow?'

'She is strong. But the weight of grief still lies full on her.'

Tamasin gave me a searching look. I wondered if she had divined something of my feelings for Dorothy. I rose. 'I have to do some work, then go to Lambeth Palace.'

'The Archbishop?'

'Yes.'

'Take care, sir,' she said.

'And you, Tamasin. You take care too.'

I left her and went round to the stables. I decided not to take Barak with me. Left alone together, perhaps he and Tamasin might be able to talk more. I would have been reluctant to walk to Westminster alone, but felt safer on my horse, though I had not had that sense of someone following me lately. I felt sorry for Tamasin, sorry for Barak too now. I thought again of Dorothy. Doubts came into my mind; my feelings for her might have lain dormant all these years, but there was no reason she should ever feel as strongly. Yet perhaps, in time — I told myself I must wait and see how things developed over the months to come.

Young Timothy was in the stable, scraping dung4aden old straw into a pail. A batch of new straw stood by the door. Genesis stood in his stall, looking on placidly. I was glad to see the horse was at ease with the boy.

'How are you faring, Timothy?'

'Well, sir.' He smiled, a flash of white teeth in his dirty face. It was the first time I had seen him smile. 'Master Orr has been teaching me and Peter our letters.'

'Ah yes, I saw him with Peter. It is good to know them.'

'Yes, sir, only—'

'Yes.'

'He talks about God all the time.'

I thought, and you will have little time for God after your experiences at Yarington's. 'You and Peter are getting along?' I asked, changing the subject.

'Yes, sir. So long as I leave him to his work, and stick to mine.'

'Good. You seem to have made friends with Genesis.'

'He is an easy horse.' He hesitated. 'Do you know, sir, what became of Master Yarington's horse?'

'I am afraid not. Someone will buy him.' Timothy looked crestfallen. 'I do not need another horse,' I said. 'Now come, saddle Genesis for me.'

I rode out, thinking how sad it was that the child's only friend had been Yarington's horse. But I drew the line at buying it for him. The stable was not large enough, apart from anything. I pulled aside hastily to avoid a grey-bearded pedlar pushing a cartload of clothes. Waifs and strays, I thought. And beggars and pedlars. Everywhere. The hospital — when this was over I must set to work on the hospital.

The ride to Westminster Stairs took longer than usual, for the streets were waterlogged and one or two were flooded. I heard people saying the Tyburn had overflowed in its upper reaches, flooding the fields. I noticed a printer's shop, closed and shuttered, and wondered if the owner had been taken away by Bonner's men.

When I arrived in Cranmer's office at Lambeth Palace the atmosphere was tense. All the men of power who had involved themselves in this grim quest were gathered. Harsnet stood near the door, looking downcast. Lord Hertford stood opposite, stroking his long beard, anger in his prominent eyes. His brother, Sir Thomas, stood next to him, arms folded, looking grim. As usual he was dressed in bright, expensive clothes: a doublet in a bold green, the arms slashed to show a vermilion silk lining. Cranmer sat behind his desk in his white robe and stole, his face severe.

'I hope I am not late, my lord.'

'I cannot stay long,' he said. 'There are matters I must attend to.' He looked drawn and anxious. 'Among them trying to persuade the Privy Council to allow me to have Dean Benson in for questioning without saying why.' He laughed bitterly. 'When most of them would rather have me arrested than him.'

Hertford looked at me. 'We have been asking Coroner Harsnet how it is he cannot find this Goddard despite all the resources we have given him.'

'It is easy to disappear in London,' I said. Harsnet gave me a brief, grateful nod.

'But this man must have antecedents.' Hertford slapped a hand violently on to his desk, an unexpected gesture that made us all start. 'He must have come from somewhere before he joined the abbey, or did he spring from the earth like some demon from Hell;'

'I do not believe his family are from within London,' Harsnet said. 'I think they may have come from the nearer parts of Middlesex, or Surrey or Kent. It must be near enough for him to ride into London. I am still making enquiries with the officials of all those counties, but it takes time.'

'Time is what we do not have,' Cranmer said. 'There are still three more vials to be poured out, three more murders to come, and with each it gets harder to conceal what is happening.' Cranmer looked at me sternly. 'Master Harsnet says you think there may be another suspect. Some young man who visited Yarington's whore. The whore who escaped,' he added, with a sidelong look at Harsnet. They were blaming him for everything: the lack of progress, the escape of the whore and Lockley's vanishing.

'The fact he knew Yarington kept a girl in his house makes this visitor a suspect,' I said carefully. 'But there is nothing to link him to the other murders. Yet all the evidence against Goddard, too, is circumstantial.' I glanced at Harsnet again, then back at the Archbishop. 'My lord, the man we seek is very clever. He seems to have made killing his life's mission.'

'More like a man possessed by the devil than a madman,' Lord Hertford observed. Was he, too, of Harsnet's way of thinking, I wondered.

'We do not know what he is,' I answered.

'Something new,' Sir Thomas said. 'Well, the world is full of new things.' He gave a quick, cynical half-smile. I thought, this is like an interesting puzzle to him. 'Maybe we should leave this man to fulfil his prophecy,' he said. 'Concentrate on covering up the murders. When he has completed the seven he will stop, surely. Perhaps he thinks the world will come to an end then. When it does not, perhaps it will be too much for him. Perhaps he will kill himself.'

'I do not think someone so devoted to killing could stop,' I said quietly.

'I agree,' Cranmer said. 'And how can we allow these outrages to continue?' He turned again to Harsnet. 'How many men do you have at your disposal, Gregory?'

'Four.'

And you are circulating the names Cantrell supplied amongst the radical brethren?' 'Yes.'

'And now we need to find Lockley as well as that girl Abigail.' Cranmer considered. 'You need more men. People who are competent to make these enquiries. I dare not take men from my household, there are spies there now.'

'I need to be careful too,' Lord Hertford agreed.

'Perhaps I can help,' Sir Thomas said. 'I have a household full of clever young men, and a good steward. I can lend you a dozen if you like.'

His brother and Cranmer exchanged glances. I could see that they were wondering how far he could be trusted. I wondered why he had made the offer. Perhaps for him this was an adventure now, the Turkish war on a small scale. Hertford hesitated, then nodded.

'Very well, Thomas,' Cranmer said. 'If you could make some men quietly available that would help us greatly. But they must come under the direct supervision of Coroner Harsnet.'

Seymour looked at the coroner. 'My men are to be placed under the orders of a clerk:'

'If you want to be involved, yes,' Lord Hertford told him bluntly.

Sir Thomas met his gaze for a moment, then shrugged.

'I will use them well,' Harsnet said. 'I can send them to the constables of all the villages round London — from Barnet and Enfield to Bromley and Surbiton - to find whether the name Goddard is known.'

The Archbishop looked at Harsnet. 'Perhaps I should have set this in train before, given you more resources.'

I looked at him with respect; it was unheard of for anyone in power to admit a mistake. Harsnet nodded in gratitude.

And you, Matthew,' Cranmer added, 'keep thinking, keep puzzling it over. That is your role. And keep yourself and your household safe.' He put his hand to his mouth, kneading his lower lip between his finger and thumb. 'What will he do, do you think, when he has poured out the seven vials:'

'Find a new theme for murder,' I answered. 'There are plenty in Revelation.'

Cranmer closed the meeting shortly after, asking the Seymour brothers to stay behind. Harsnet and I walked together along the dim passageways of the Archbishop's palace.

'These new men will be a great help,' he said.

'Yes,' I agreed. 'Cranmer understands how hard you are working,' I added.

'He is always most loyal to those who serve him. Yet I feel I let him down, letting the whore escape then losing Lockley. I let the steward go, by the way. He knew nothing more.'

'We all make mistakes, Gregory.'

He shook his head. 'I should have served him better. Particularly with all the strain he is under now. You saw how troubled and afraid he is.'

'No evidence of heresy has been found among his associates who were arrested;'

'No. There would be none to find. The Archbishop is too cautious to hire men whom the papists would call heretics.'

'Then perhaps he will be safe. His enemies cannot go to the King without evidence.'

'They will not give up easily. And things are going badly in Parliament. The Act to prevent women and common folk from reading the Bible is progressing fast. But Christ and his saints will nevertheless win the final victory, for so we are told.' His tone became intense. 'The persecuted church is the true church.' He gave me a piercing look, suddenly the hot-gospeller.

'What news on Catherine Parr;' I asked to change the subject.

'Still she will not agree to marry the King. They say she thinks on the fate of Catherine Howard. Better to think on God's will, the chance she has been given to influence the King.'

'How can we ever be sure what God's will is;'

He smiled, his severe mood gone as quickly as it had come. 'Oh, but one can, Matthew. If one prays. As one day you will understand, I am sure of it.'

I crossed the river at London Bridge and rode into town through the crowded streets. Though feeling much safer on horseback, I still looked around warily as I rode along. On the corner between Thames Street and New Fish Street a pair of beggars sat underneath the new clock tower they were building there, no more than steps and scaffolding as yet. Two sturdy-looking young men in ragged clothes and battered caps, they sat staring out at the crowd. A woman sat between them, also dressed in rags, her head cast down. As I passed, she looked up, and I saw that she was beautiful, a young maid no more than sixteen. She met my eyes with a desolate look. I thought of the tooth-drawers, who would pay to destroy her face.

The taller of the two young men saw my eyes meet hers. He stood up and took a couple of steps towards me.

'Don't you eye up my sister!' he shouted in a country accent. 'Think you're fucking wonderful in your fine robe, don't you, fucking hunchback! Give us some money, we're starving!'

I moved the horse along, as fast as I could through the crowds. My heart thumped as I heard the beggar try to follow me through the crowd, a shower of insults and demands for money at my back. People turned and stared back at him. 'It costs money to look at normal people, bent-back!' I looked over my shoulder. The beggar's friend had taken his arm and was pulling him back to the clock tower, afraid of attracting the constable. I moved on, glad the encounter had not taken place at night.

The following morning I rode down to Guy's shop. I tied Genesis up outside and knocked at his door. Holding the reins had made my stitches pull again; I would be glad to have them out.

Guy himself opened the door. To my surprise he was wearing a pair of wood-framed spectacles. He smiled at my astonishment. 'I need these for reading now. I am getting old. I used to take them off when visitors called, but I have decided that is the sin of vanity.'

I followed him inside. Seeing his magnified eyes behind the glasses reminded me of Cantrell; I wondered how he was faring, stumbling about his miserable hovel.

Guy had been sitting at his table. The big anatomical volume lay open there, revealing more gruesome illustrations. A quill and ink pot stood next to it; Guy had been making notes on a piece of paper. He invited me to sit. I took a stool at the table. Guy sat opposite me. He gestured to the book, which I had avoided looking at.

'The more I study this text the more I realize it changes everything.' There was excitement in Guy's voice. 'All the old medical books we have been reading for hundreds of years, Galen and Hippocrates and the other Greeks and Romans, they have so much wrong. And if they are wrong on anatomy, may not everything else they say be called into question?'

'Beware the College of Physicians if you claim such things. To them those books are Holy Writ.'

'But they are not Holy Writ. They are the works of men, no more. And they have become binds and fetters, no one may question them. At least in your sphere of study there are developments, changes. The law progresses.'

'Mostly at the pace of an old tired snail. But yes, it does.'

'I begin to see these old medical texts as no more than an infinite chaos of obscurities.'

'You could say that about the law, too. But yes, we take so much ancient knowledge for granted,' I said. 'Like the Book of Revelation. Yet people need certainties, more than ever in these disturbed and disoriented times.'

He frowned. 'Even if those certainties bring hurt to them and others. Do you know, I heard a tale the other day at the Physicians' Hall of one of those end-timers, who thinks Armageddon is almost upon us, who broke his leg and refused to have it treated, though the bone was sticking through the skin and it would become infected. He said he was certain the Second Coming would take place before he died. He thought his broken leg a test from God. It is a paradox. Revelation,' he said. 'How it has dominated Christian imagery. I believe that many people thought the year iooo was the end of Time, and stood on hills waiting for the end of the world. What an evil book it is, for it says that humanity is nothing, is worth nothing.' He sighed, shook his head, then managed a sad smile. 'How is your arm?'

'The stitches pull. I would like to have them out.'

'It has only been five days,' he said doubtfully. 'But let me look.'

He smiled warmly when I removed my robe and doublet, and showed him my arm. It looked almost mended.

'Piers did a good job there. And it has healed well, you're a fast healer, Matthew. Yes, I think those may come out. Piers!' he called out. Evidently the boy was going to cut them out as well as put them in.

'He is doing so well.' Guy's face brightened. 'He learns so fast.'

There was much I could have asked but I held my tongue. Instead I told Guy about Bealknap. 'He went to Dr Archer complaining of weakness and nausea, and he has been purging and bleeding him so that there is little of him left. I feel he may die.'

Guy looked thoughtful. 'I am afraid he would not be the first patient Archer killed with his treatment. He is the most traditional of traditionalists. Yet I ought not to take another doctor's patient.'

'Bealknap wants a second opinion. He begins to realize Archer is doing him harm. He started with fainting and a bad stomach; I think he is quite ill now.'

'Bealknap. I remember that name. He has done you harm in the past, has he not;'

'Yes. He is the greatest rogue in Lincoln's Inn. In fact, I will pay your fee, otherwise you will have to battle for it. I imagine he is making Archer wait for his money.'

'You would help an enemy;'

I smiled. 'Then he will owe me a moral debt. I would like to see how he deals with that. Do not think my motives are of unalloyed purity.'

'Whose are;' He looked sad, then smiled at me. 'I think also you do not like to see suffering.' 'Perhaps.'

The smile faded from my face as the door opened and Piers entered, neat in his blue apprentice's robe, the usual bland respectful expression on his handsome face. Guy stood and touched his arm.

'Piers. Your patient is here. Take him through to the other room, would you?'

Piers bowed. 'Good morning, Master Shardlake.'

I rose reluctantly and followed him out. I had hoped Guy might come to supervise, but he stayed with his book. In the treatment room, with its shelves lined with more apothecary's jars, its long table and its racks of fearsome-looking instruments, Piers smiled and gestured to a stool beside the table. 'Would you bare your arm, sir, then sit there?'

I rolled up my shirtsleeve again. Piers turned and looked over Guy's instruments. I stared at his broad, blue-robed back. When Guy had praised him just now I had seen a haunted look in his eyes, almost as though he were trying to console himself with the boy's skill. But what was he hiding?

Piers selected a small pair of scissors, opened and closed them experimentally, then turned to me with a deferential smile, though I thought I saw cold amusement in his eyes. I watched apprehensively as he bent and snipped the black stitches. He did it gently, though, then took a pair of tweezers and slowly pulled out the broken threads. I sighed with relief when it was over, the constant pulling sensation of the last few days gone. Piers looked at my arm.

'There. All is healed. It is wonderful how Dr Malton's poultices prevent wounds from becoming infected.'

'Yes, it is.'

'There will be a scar of course, it was a nasty gash.' 'You are learning a lot from Dr Malton?'

'Far more than from my old master.' Piers smiled. 'He was one of those apothecaries who believed in exotic herbs prepared in consultation with astrological charts.'

'A traditionalist?'

'If I might dare to say it, sir, I think he was not quite honest. He had the dried-up body of some strange, large lizard with a long tail in his shop. He would cut bits off, powder them up and get people to take the powder. Because the lizard was so strange, patients thought it had some great power.' He gave a cynical smile that made him look older than his years. 'People always believe in the power of the strange and unfamiliar. It is good to be working with Dr Malton now. An honest man, a man of reason.'

'Your old master died, I believe.'

'Yes.' Piers fetched down one of the jars. He opened it, and I caught the sickly smell of the ointment Guy had used before. Piers put some on the end of a spatula and touched it to my arm, spreading it gently. 'It was the smallpox killed him. The strange thing was, he did not dose himself with any of his own remedies. I think he did not believe in them himself. He simply took to his bed and waited to see if the pox would kill him. Which it did. There, that is done, sir.'

I found Piers' even, unemotional tone in talking of his master's death distasteful.

'Had he family?'

'No. There was just him and me. Dr Malton came and did what he could for him, but the smallpox takes its own path, does it not? Sometimes it kills, sometimes it disfigures. My parents died of it when I was small.'

'I am sorry.'

'Dr Malton has been father and mother to me to since I came here.'

'He said he is going to help you train to become a physician.'

Piers looked up sharply, perhaps wondering why I was asking taking such an interest. He knew I did not like him.

'Yes.' He hesitated, then said, 'I do appreciate all the kindness he has shown me.'

'Yes, his kindness is of a rare sort.' I stood up. 'Thank you for seeing to my arm.'

Piers bowed. 'I am glad it is better.'

I left the room. He did not follow me. I remembered him listening at the door when we were talking of the murders. I thought, Guy might be kind, but you are not. You are cold and calculating, like a predatory animal. You have some hold over my friend, and I will discover what it is.

Next door, Guy was still reading his book. He offered me a glass of wine and asked to look at my arm. He nodded with satisfaction. 'Piers has done a good job.'

'I do wonder if he possesses the human sympathy one would hope for in a physician.'

'He has had little chance to develop it. His parents died when he was young. And my late neighbour, Apothecary Hepden, worked him hard and taught him little.'

'He told me about his death. He seems to have thought little of him.'

'Yes, Piers can speak harshly. But I believe he has the capacity for sympathy, I believe I can teach it to him.'

'He says you are a father and mother to him.'

'Did he say that?' Guy smiled, then his expression turned sombre.

'What are you thinking?' I asked gently.

'Nothing.' He changed the subject. 'I have been to see Adam Kite again. You know, I think there is improvement. That woman keeper, Ellen, she works hard with him. She forces him to eat and clean himself, tries to pull him away from his obsession with constant prayer.'

'Did you know she is a former patient, and is not allowed to leave the precinct?'

'No.' Guy looked taken aback. 'That surprises me.' 'She told me herself

'She is gentle with Adam, but very firm. It has had an effect. The other day he even talked of normal everyday things for a minute. He said the weather is getting warmer, he did not feel so cold. But still I cannot get him to explain why he feels such a sense of sin. I wonder what brought it on.'

'What do his parents say? I saw you leave with them after the court hearing.'

'They say they have no idea. I believe them.'

'Thank you for doing this. Adam cannot be — easy to work with.'

Guy smiled sadly. 'He touches me, yet intrigues me too. So like you with Bealknap, my motives are not all pure.' 'I ought to visit Adam again.'

'I am going to see him again tomorrow morning. Would you like to come?'

'Very well. If I can.'

'You do not sound as if you want to.'

'I find it distressing. He is in such pain. And religious madness makes me think of the man we are hunting, and who has been hunting me.' I looked at my arm. 'How can he believe that what he is doing is inspired by God?'

'Have we not seen enough these last years to know that men may do cruel, wicked things, yet believe they have communion with God? Think of the King.'

'Yes. Belief in God and human sympathy can be very different things. Yet the killer is something different again. That obsessive savagery.' I looked at Guy. 'He still has three murders to commit. And if he succeeds, I, like you, do not think he will stop. I told Cranmer so today.'

'No. Such a momentum would have to be carried forward. Till he is caught, or dies.'

'How will he feel if he pours out the seven vials of wrath and the world does not end?'

'There have been many in these last years who thought they knew when the world would end. When it does not they go back to Revelation for the clues they have missed. And that is easy. It is not a story in sequence but a series of violent narratives giving alternative ways in which the world will finish. So they find a new formula.'

I nodded slowly. 'Does he suffer, I wonder?'

'The killer?' Guy shook his head. 'I do not know. My guess would be the acts of killing are a sort of ecstasy for him, but perhaps, that apart, he lives in a world of pain.'

'But he conceals it — he is able to live a normal life or something like it. Without standing out.'

'Yes. I think among the many things he is, he is a good actor.'

'Is it Goddard?' I shook my head. 'I don't know. Harsnet still thinks he is possessed.'

Guy shook his head. 'No. He is an obsessive, and all obsessions come from some maladjustment of the brain. Not the devil.' He set his lips. I thought, why are you sure?

We were silent for a moment. Then I asked, 'What happens after the vials are poured out? In Revelation. What comes next?'

Guy rose and went to his bookshelf. He brought down a New Testament and turned to Revelation.

'The seven vials of wrath are in Chapters 15 to 16. Already before then there has been another version of the end of the world, disasters coming when the seven angels blow their trumpets.' He turned the pages with his long brown fingers. 'Hail and fire, a mountain falling into the sea. But there is not such concentration on the torments of men as there is in the story of the seven vials. Perhaps that was what attracted the killer.' He paused, turned the page. 'The judgement of the Great Whore comes after.'

'When I read them, those passages seemed more obscure than most. Who is the Great Whore meant to be?'

Guy smiled sadly. 'It used to be thought she symbolized the Roman Empire, but now the radicals say she represents the Church of Rome. And after that, war in Heaven and Jesus' final victory.'

He passed the book across to me. I had studied the passages about the seven vials to exhaustion, but now I read on, aloud. 'I saw a woman sit upon a rose-coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.' I remembered the painting of the creature in the Westminster chapterhouse. 'And the woman was arrayed in purple and rose colour ... And upon her forehead was a name written, Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of whoredom and abominations of the earth ... and the beast that was, and is not, even he is the eighth, and is of the seven, and shall go into destruction ... her sins have reached into heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities' I put the Testament down with a sigh. 'I can make little sense of it.' ‘Nor I.'

We both jumped violently at a loud hammering on the door to the street. We exchanged glances. As Guy crossed to open it, the inner door opened and Piers came in. I wondered whether he had been listening outside again.

'Who is it?' Guy called out.

'It is I, Barak!'

Guy threw open the door. I caught a glimpse of Sukey, tied to the rail beside Genesis. She was breathing heavily, Barak must have ridden here fast. There was no sign of drunkenness about him today, he was sober and alert, his expression hard and serious. He stepped inside.

'There has been another killing,' he said. 'There's some strange mystery about this one. Dr Malton, sir, can you come with us?'

Chapter Thirty-one

'Who!' I asked.

Barak glanced at Piers. Guy turned to the boy. 'Would you fetch my horse to the front of the house?' he asked. Piers hesitated for a moment, then went out. Barak looked between us. His face was set hard.

'It's Lockley's wife.'

'He has killed a woman?' Guy gasped.

'Sir Thomas sent a man round to keep guard at the inn. He was too late. He found her lying on the inn floor. She's been mutilated. The message said something strange, something about poisoned air. We're to join Harsnet there at once.'

'What about Lockley?'

'I don't know.'

Through the window I saw Piers leading Guy's old white mare round to the front. We went outside.

'May I come too?' Piers asked Guy as we mounted.

'No, Piers, you have studying to do. You should have done it last night.' The apprentice stepped back, an expression of angry sulkiness momentarily crossing his face.

'How much does that boy know about what has been happening?' I asked Guy as we rode quickly up the street.

'Only that there has been a series of murders. He could not fail to see that,' Guy added with a touch of asperity, 'as he has been helping me at the autopsies. He knows he must hold his tongue.'

'You know he listens at doors,' I said. Guy did not reply.

We rode on rapidly, up to Smithfield and on to Charterhouse Square. The square was deserted except for two men standing at the door of the inn, under the sign of the Green Man. One was Harsnet and the other was a tall man carrying a sword, who was coughing into a handkerchief. I saw some of the beggars standing by the chapel, looking on from a distance but not daring to approach. We pulled up and tied the horses to the rail next to Harsnet's. Guy went over to the tall man. 'What ails you?' he asked quietly.

The man lowered his handkerchief. He was in his twenties, with a neat black beard. He stared for a moment at Guy's dark face, then said, 'I do not know. I came here two hours ago. I knocked but could get no answer.' He coughed violently again. 'The shutters were all closed so I broke in. There is a woman lying on the floor, she's — mutilated.' He spluttered noisily. 'There's something in the air in there, it's poisonous, it burns at my throat.'

'Let me see,' Guy said. He gently opened the man's mouth and looked in. 'Something's irritated your throat,' he said. 'Sit down on the step, try to breathe easy.'

'It was horrible. Like something grasping to take your breath.'

I looked at the door: the lock was smashed. The guard had pulled it shut again when he came out.

'Have you been inside?' I asked Harsnet.

'No. I looked in — one sniff was enough; it's like this fellow said, like something trying to rip your throat out.' He looked at Guy. 'How do you come to be here, sir?'

'I was with Dr Malton when the message came,' I said. 'Dr Malton may be able to help us. Guy, what do you think can have happened to the air?'

'There is only one way to see.' He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, held it to his nose and threw the door wide open. I took a step back as something sharp and stinging caught my nostrils. Guy went in. With the shutters drawn the interior was dark. I made out a large pale shape, spotted with darker patches, lying under the open serving hatch. A body.

Guy stepped rapidly to the shutters, throwing them open. A draught of fresh air was immediately drawn into the room with the light. We looked in from the doorway. I saw the tavern was in chaos, overturned chairs and tables everywhere. The pale shape under the serving hatch was indeed Mistress Bunce, lying face down on the stone floor. Her coif had been removed, revealing her long dark hair. Her dress had been pulled up to beneath her armpits, and her underskirt torn off; it lay bundled up under one of the tables. Her plump, pale body was half naked, her arms tied behind her with rope.

'Shit.' Barak breathed.

I saw red weals at her wrists where the poor woman had struggled to free herself, but the knots were tight. There was another piece of cloth lying beside her face, something dark red on top of it.

'Dear God, what has he done to her?' Harsnet breathed. I saw his hands were clenched tight.

Guy crossed to the body and stood looking down at it. Quickly, he crossed himself. Harsnet, watching from the doorway, narrowed his eyes at the gesture. 'It is safe to come in,' Guy said quietly. 'The fumes are dispersing. But put handkerchiefs to your noses and mouths, take shallow breaths.'

Harsnet and Barak and I drew out our handkerchiefs and stepped cautiously inside. 'What was that stuff?' Barak asked.

'Vitriol,' Guy answered. 'In a very powerful concentration.'

We looked down at the body. The white flesh on the trunk and legs bore big red marks that looked like burns. To my horror, half the woman's posterior had been burned away, leaving a huge, monstrous red wound. Yet there was no blood around her, only a pool of colourless liquid.

'What is this vitriol?' Harsnet asked Guy. The air was much clearer, but there still a faint harsh tang. 'For God's sake, what did he do to her?' His voice rose.

'Vitriol is a liquid that burns and dissolves everything it touches,' Guy answered grimly. 'It is well known, alchemists make it up frequently to dissolve stone. They think it has special powers because gold is one of the few things it cannot destroy. It must have taken hours to do this, using repeated applications.' Then Guy did something I had never seen him do before, no matter what awful things he had to look upon. He shuddered violently.

Harsnet bent to the liquid under the body. 'What's this?' He put out a finger.

'Don't touch it!' Guy shouted, and Harsnet quickly stepped away. Guy took a spatula from the pocket of his robe and touched it to the liquid. There was a faint hiss and it began to smoke. 'Vitriol,' he said. 'See how it has eaten into the wood. It has even marked the stone flags.'

‘If it's so poisonous,' I asked, 'how did he manage to wait here for hours?'

'I suspect it was night, and he had those large shutters giving on to the yard open. Even so he would need to keep going over to the window.'

Barak was looking through the serving hatch. Cups and pewter goblets stood on a draining board; more lay in the washing bowl. It seemed the killer had come just after the tavern closed; perhaps he had been a late customer.

'Janley!' Harsnet called. The guard entered reluctantly, staring with horrified eyes at the mutilated corpse. 'Search the rest of the building,' Harsnet ordered. 'Go on!' Reluctantly, his hand on his sword, Janley opened a door to the inner chambers and stepped through.

'Was it Lockley?' I breathed. 'Is he the killer?'

'Perhaps Lockley's been killed too. Perhaps he's in another room,' Barak said. He wiped his brow, he was sweating.

'And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast.' I quoted from the Book of Revelation, the chapters we all knew now. ^‘And his kingdom waxed dark; and they gnawed their tongues for pain, and blasphemed the God of Heaven for sorrow and pain of their sores, and repented not of their deeds' Guy bent and, very carefully, turned the brutalized body over.. He let out a groaning sigh. I made myself look at Mistress Bunce's face. The lower half was covered with blood. I will never forget the eyes, wide open, bulging from her face in her last horror and agony. Guy felt her jaw, then took out his spatula and gently touched the piece of cloth beside her face, and the red thing on top of it. He took a corner of the cloth and covered it. 'What. . .' I asked.

'It is her tongue. He gagged her with this cloth while he tortured her. Then at the end he removed it. To fulfil the part of the verse that talks of gnawing tongues. He pulled out the tongue and snapped her jaw shut on it.' He touched the slack face. 'Yes, he broke her jaw doing it. At some point after that she died; her heart probably gave out.'

'What sort of creature could do this to a woman?' Harsnet asked, incredulous.

'She's not the first person he's tortured to death,' Barak said. 'The cottar was cut up and left to die. But this is even worse.'

'When the Bible talks of the seat of the beast,' Harsnet said, 'it means the place ruled by the devil, not a human — a human rear. This is like some hideous blasphemous joke. A devil's jest.'

We all turned as Janley returned through the inner door. 'There's nothing,' he said. 'The rest of the house looks normal.'

'Did Lockley do this?' Harsnet asked.

Barak looked at me. 'Begins to seem like he's the killer after all.'

'I still can't see it. I could see him having knowledge of dwale, but what about the legal knowledge that letter to Roger demonstrated? I wouldn't have said Lockley was someone who could write a proper letter.'

'Then where is he?' Harsnet burst out. The terrible scene had unnerved him deeply.

'Lockley vanished and Mrs Bunce dead,' I said quietly. 'Goddard vanished and Cantrell attacked. The three who worked at the Westminster infirmary.'

'Surely Goddard attacked the other two,' Harsnet said.

'It could equally be that Lockley attacked Goddard and Cantrell. Goddard's body could be hidden somewhere.' I shook my head.

'That woman didn't work at the infirmary,' Harsnet said. 'She wasn't even a religious woman, from what you told me.' He glanced at the terrible corpse, then turned to Janley. 'For God's sake, cover her up!' The young man took his handkerchief and laid it over Ethel Bunce's ruined face. He looked green. The awful wounds below still lay exposed. Guy stood, fetched the undershirt from where it had been thrown by the killer and covered them.

'You are from Thomas Seymour's household?' I asked Janley.

'Yes. I am his Master of Horse.'

'I'll warrant you didn't expect a horror like this.'

'No, sir. I was sent to guard a tavern.' He laughed then, a little hysterically.

I turned to Barak. 'I think we should give this house a full search. Come on, let's start with the living quarters.'

We walked up the narrow wooden staircase. There were two bedrooms. The one where Lockley and Mrs Bunce slept together had a cheap truckle bed. There was no other furniture save a large chest full of women's clothes. 'Poor bloody bitch,' Barak said as he searched through them. 'I think Lockley killed her. It can't have been Goddard.' 'Why not?'

'Because he would have had to reconnoitre the tavern, find out their routines and whether anyone else lived here. I can't think of any way to do that other than coming in as a customer. If it was Goddard, Lockley would have recognized him and told us, surely.'

'That makes sense,' I said. I looked at the cheap, worn dresses and large underclothes that Barak had laid on the bed. The violation of the last privacy of the poor woman downstairs felt like a further humiliation of her. 'Come, put those back. Let's see what's in the other room.'

The second bedroom contained broken chairs and other odds and ends, and another chest, locked with a padlock. I set Barak to picking it, a skill he had learned in his days working for Cromwell. After a couple of minutes, he heaved the lid open, to reveal men's clothes this time, but at the bottom there were a number of small wooden boxes.

Barak took out the boxes and began opening them. One contained two pounds in assorted coins, another some cheap jewellery. But the next contained something very different, a wooden block with a hinge, in the shape of a human jaw. There were holes where teeth could be placed.

'What the hell is this?' Barak asked.

'A block to set dentures in,' I said quietly. I took it from him. 'Remember Tamasin told us the tooth-drawer showed her one. They set teeth in those sockets and fix them in people's mouths. There's an old barrister's wife at Lincoln's Inn who has dentures, but she can't get a block to fit properly, they keep falling out.'

'Maybe she could try some of these,' Barak said. He had opened the remaining four boxes and all contained denture blocks in different sizes. 'What's he got these for?' he asked incredulously. 'Lockley wasn't a barber-surgeon, was he? He worked for one, and left.'

I turned the ugly wooden things over in my hands. The blocks had never been used to house teeth, there were no traces of glue in the tooth-holes. Pictures in my mind came together, some pieces of the puzzle fitting together at last. 'No,' I said quietly. 'He wasn't. I think he was something quite different. Now I understand, now I see what they were being so secretive about. Come, we have to go to Dean Benson, now. Bring those boxes.'

I led the way downstairs. Guy and Harsnet had both sat down at a table marked with the round rings from a hundred goblets of beer. Harsnet looked agitated, Guy drawn and sad. Janley stood by the window, staring out on the tavern yard. Harsnet looked up. 'Anything?' he asked.

'Yes,' I said. 'We need to go to the dean—'

I broke off as there was a sudden loud rumbling noise and the flagstones trembled beneath our feet. Harsnet's eyes widened. 'What in God's name is that?'

'This place is connected to the old Charterhouse sewer system,' I said. 'They must have opened the sluice gate over there. It happened when we came here before. We ought to investigate that cellar. There'll be a way down somewhere.'

'I'll help Goodman Janley look,' Barak said. He laid the boxes of teeth on the counter.

I glanced over at the body. 'What will you do with it?' I asked Harsnet.

'Store it in my cellars at Whitehall. With Yarington.' He gave me an anguished look. 'And keep quiet.' I nodded.

'Why did you say we must go to the dean?'

'I think I know what he has been holding back.'

'We've found the cellar.' Barak called from inside the house. 'There's a metal hatch in the hallway.'

'We ought to see what's down there,' I said. I went into the stone-flagged hallway, Harsnet following.

Barak had raised the hatchway and stood looking down. There was a ladder. Cold air came from below. Janley appeared with a lamp, a lighted candle inside. Barak took a deep breath. 'Right, let's have a look.'

'Be careful,' I said.

But there was nothing to see in the cellar. The candlelight showed only bare stone flags, barrels stacked against the walls. Barak and Janley found another hatch there, leading down to the sewers. Janley opened it and we caught a whiff of sewer smells.

'Should we go on down?' Janley asked, peering nervously into the darkness.

'No,' Barak said. 'Listen.' There was a sound of rushing water, faint then suddenly loud as someone up at the Charterhouse opened the sluice gates to flush more excess water through. The building shook again, and a rush of vile-smelling air was pushed upwards into the cellar and out through the hatchway to where we stood. 'That's a lot of water,' Barak called up.

'With all the rain the ponds at Islington are probably full to overflowing,' Harsnet said.

Barak and Janley climbed back up and we returned to the main room. Guy rose from his knees by the body, rushes and dust clinging to his robe. He had been praying.

'What is Benson holding back?' Harsnet asked.

'I'll tell you on the way. We—'

There was a knock at the door, faint and hesitant. We looked at each other. Harsnet called, 'Come in!' and the door opened. An elderly couple stepped nervously inside. Both were small and thin, grey-haired, poor folk. They looked at us and then at the thing on the floor. The woman let out a little scream and ran back outside. The man turned to follow but Harsnet called him back. Through the open door we saw his wife standing trembling on the steps.

'Who are you?' Harsnet asked him roughly.

'We lodge next door,' the man said in a thin voice. He rubbed his hands together nervously. 'We heard all the noise, we wondered what was happening.'

'Mistress Bunce has been murdered. Master Lockley has disappeared. I am Master Harsnet, the king's assistant coroner.'

'Oh.'

'Please bring your wife inside. We wish to question you.'

'She's upset,' he said, but Harsnet's look was unyielding. The old man went outside and brought his wife back. She clung to him, avoiding looking at the body.

'We think this happened last night,' I said. 'After the tavern closed. Did either of you hear anything?'

The old man stared at Guy, his dark face and long physician's robe, as though wondering how he had appeared there.

'Last night?' Harsnet repeated impatiently.

'There was a lot of noise at closing time.'

'When was that?'

'They shut at twelve. We were in bed, the noise woke us. It sounded like tables going over. But you get rough people in this tavern now, beggars from the chapel when they have any money. We knew Francis had gone. Ethel has been in a frantic state, asking everyone round the square if they had seen him. She liked to rule the roost, poor Ethel.' He looked around the room, then down at the covered body. 'Did some drunkard kill her?'

'Yes. You heard nothing later on in the night?'

'No'

The woman began to cry. 'Oh please, let us out of here—'

'In a minute. How well did you know Mistress Bunce and Goodman Lockley?'

'We've lived next to the tavern for ten years. We knew Master Bunce before he died, he kept a quiet house. He was a godly man.'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

The neighbour looked between us nervously. 'Only that he belonged to one of the radical congregations. If you talked to him for any length of time he would always bring the Bible and salvation into it.'

'Yet he kept a tavern?' Harsnet sounded incredulous.

The old man shrugged. 'I think he was converted after he bought it. It was his living. And as I say, he kept it very orderly. No swearing or fighting.'

'And he kept it closed Sundays,' his wife added. She looked at the covered body and crossed herself. 'Ethel had a hard time of it, a woman trying to run a tavern alone.'

'When did she take up with Lockley?'

'Francis? He came about two years ago. First as a potman, then they got together.' She shook her head. 'I've sometimes thought Eddie Bunce must be turning in his grave, Ethel taking up with an ex-monk.'

'She didn't try to bring Master Lockley into her husband's congregation?'

She shook her head again. 'No, we never heard any more about Bible truth after Eddie died, and the tavern began opening on Sundays. She must have left the church.'

'Got a noisier type of customer in,' her husband added gloomily.

Harsnet and I exchanged glances. So Mistress Bunce was an apostate from a radical congregation, like the others.

'Which church did Master Bunce go to?' Harsnet asked.

'Clerkenwell. Those radicals had better watch out, with Bishop Bonner after them.'

'Did Mistress Bunce have any living relatives that you know of?'

'No, sir. We didn't know them well.' He looked at the body again. 'She was decent enough, Ethel, though Francis could be a grump. Even if they did live in sin.'

'We would like to go to the funeral,' his wife said.

The old man looked at us. 'Please, sir, what do you think happened? We only ask because we wonder if we are safe. If there are robbers about.'

'You are not in any danger,' Harsnet said. 'But that is all I can tell you till we investigate further. In the meantime, this is to be kept quiet. You tell no one Mrs Bunce is dead. It could hamper our investigation.'

'But how—'

'You will keep quiet. I order it in the King's name. A guard will remain here for now. Thank you for your help,' he concluded in a tone of dismissal.

Harsnet shook his head after the old man led his wife away. 'Poor old creatures,' he said. 'Come then, Matthew, if we are to go to Westminster now. I want to know what you have puzzled out. Janley, stay here, secure that door and keep enquirers away. I will arrange for the body to be removed.' 'Can I go home?' Guy asked.

'Yes,' Harsnet answered shortly. He still did not like or trust Guy, it was clear. With most folk it would have been his colour, but with Harsnet I was sure it was his religion.

We all stepped outside, relieved to be out of that dreadful place. We stood on the step, looking out at the wide square. On the other side, in the distance, we saw a coach surrounded by four riders pull into Catherine Parr's courtyard.

'A visitor for Lady Catherine,' I said. 'Perhaps it is the Archbishop.'

'If it is, God speed him. True religion needs her help,' Harsnet answered. He walked down the step, and unhitched his horse from the rail. I made to follow, but Barak touched me on the arm.

'What is next?' he asked. 'What happens when the sixth vial is poured?'

Guy answered. 'Revelation talks of great waters being dried up. The Euphrates.'

'How's the arsehole going to make a killing that symbolizes that’ll Dry up the Thames?'

'He'll find a way.' I answered grimly. 'Whatever it is, it will be some other method of torturing another poor soul to death. Jesu knows what.'

Chapter Thirty-two

Guy rode back to Smithfield with us. There he turned left into town, bidding us farewell. 'Shall I see you at the Bedlam tomorrow morning, Matthew? I am going at nine o'clock.'

I agreed to the rendezvous, then watched him for a few moments, a lonely figure in the country road, his stoop noticeable as he rode away.

'Now, Matthew,' Harsnet asked. 'What is it that you have worked out? What are in those little boxes that Barak is carrying?'

I told them what I believed. Lockley had been keeping secrets, the dean too, and perhaps Cantrell.

'Maybe we should talk to Cantrell first,' Barak suggested. 'See if he can confirm it.'

'We can talk to him afterwards,' Harsnet answered grimly. 'I want to confront the dean directly.'

'You could go home, Jack,' I said. 'See Tamasin.'

He shook his head. 'No, I want to see the end of this.' He looked at me, and I saw that like Harsnet and me, he had been deeply shocked by what had been done to Mrs Bunce. 'I wish we could have saved her,' he said.

We rode down to Westminster. It was a Saturday; Parliament and the courts were shut, there were fewer people around. Shopkeepers and pedlars eyed us as we passed, and one or two called out, but we ignored them. In the Sanctuary we passed a big cart loaded with planks of newly cut wood, the resin smell sweet in the foul town air.

The cathedral doors were closed but we heard the sound of hymn-singing from inside, the choir no doubt preparing for service.

'I wonder where the dean is,' I said.

'We will go to his house.'

We rode on to Dean's Yard, passed under the wall into the abbey courtyard and once again tied up the horses outside the pretty old house standing amidst the chaos of building works. Enquiries of the steward revealed that Dean Benson would be occupied in the cathedral all day. Harsnet sent a message asking him to attend us on a matter of urgency which might involve his personal safety. 'That'll bring him,' he said as the steward hurried away, leaving us sitting in the entrance hall.

In a short time we heard footsteps approaching up the garden path. The dean entered. He was breathing heavily; he must have hurried over as soon as he got the message. He looked at us angrily. 'What in the name of Heaven has happened now?' he demanded. 'Why do you say I am in danger?'

'May we speak in your office?' Harsnet asked.

'Very well.' The dean sighed and led us down the corridor, his cassock rustling. After a few steps he turned, staring at Barak, who had followed us, carrying Lockley's boxes. 'And you propose to bring your servant to an interview with me?' he asked me haughtily.

'Barak comes too this time,' Harsnet said, looking the dean hard in the eye. We had agreed this beforehand. 'He has something to show you.'

The dean looked at the boxes Barak carried, shrugged and walked

on.

Once in his office, Harsnet told the dean of Ethel Bunce's murder, Lockley's disappearance, and the attack on Cantrell. 'So you see, dean,' he said. 'The killer seems to be focusing his attention now on those associated with the infirmary.'

'Why should that endanger me?' The dean looked at the boxes on Barak's lap and took a sudden deep breath. I saw that he guessed what they might be.

'There was a connection between you and them,' I said. 'More, I think, than the mere fact that you had overall authority over the monks' infirmary and the lay hospital. I think that is what you have been hiding.'

Barak opened the boxes, revealing the dentures. From the way the dean's eyes widened and he sat back in his chair I knew my suspicions were right.

'Let me tell you what I think happened,' I said quietly. 'Goddard used to administer dwale, a powerful and dangerous soporific, to render people unconscious for operations. Meanwhile a fashion came in among the rich for wearing false teeth set in wood. The teeth are usually obtained from healthy young people, preferably as a complete set. Master Barak's wife recently had to have a tooth removed, and the tooth-drawer suggested he pull out the lot, offering to pay her well for them.'

'Is there some meaning to this story?' the dean asked angrily. But his eyes kept going back to the boxes.

'I do not know how often you visit the abandoned parts of the old monastery now, but I have twice encountered a beggar who keeps sneaking into the premises, asking anyone who will listen if they know where his teeth are — he has not a tooth in his head. He is mad, of course, but I wonder what drove him so. Something that was done to him here? Perhaps his teeth were removed, under dwale? Perhaps they were checked for size against one of these boxes we found in Lockley's chest. One of the reasons the tootlvdrawers find it hard to get people to volunteer their teeth, even for high sums, is the pain involved. But destitute folk who came here to have their illnesses treated could be offered a dose of dwale to make the process itself painless.'

There was silence in the room. A loud hammering began somewhere outside, making the dean jump. He took a deep breath. 'If Goddard and Lockley, and Cantrell for all I know, had some scheme going in the infirmary, I knew nothing of it. And what has that to do with your hunt for the killer?'

'We need to know all, dean. And from the way you looked at those boxes it is clear this is not news to you.'

A second hammer joined the first. The dean closed his eyes. 'That noise,' he said quietly. 'That endless noise. How am I supposed to be able to think?' He opened his eyes again. He looked between the three of us, then took a deep breath.

'I congratulate you, Serjeant Shardlake. Yes, you are right. Back in 1539, four years ago, I learned Goddard was inviting patients in the lay hospital to sell their teeth. The fashion for false teeth was coming in then, and he had made an arrangement with a local barber- surgeon in Westminster. A man called Snethe, at the sign of the Bloody Growth. He buys teeth, and other things as well from what I hear.' He took another deep breath and then continued. 'Lockley worked with Goddard. By then, everyone knew the monasteries had no future and many of the monks tried to protect their financial security in various ways. That was the way Goddard chose, so he could preserve his status if the monastery closed. Lockley, I imagine, spent his share on drink.'

'How did you learn about this?'

'Young Cantrell told me. He worked in the monks' infirmary and had little to do with the lay hospital, but he learned what was going on, he heard Goddard and Lockley talking one day. Goddard told him to keep it quiet or he would suffer for it, but Cantrell suspected that one or two of the people Goddard and Lockley renderd unconscious for their teeth never woke up.'

'Cantrell,' I said. 'He was terrified at the mention of Goddard's name.'

Benson continued: 'I had been told by Lord Cromwell to seek out any scandals that might be going on, for use if we needed to put pressure on the monks to surrender.' He looked at us again. 'Yes, and all of you worked for him too, so you have no cause to be righteous with me. He told me to let what they were doing continue, so that we could spring a trap if need be, make a scandal of it. But his preference was for the monastery to be closed quietly and peacefully, without scandal, because that is what the King wanted. And that is what I achieved.'

'Did Goddard know Cantrell had informed on him?'

'No. I never told him I knew.'

'So more people could have died?' Harsnet said.

'Perhaps. I was under the Lord Cromwell's orders. As all of you know, one did not defy those lightly.' He leaned forward, regaining confidence now. 'And the King would not like to hear a scandal about Westminster, even now. I obeyed Lord Cromwell because he had all the power then, though I had no sympathy for his extreme radicalism in religion. But I knew he would go too far and his enemies on the Council would bring him down. Which is what happened. And now we are going back to more sensible ways.'

'So you swung with the wind,' Harsnet said.

'Better swinging with the wind than swinging in the wind, as many have.' Benson pointed a stubby finger at the coroner. 'The King knows nothing of this, does he? This killer you are seeking? I have been making soundings — oh, very discreetly, do not worry. The King would not be glad to hear Archbishop Cranmer had been keeping things from him, not at this time when there are so many voices raised against him.' He turned to me. 'Your search does not go well, does it? You seem to be caught up in a nasty tangle, master crookback. You would not want to annoy the King a second time.'

Harsnet turned to me, ignoring Benson. 'Where does this leave us? Is the killer some demented ex-patient of theirs?'

'I doubt it,' I said. 'They were poor, helpless folk. Yet there is some link, there has to be.'

'It's Goddard,' Harsnet said. 'He is choosing victims he knows.' He looked at the dean. 'You've told us everything?'

'All, now. On my oath as Dean of Westminster.'

'I know how much that is worth, sir,' Harsnet replied, his voice full of contempt.

Benson glared at him, then turned to me 'Am I safe?' he asked.

'I do not think you are at risk,' I replied. 'All five victims so far were associated with radical religion and moved away from it. But you, I think, were always a time-server,' I dared to say.

'A practical man, as I told you before, master crookback.'

Outside the house Harsnet shook his head. 'We are no further forward,' I said.

'At least we know how ruthless, and indeed cruel, both Lockley and Goddard could be. Why could Benson not tell us earlier about that scheme? He knows he is safe,' he added bitterly.

I did not reply. It occurred to me that the aggressive way Harsnet had tackled the dean from the beginning had not helped. He had been ruled by his dislike of the man. Sometimes dealing with political creatures one must dissemble and pretend friendship, as they do.

'And why didn't Cantrell tell us about this either?' he asked.

'Too afraid, I should think. It didn't do him much good telling Benson. We had better go and see what he says now. We can leave the horses here.' I pointed to the door in the wall, leading to Dean's Yard. 'There, that is where he lives. Though "exists" might be a better word.'

We went out and crossed the road to the tumbledown shop. 'I see no guard,' Harsnet said.

'Knowing him, he may have refused to have one.' 'Then he must be made to.' 'There I agree.'

We crossed the road and knocked at the door. After a moment Cantrell opened it. 'It is you, again, sir,' he said without enthusiasm. He peered at Harsnet through his glasses. 'Who is this?'

'I am the London assistant coroner,' Harsnet said, mildly enough. 'Master Shardlake is working with me. We wanted to see how you fared. We hoped to see a guard at the house.'

'He is out the back.'

'May we come in?'

Cantrell's shoulders sagged wearily as we followed him down the musty corridor to the parlour, Harsnet leading the way. The place still smelled of unwashed skin and bad food. We went into the dirty little parlour. I saw the window to the yard had been repaired. Outside a burly man wearing a sword sat on an old box, eating bread and cheese. Cantrell gestured at him. 'He insisted. I don't want a man in the house. He can stay out there.'

I looked round the parlour. There was a broken dish on the floor by the table, pottage leaking into the floorboards.

'My dinner,' Cantrell said gloomily. 'I dropped it when you knocked. I tried to put it on the table, but missed.'

'You should get your eyes seen to,' I said. 'Remember I said I know a physician who would see you for no fee.' I would pay Guy's fee, I decided. If I could do it for Bealknap, I could do it for poor Cantrell.

Cantrell stared at me. I wondered what his eyes looked like exposed, what disease ailed them. He was silent a moment, then said, 'I am afraid, sir. Afraid he will say I am going blind.'

'Or he may say new glasses would help you. Let me make an appointment.'

'How long will I have to have that man here guarding me?' he asked sullenly.

'He may be needed for some time yet,' Harsnet said. 'I have to tell you that Francis Lockley has disappeared and the woman he was living with has been killed. The man who broke in here — could it possibly have been Lockley?'

Cantrell stared at us, his mouth falling open with surprise. 'No, it wasn't Francis. He was short, and the man who broke in here was tall. Dr Goddard was a tall man.'

'With a large mole on the side of his nose, Serjeant Shardlake said?'

'Yes.'

'And with a cut on his head after you thwacked him with that piece of wood,' Barak added approvingly.

'I don't know, I don't know,' Cantrell said with sudden petulance. 'Why do you all have to come here, asking me questions? I do not understand what is happening. I just want to be left alone, in peace.'

Harsnet looked at him without speaking for a moment, getting his attention. 'We have just been to see Dean Benson,' he said. 'He told us about the wretched scheme of Goddard and Lockley's, extracting patients' teeth under dwale. He told us you reported them to him.'

'Why did you not tell me?' I asked.

Cantrell sank down on a stool, a gesture of utter weariness. Ts that why Dr Goddard is after me?' he asked. 'Because I told?'

'Dean Benson never told Goddard about that,' I said. 'But why did you not tell me?'

'Much good it did me when I told on him the first time. I always suspected Dr Goddard guessed what I'd done, though he never said anything. His tongue seemed harsher than ever after that.' The young man sighed deeply. 'It does no good, trying to do right. It is better to be left alone.' He looked up at us with those huge swimming eyes behind his glasses. 'It wasn't just patients they took teeth from, you know. Word got around among the beggars and pedlars that there was money to be had with no pain for young folks with good teeth. Many healthy folks came to the infirmary.' I thought suddenly of the attractive young woman I had seen yesterday. 'Dr Goddard could pick and choose. I was always surprised nobody in authority knew, all the beggars did. But no one takes notice of beggars, do they?' He relapsed into silence, staring at the floor.

'I will have a word with the guard.' Harsnet looked at Cantrell, shook his head, then went out of the back door. He spoke briefly with the guard, then returned.

'There's been nothing suspicious while he's been here. But he's unhappy at not being allowed into the house. He even has to sleep in the shed which is full of old carpenter's junk. Why will you not let him in, Goodman Cantrell?'

'I just want to be left alone,' Cantrell repeated. I feared he might burst into tears. I put a hand on Harsnet's arm, and he followed me out of the parlour. I turned in the doorway and spoke to Cantrell. 'I will speak to my physician friend. I will arrange an appointment for you.' He did not reply, just sat looking at the floor.

Outside, Harsnet shook his head again. 'The smell of that place. Did you see how dirty his clothes were?' 'Yes, he is in a bad way. Poor creature.'

'Going the same way as Adam Kite, by the looks of him,' Barak said.

'I will help him if I can,' I said.

'You would help all the mad folks in London. They will drive you as mad as they.'

'Serjeant Shardlake merely wishes to help,' Harsnet said reprove ingly. I rubbed my arm at a sudden twinge from my wound. 'How is your arm?' Harsnet said. 'I forgot to ask.'

'Much better. But I have just had the stitches out. I hope that guard knows his business. I don't want to lose Cantrell too.'

Harsnet looked at me. I could see that like Barak he thought I was getting too involved in the troubles of the young ex-monk. 'He's competent enough. He is the last man I have. If we need any more we will have to rely on Sir Thomas Seymour.' He sighed heavily. 'In the end it will be as God wills.'

Harsnet returned to his office at nearby Whitehall, and Barak and I rode home along the Strand. It was late afternoon now and the shadows were lengthening.

'What the hell happened in that tavern last night?' Barak asked. 'Is Lockley the killer, and killing his wife part of his plan? If that were so, surely he would leave her to the end, as the seventh victim, not reveal his identity now?'

'I cannot see him as the killer. He does not have the fierce, cold intelligence the killer must have. Unless he is a good actor. Guy says the killer must be acting most of the time, to be able to pretend to be normal.' I shook my head. 'But how could Lockley know anything about the law, enough to prepare that letter for Roger?'

'I don't know. I can't see it being Goddard either, though. It doesn't feel right, somehow.'

'I agree. Dr Goddard sounds more and more like a man obsessed with status and money, not with religious feeling.'

Barak grinned sourly. 'Unlike our pure brother, coroner Harsnet.'

'He's not so bad. He has some good qualities.'

'He'd like to convert you. Make you a godly man too.' He snorted. 'How could anyone believe in a merciful God after what we've seen in that tavern?'

'I suppose some would say that God gives man free will and if he abuses it that is his doing, not God's.'

'Try telling that to Mrs Bunce.'

AS we turned into Chancery Lane I remembered that I had agreed to see how Adam Kite was faring. And I must ask Guy to see Cantrell. I could understand the young man's fear. What if Guy told him he would end wholly blind;

We took the horses round to the stable, then went into the house. As soon as I opened the door, Joan came hurrying down the stairs. 'Dorothy Elliard's maid Margaret has been round with a message,' she said.

'Has something happened to her;' My heart was suddenly in my mouth.

'No. She's all right. But she has a Master Bealknap in her lodgings. He collapsed on her doorstep. Margaret says he's at death's door.'

'Bealknap;' I asked incredulously. 'But he barely knows Dorothy.' 'That was the message, sir. It came half an hour ago. Margaret asked you to go over there as soon as you returned.' 'I'll go now.'

I opened the door and hurried back down the path, walking rapidly round to Lincoln's Inn, where candles were being lit in the windows as darkness fell. Margaret let me in, her plump face anxious.

'What is going on?' I asked.

'I heard a knocking at the door early this afternoon, sir, and when I answered I found this man in a barrister's robe collapsed on the doorstep. The mistress got the cook to put him to bed. He said you knew him—'

'I'm in here,' Dorothy called from the parlour.

'I'd better go back to him, sir,' Margaret said. 'He's in a bad way.' She hurried away with a rustle of skirts. I went into the parlour, where Dorothy was standing by the fire, studying the discoloured section of the wooden frieze.

'I must get this section redone. It was so poorly repaired, it irritates me now I spend so much time sitting here.' Her face was pale, and I sensed she was making an effort to stay calm. 'Thank you for coming, Matthew.'

'What has happened? Why is Bealknap here?'

'Margaret found him collapsed on the doorstep. Asking for help. She called me. He was lying there white as a sheet, gasping for air.' There was a slight tremble in her voice. I realized the sight must have brought back the memory of Roger, lying by the fountain. Damn Bealknap, I thought.

'Margaret said you've put him to bed.'

She spread her hands. 'What else could I do? He said he was dying, asked for my help. Though I barely knew him, and liked him no better than you did.'

'He knew a woman would not turn him away.' I frowned. 'I will go and deal with him.'

'Matthew,' Dorothy said quietly. 'Do not be too harsh. I think he is very ill.' 'We'll see.'

They had put Bealknap in a bedroom; from the schoolboy-sized tennis racquet on a wooden chest I guessed it was Samuel's old room. Margaret was leaning over the bed, trying to get Bealknap to drink something from a cup. He lay in the bed in his shirt. I was shocked by how bad he looked, his face against the pillows as pale as death in the light of the candle on the bedside table. He was conscious, though; he stared at me with wild, terrified eyes.

Margaret turned to me. She looked distressed. She, too, had seen Roger's corpse. 'I'm trying to get him to drink some weak beer,' she said.

'Leave us,' I said gently.

She put down the cup and left the room. I looked down at Bealknap. It was a strange thing to see him so close up, and so helpless. His disordered yellow hair was thinning, a large bald patch at the crown. Some of the drink Margaret had given him had spilled around his mouth. He looked utterly helpless, and his frantic stare showed he knew it.

'Why have you come here?' I asked quietly. 'You know what this household has suffered.'

'I knew — Mistress Elliard - was still here.' His voice was faint, his breath rasping. 'I knew she was kind. I have — no one else — to help me.'

'Anyone would help a fellow barrister in a state of collapse.'

'Not me. Everyone hates me.' He sighed, closed his eyes for a moment. 'I am finished, Shardlake. I cannot eat, the food just passes through me. Dr Archer said the last purge would wear off, but it has not. And I bleed sometimes, I bleed down there.'

I sighed. 'I will arrange for Dr Malton to come and see you here.'

'I think it is too late. My vision blurs, I feel faint all the time.' With a great effort, he pulled a skinny hand from beneath the covers and grasped my wrist. I tried not to flinch at the unexpected gesture. 'I have never believed in God,' he whispered, still fixing me with his agonized gaze. 'Not since I was a child. The world is a battleground, predators and prey. The rules and conventions of the law only disguise the fact. But now I am frightened. The Catholics say if you confess your sins and repent at the end, God will receive you into Heaven. I need a priest, one of the old type.'

I took a deep breath. 'I will have Dr Malton fetched now, and he may know a priest who will confess you. But I think, Bealknap, with proper treatment you may come round. I will send Margaret back in.' I tried to rise, but he still held me fast by the wrist, his grip surprisingly strong.

'You believe, don't you?' he asked.

I hesitated. 'I have no — certainty. I have not had for some time.'

He looked surprised. 'I always thought you did. All your concern for rules and ethics, the way you always looked down on me, I thought you were one of the godly folk.'

'No.'

'Then why help me now? When you hate me? I have done some hard things to you. Because you looked down on me as though I were a louse, not a man.' A brief flash of anger in the pale eyes.

'You are still a fellow human being.'

Bealknap seemed to think for a moment. He bit his lip, showing long yellow teeth. Then he said, 'The priest may not come — in time. At least I can tell you about one sin, tell you what I did. Though I do not know why he asked—'

'What do you mean, Bealknap? You are making no sense.'

He closed his eyes. 'Near two weeks ago. After you lost me the case involving that marsh cottar. The next day a man called at my Chambers. His name is Colin Felday.' He paused for breath. 'He is a solicitor, he hangs around the Westminster Sanctuary looking for clients and I am one of the barristers he brings them to. Not a — respectable man, one of those you would disapprove of.' He tried to laugh, but the cracking sound turned into a cough. He opened his eyes again, full of fear and pain. 'He said he had a client who would pay good money for information I could give him about you.' 'What sort of information;'

'Anything I could give. About your work habits, where you lived. Even about what sort of man you were. About your man Barak. I told him you were a starchy prig, bitter about your fate as a hunchback. I said you were a persistent lawyer. Like a damned terrier dog. And no fool.' He tried to laugh again. 'Oh, no, never that.'

I stared down at him. This was the killer, it must be. This was how he had found out about me; this solicitor had perhaps written to Roger at his instruction. 'Who is Felday's client;' I asked sharply. 'What is his name;'

'He said he could not tell me that. Only that he wished you no good. That was enough for me.' His eyes were full of anger now. This might be a confession, but I saw there was no real contrition. Only terrible fear at the prospect of death.

'I think Felday's client has killed five people,' I said. 'I have been hunting him. And he has been hunting me. He sliced my arm open, and hurt Barak's wife badly.'

Bealknap's eyes slid away. 'I didn't know that. No one can blame me for that.' I smiled wryly at the reappearance of the old Bealknap; somehow I knew then he would survive.

'Where does Felday live;' I asked.

'Some cheap lodgings by the cathedral. Addle Hill.'

'I will have Guy fetched here,' I said quietly. 'And I will ask about a priest.' Bealknap nodded weakly, but did not open his eyes. His confession had exhausted him, or perhaps he could not meet my eye now. I left him, closing the door quietly behind me.

Dorothy was sitting in her chair by the fire, Margaret on a stool opposite her. They both looked drained. 'Margaret,' I said. 'Could you bear to go back and sit with him? I think if he gets some liquid into him that would be good.'

'Is he going to die?' Dorothy asked bluntly after Margaret left the room.

'I do not know. He thinks he is. I am going to have Guy fetched here. Bealknap wants a priest too, one who can confess him.'

She gave a mirthless laugh. 'Bealknap never struck me as a believer in the old ways. Or in anything save lining his pockets.'

'I think for him it is a sort of insurance.' I shook my head. 'He is a strange man. It is known he has a massive chest of gold locked away in his chambers. But no wife, nor friends, only enemies. What drove him to be so?'

Dorothy shook her head. 'Who can say? Well, I hope he lives. I would not want another death here. Thank you for coming, Matthew.' She smiled. 'Margaret and I — we did not know what to do. Somehow we could not think.'

'That is hardly surprising in the circumstances.'

She got up. 'At least let me give you some supper. I'll wager you have not had any.'

'No. There is something I must do urgently.'

About these killings?'

'Yes. A possible lead.'

She came over to me, and took my hand. She looked down at it. 'You have been through so much. You look more tired than ever.'

'I think we may be near the end of the trail.'

'Seeing that man Bealknap lying on the doorstep, so white, it brought everything back. When I first saw Roger's body.' Suddenly she burst into tears, bringing her hands up to her face. I forgot myself, and took her in my arms.

'Oh Dorothy, poor Dorothy . . .'

She looked up at me with her tear-streaked face. Looked into my eyes. And I felt if I kissed her now, she would respond. But then she blinked and took a step back. She smiled sadly. 'Poor Matthew,' she said quickly. 'Running from pillar to post to help me.'

'Whatever I can do, at any time.' 'I know,' she answered quietly.

I bowed and went out. On the front doorstep I paused, suddenly overcome with emotion. She did feel something for me, I felt that now. I looked out over Gatehouse Court. It was dark, only a few lights at the windows. I took a deep breath, and began walking briskly homeward. I would send Peter to fetch Guy. Barak and I had another mission now, to find Felday. My heart, already beating fast, beat harder and my legs shook a little at the thought that perhaps at last we had found our route to the killer.

Chapter Thirty-three

I walked rapidly back to the house. As I stepped inside I felt suddenly faint. I stood with my back against the door for a moment, taking deep breaths. Then I climbed the stairs to Barak and Tamasin's room. I knocked, and Barak's voice bade me enter.

They made, at first sight, a peaceful domestic scene. Tamasin was sitting at the table, sewing; Barak was lying on the bed. He looked relaxed, but then I noticed a slight frown on his brow, and one foot jiggled up and down.

'Jack,' I said, 'I am afraid I need you for a while.' 'Not another,' he said, his eyes widening.

'No.' Tamasin looked at us with anxious eyes. I smiled reassure ingly. 'It is all right. We need to go on an errand.'

'What's happened?' Barak asked as we walked back down the stairs. He seemed glad to be called to action now he knew we were not going to gaze at another tortured victim. I told him about Bealknap's confession about the solicitor Felday. 'You go drink- ing with some of the jobbing solicitors,' I said. 'Do you know him?'

'I've had him pointed out to me,' Barak answered. 'Thin, sharp- faced fellow. Gets most of his clients from the Westminster Sanctuary, he's well known down there.' He looked at me seriously. 'My friends said he will do anything for money. And they're no angels.'

I paused at the bottom of the stairs. 'We must go and see him now. If this client of his is the killer — and who else would be asking questions like that about us? — we can identify him at last.' I hesitated in the doorway. 'I wonder, should we fetch Harsnet?'

'We should get to Felday at once,' Barak said. 'Take our chance now.'

'Yes. It is the best opportunity that has come our way yet.'

Barak's face set hard. 'So that's how the arsehole knew where I lived, and he would have been told you work at the Court of Requests. He's probably been following us around.'

'So much for supernatural powers granted by the devil. Nothing supernatural about getting a crooked solicitor to get information from a crooked barrister. And he must have money, if he can afford to set a solicitor and a barrister as spies.'

'We still don't know how he's been able to follow us unseen.'

'We soon will.'

'What are you going to do about Bealknap?' 'Send Peter to fetch Guy. Let's find him.' 'I'd leave that old arsehole to rot.' 'Not in Dorothy's house. Come on.'

I went to the kitchen. Philip Orr was seated at the table, a mug of beer in his hands, a stool creaking under his weight as he talked to the two boys, Timothy and Peter, who were sitting at his feet. 'And then the King entered the city,' he said dramatically. 'You've never seen anyone like His Majesty. A huge man, taller by a head than all the courtiers and servants who followed him. Jewels glinting in his cap and on his doublet. And beside him Queen Anne Boleyn, that was later found to be such a wicked strumpet—' He stood hastily as we came in. The boys too scrambled to their feet.

'Sorry, sir,' Orr said. 'I was just telling them about my time as a city constable—'

'That is all right. But I have a job for Peter to do. Come,' I said to the older boy, 'I will write a note. I want you to take it down to Bucklersbury, quick as you can.' I looked at Timothy. 'Is it not time you were abed;'

'Yes, sir.'

I had been pleased to see Peter and Timothy side by side. There was a new sparkle in Timothy's eyes, that had been so dull before.

'Goodnight, then,' I said. Peter followed us out. I went into the parlour, hastily scribbled a note to Guy and gave it to him. He hurried off. 'Right,' I said to Barak. 'Let us see what good Master Felday has to say for himself. Addle Hill's not far. Bring your sword.'

We walked quickly along Fleet Street to the city wall. The guard there, seeing my lawyer's robes, let us through. The huge bulk of St Paul's Cathedral was no more than a vast dark shape ahead of us. It was a dark night; the moon hidden by clouds, and I smelt more rain in the air.

'You and Tamasin made a peaceful-looking scene just now.' 'I'm trying to behave. But it's hard with this business constantly knocking round my head.' 'It will come right.'

As we turned into Carter Lane we saw a commotion ahead of us. Two constables had a ragged-looking man by the collar. 'I only want to sleep in the doorway,' he said. 'It's going to rain again.'

'Then get wet!' The constables poked him with the end of their staffs, sending him staggering into the street. 'Be gone, mange-hound!' The vagrant turned away and the constables, hearing our footsteps, turned to us. 'I am a barrister visiting his solicitor,' I said as they held up their lanterns. They bowed and let us pass.

Addle Hill was a long street leading down towards the river. At the top the houses were large old four-storey buildings with overhanging eaves, most of them dilapidated-looking. Built on Thames mud as they were, many had settled and shifted with the years and some looked ready to topple over. A woman peered at us from a doorway, then melted back into the darkness.

'Good few whores round here,' Barak said quietly.

'No one else about, though. We're going to have to knock at a lot of doors to find him.'

A group of figures was approaching up the street, some carrying lanterns, conversing quietly. A man and woman left the group and, calling goodnight, went into one of the houses. 'We can ask these folk,' Barak said.

'Excuse me,' I said, stepping into the path of the group. An old man at their head raised a lantern. I saw that he, and the people behind him, wore dark clothes and were carrying Bibles. They must be on their way back from some meeting. I asked him if he might know where a solicitor named Felday lived. He shook his head, but a young man stepped forward. 'I know him,' he said. He took in my lawyer's robe. 'Is he instructing you, sir?'

'I have some business with him.'

'He is not well esteemed among his neighbours,' the young man said censoriously. He was no more than twenty. 'He is known as unscrupulous and irreligious.'

There was a murmur of agreement within the group. I frowned at the young man. 'My business is my affair,' I answered sharply. 'Now, will you have the Christian charity to tell me where he lives?'

The young man shook his head sorrowfully, then pointed down the hill. 'Half a dozen houses down, on the right, the house with the blue door.'

'Thank you,' I answered brusquely and stepped out of their way. The group moved on. 'He spoke irreligiously, Thomas,' one of them said loudly enough for me to hear. 'Talking lightly of Christian charity.'

Barak looked after them. 'More godly men,' he said. 'They never miss a chance to tell off someone they think less pure than them.'

'They're bold, walking about in a group like that after dark with Bonner after them all.'

'Probably hoping to be martyrs, like half these godly folk.' I took a deep breath. 'Right, let us find Felday.'

The house we had been directed to was less shabby than the rest; the blue door recently painted. I tried the handle but it was locked.

I knocked several times before the door was answered by a woman in her thirties. She smiled at us. 'Yes, sirs?' 'We are seeking Master Felday.'

The smile turned immediately to a scowl. 'You and several others,' she said. 'He's not been in for days. I keep having to answer the door to people looking for him.'

'Perhaps we could go to his rooms. Where are they?'

'First floor, on the left. And tell him when you find him that if he goes away again, to let people know. It's not a neighbour's duty to answer the door every five minutes.' She delivered her last words to our backs as we hurried up the stairs.

There was a wide landing on the first floor, two doors leading off. The layout was similar to the Old Barge where Barak and Tamasin lived, only larger and cleaner. We knocked loudly on the left-hand door. There was no reply. Barak tried it. It was locked.

'Where's the arsehole got to?' he asked. 'Think he's skipped?'

'I don't know.' I hesitated for a moment, then said, 'Break it down.'

He looked at me. 'You sure? That's breaking and entering.' 'We have Cranmer behind us if anyone complains.' 'We should get some light first. I'll go and ask that woman for a candle.'

He went back down the stairs while I looked at the closed door. I wondered if part of the killer's deal with Felday — for I was sure the killer was his client — was that he should make himself scarce for a while, in case I managed to follow the trail back to him. If so, I would find him.

Barak returned, carrying a candle. 'I think that woman downstairs is a high-class doxy. She asked if the lawyer wanted to visit her. I told her you'd think about it.' He grinned, but I sensed the anxiety behind his clowning.

'She'll be disappointed, then. Give me the candle, let's get inside.'

Barak took a step back, then kicked hard and expertly at the lock. The door flew open with a crash, banging against the wall. Inside, darkness and an unexpected breath of cool air. I cupped a hand before the candle-flame to protect it.

'There's a window open somewhere,' I said.

'If he's gone away maybe he left the window open to air the place. It's a bit whiffy.' Barak drew his sword and we stepped carefully inside. There were several doors leading off the hallway. One was half-open; that was where the draught of air was coming from. Barak drew his sword and with the point gently pushed it fully open.

Inside I made out a wall lined with shelves. Under the open window was a large desk, and my hand tightened on my dagger as I saw the figure of a man lying slumped across it. He wore a white shirt. One of his arms lay on a little pile of papers; the corner of the top page waved up and down in the light breeze.

We went in. Barak prodded the prone figure lightly with his sword-tip. He did not stir. I brought the candle over and shone the light on the man's head. He was young, no more than thirty, with thick brown hair and a thin, handsome face, the features delicate. His eyes were shut, his expression peaceful. He looked as though he had fallen asleep.

'It's Felday,' Barak said.

Something moved in the room. We both jumped round. Barak pointed his sword at a corner. Then he gave a tense bark of laughter as we realized the edge of a brightly coloured wall-hanging had been caught by the breeze.

'Jesus, my heart was in my mouth there,' he said.

'Mine too.'

He went over to the window and closed it, then used the candle to light a lamp that stood on a table. Then he took the man gently by the shoulders and lifted him upright in his chair. It was hard work, because his shirt-front was a mass of blood which had flowed on to the table and congealed there. Barak laid down his sword and ripped the man's shirt open. I winced at the sight of a large stab-wound in his chest, right over his heart.

'At least this poor fellow died quickly,' Barak said quietly. A stab to the heart, he wouldn't have known what hit him.' He looked at me. 'Is this the sixth victim?'

'No,' I said quietly. 'This killing was quickly and simply done. Not like the others. And I see no symbolic linking to waters drying up.'

'You mean someone else killed Felday?' Barak asked, astonished.

'No, I think it was our killer,' I answered quietly. 'But not as part of his sequence. I think Felday was killed in case we found our way to him, or in case he talked.' I sighed. 'Bealknap told Felday I was persistent.' I looked at poor Felday. 'I think the killer came to visit him, calling on him as a client to his solicitor. They were probably sitting talking across the table when he thrust the dagger in his heart.' Sure enough, an empty chair was positioned opposite where Felday sat. I looked again at the solicitor's oddly peaceful face. 'By the sound of it Felday was an irreligious man. Just as well for him; if he had been an apostate from the godly men, he would no doubt have been incorporated into the sequence, and he would have died slowly and dramatically.' I began prowling round the room. 'He didn't want Felday found quickly. That's why he left the window open, to keep the room cool and prevent the smell of death going through the house too quickly.'

'I'd say he's been dead a few days,' Barak said. 'He's rotting, you catch the smell close to. God, the bastard is clever.'

'Come,' I said. 'Help me. I want to go through the desk and all these papers. See if there is some sort of clue. A note, a receipt, anything.'

For an hour we searched the solicitor's office, and the rest of the neat, well-appointed little dwelling. Outside heavy rain started again, hissing on the cobbles and dripping from the eaves. But among all the papers we found nothing, only an empty square of dust on one of the shelves where some papers had been taken, probably Felday's notes for his spying work. The trail had gone cold.

Chapter Thirty-four

We returned home. I sent a message to Harsnet, then ate a gloomy dinner on my own; Barak did not want any. Felday's death, coming so soon after Mrs Bunce, was almost too much to bear.

I was almost pleased to have an interruption later that evening, when one of Roger's clients called in a state of great anxiety. It was Master Bartholomew, who had organized the interlude at Lincoln's Inn. That was barely three weeks ago, though it seemed an eternity. Two of the actors he employed in his company had been arrested a week before, for possessing forbidden plays by John Bale. While he himself steered clear of religious controversy, Bartholomew found that many of those he worked with now did not wish to be associated with him; such was the climate of fear developing in London.

'My costume supplier won't let me have any costumes for my next performance, and a carpenter who was to build the scenery has pulled out. It is a performance of The Castle of Perseverance, at the Lord Mayor's house next Thursday. They are breaching their contracts, is there nothing I can do? Normally I would have gone to Master Elliard, but since his death

I told him he could sue, but not in time to save his performance. He could only try persuasion. Master Bartholomew left, gloomy, but less panicked, to try again with his contractors. In the doorway he looked out into the rain that was teeming down again, and raised the hood on his coat. Then he turned to me. 'Is there no progress on finding Master Elliard's killer, sir? I heard the inquest was adjourned for the coroner to investigate.' 'I fear there is no news yet.'

He shook his head. 'Nor ever will be, perhaps. That's what happens if you don't catch a murderer quickly. You never catch them.'

He left. I thought, if he or any of the citizenry knew the true story, what a panic there could be in this anxious city.

Next morning I rode out early to the Bedlam. I had passed a disturbed night, constantly waking to the sound of the rain, and was in a tired and worried frame of mind as I rode along, Genesis taking careful steps in the muddy streets. Felday's death still preyed on me; if I had not become a focus of the killer's attention he would not have died. But then if he had not been so crooked, he would not have died either. I had had no reply from Harsnet yet, and I had left a message at home saying where I was going.

I had received a brief note that morning from Dorothy. Guy had visited Bealknap, and judged that with care and rest he should recover, though any more purging and bleeding might well kill him. 'Your doctor friend advises he stay here some days, until he is stronger,' Dorothy concluded. Reading between the lines I guessed she would rather he had not.

The sight of the Bedlam gates ahead brought me back to the present. As I rode through the yard, I saw two familiar figures come out. It was Daniel and Minnie Kite, Daniel's large arm round his wife. He looked thoughtful, though Minnie looked more settled. They glanced up as I approached, and I pulled Genesis to a halt.

'Good morning,' I said. 'You have been visiting Adam?'

'Yes, sir,' Daniel said.

'I am meeting Dr Malton here shortly, he is making one of his visits.'

Minnie's face lightened. 'He is a good man. I believe he is helping Adam. He says it will take a long time, but I think my son is somewhat better.'

Daniel nodded. 'Sometimes now he will pay us a little attention.

Stop praying, just for a short while. And he will eat too. I wonder — I wonder whether he may be able to follow me into my trade after all.' He looked at me almost pleadingly, so I could supply an answer.

'Perhaps one day,' I said noncommittally.

'But I'm not sure it ever was the work Adam wanted.' Minnie looked at me. 'I do wonder if my son is angry with us for some reason. The way he still treats us.'

'If you wait a little, Dr Malton will not be long. You could talk to him.'

They looked at each other dubiously. 'Perhaps we—' Minnie said, but her husband shook his head.

'No, chick. We must go to service. In these days, we must show our support to our preacher.' He looked at me again, and something had closed up in his face.

'How is Reverend Meaphon?' I asked neutrally.

'He is very worried, sir. These are days of persecution.' He looked at me. 'We fear in our church that one of our neighbours, Reverend Yarington, has been arrested. He has not been seen for days. None of his congregation will say what has happened, but Reverend Meaphon is sore distressed. He says Christian folks must stand together against the devil in these days, and he is right.'

'Then I will leave you. Shall I ask Dr Malton to call upon you?'

'Yes, sir,' he said. 'That would be kind.'

They left me. I wondered at how even Minnie seemed to be putting her church before her son now. If Adam had become angry with her in the past, perhaps that was why. Everything was polarizing. Last week a traditionalist priest had been arrested for pricking his ringer and letting drops of blood fall on to the holy wafer in an effort to prove to his congregation that the bread indeed turned into the body and blood of Christ on consecration.

I tied Genesis up outside the long, low asylum building and knocked at the door. Keeper Shawms answered; at the sight of me he frowned, then forced his expression into a semblance of a smile. 'Master Shardlake,' he muttered.

'Good day. I am meeting Dr Malton here.'

He stood aside for me to enter. 'He ain't here yet. But Ellen is with Kite. He is getting the best of care.' Shawms' voice was respectful, but there was a nasty look in his eyes.

'Good. The first report to the court is due in a week. I shall want to see it before it is sent. How is Adam?'

'That black doctor says he is improving, though I can't see it. He and Ellen like to get him out of his chamber, have him sitting in the parlour. But it upsets the other patients.'

'I am sure you cope.'

I had been aware of muffled shouting nearby, and now a door opened and the fat keeper Gebons appeared, red-faced. 'His Majesty is in a fierce state, sir,' he told Shawms. 'Wants his crown mending. Can you settle him?'

Shawms sighed heavily, brushed past Gebons and threw the door of the chamber wide. Inside I saw the old man who believed he was the King, sitting on his commode in his patchwork robe. The paper crown on his head had had an accident, several of its points were flattened. 'You will repair my crown!' he shouted, waving a fist. 'You are my subjects and you will obey me!'

Shawms grabbed the paper crown from his head and crushed it in a meaty fist. 'That for your crown!' he snapped. 'One day you will babble so far you will not be able to pull your tongue in again. Now be quiet, or no lunch.' The fat old man seemed visibly to shrink into himself, then buried his face in his hands and began to weep. Shawms left him, slamming the door behind him.

'There, that's shut him up,' he told Gebons with satisfaction. 'Now, Master Shardlake, we are busy, as you see. I will leave you to go to Adam's chamber.'

The door of Adam's room was open. Ellen was seated on a stool opposite him. Adam was still chained; there must be no repeat of what had happened at London Wall. 'Come, Adam,' Ellen was saying, 'take the spoon and feed yourself. I am not going to put it into your mouth like a little baby. Come on.' She put on a babyish voice. 'Goo-goo, ga-ga.'

To my surprise, Adam responded to her gentle mockery with a smile, quickly suppressed. He sighed, but took the spoon and bowl, and under Ellen's watchful eye he ate the pottage.