A Queen's Spy, - [best books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

most current page in the ledger. The blank lines still following the entry told Peter that Mya had not been in possession of the item long. Mya confirmed that he had received it less than two days ago. The name entered on the page was, of course, a lie, and the description Mya gave of his customer initially was unlike the one Peter had been given by Harry.

“Did the man who left this have yellow hair?” Peter asked his attention riveted on the usurer.

Mya nodded. “Yes, as bright as gold.”

“And did he have blue eyes?” Peter asked quickly, a hopeful expression settling on his face.

“Bright blue, like sapphires,” Mya supplied.

“Jack,” Peter spoke the name slowly. He had served in Harry’s household with Jack and knew of the incident on Harlsey moor when Jack, for some unknown reason, had changed sides. Jack was a man marked by his appearance, and one never easily forgotten.

“Is this the man you are looking for?” Mya pressed.

“No, but I think he maybe the servant of the man I am trying to trace, it seems likely that he sent him here to exchange his sword for coin rather than coming himself,” Peter concluded, smiling broadly.

“I am pleased I could help,” Mya replied.

“This is where men of his type always end up when they are short of money to keep them in the ale house for a few more nights,” Peter replied, an edge of disgust in his voice.

“It’s a curse on some men,” Mya agreed sadly, “but I just offer a service where I can, what they spend their money on is out of my control.”

“And I am pleased you’ve offered your service to this man, it has been useful to me indeed.”

Peter handed Mya his remaining coins to ensure he shared this gem with no one else and, with a promise of more, rapidly retrieved his horse and made his way quickly back to Harry.

 

†

 

Jack’s careless disposal of his sword had been borne of physical desperation when Molly finally refused to live on promises anymore. Jack had been forced to find some coin, and that coin had been provided by Mya. As soon as Richard gave Jack the money he had asked for, Jack set off to redeem what was his. But the shop was now being watched. Peter was rewarded sooner than he would have let himself dream when Jack swung down from his horse and ducked through the low door into the dim confines of Mya’s shop. Jack emerged after conducting the rapid transaction. Armed once more, he pulled himself back into the saddle, and turned his horse from the pawnshop.

He was not in a hurry and Peter, now with three of Harry’s men to help him, had little difficulty following him. Still aware of Richard’s words to keep his head down, Jack returned directly to the inn leading Harry straight to Richard Fitzwarren.

Harry wanted Richard alive; he wished to deliver the ultimate gift to Robert to toy with as he wished. As for Jack, Harry’s eyes had clearly conveyed the message to Peter that the demise of the man could not happen soon enough.

 

†

 

“Tonight, Jack, be ready to leave. I want to be at Byrne’s tomorrow.”

Richard was perched on the window ledge, absently watching the street below.

“I shall be glad to be out of here,” Jack mused.

“How will you cope, Jack?” Richard asked looking carefully at his brother. “We are to spend weeks, perhaps months, quietly in the country. If a few days in an Inn have driven you to distraction, how does that prospect please you?”

Jack shot Richard a dark look. “I shall be again at my own control, not forced to hide away out of sight while you decide our fate.”

“Ah, so you see your fate in my poor and inadequate hands. Now that is a worry,” Richard’s voice was mocking. “Do you think I am equal to the task?”

“I agree it’s a worry,” Jack’s tone was sarcastic.

“The remedy is in your own hands,” Richard provided.

“Fate has brought me so far. I shall wait and see where it takes me next,” Jack declared.

“Fate!” Richard was finally annoyed. “Fate is the excuse of the uninventive, the unimaginative, and the ignorant. I had no idea you were all three! Fate in this instance means, I assume, that you will wait and see what is brought to you by my efforts. I feel much like a bantam with a bet on it. Thank you, however, for the confidence.”

“I only meant…” Jack tried, but they were poor words and it was obvious he had never intended to complete the sentence.

“Leave it, Jack, and me. Go. Find some place comfy and contemplate the future and what place, if any, you have in it.” Richard was still angry.

“Damn you… I will be ready tonight! I’ll not stand and listen to any more of your twisted words.”

Richard regarded him with a cool level gaze. “The solution to that is most certainly in your own hands.”

“One of these days I will bloody leave you and you can find someone else to do your bidding!” Jack left, slamming the door hard in its badly fitted frame.

Richard left his room shortly after and set himself towards the stables at the back of the inn where his own horse was kept. Crossing the yard his attention was caught by a heated argument taking place between a girl and a water carrier. He couldn’t quite keep a smile from his face as he listened to the girl berating the man. Slim, brown haired, and half the water carrier’s size, she’d squared herself up to him and clearly had no intention of backing down.

“It’s filthy. I’m not paying, I don’t care what you say you are going to do to me,” the girl blazed, hands on her hips, elbows jutting out sideways.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Now pay up.” The water carrier shrugged one of the leather straps from his shoulder.

“I will not. I wouldn’t wash my feet in that, it’s that bloody filthy.” The girl glared at him, her eyes alight with temper.

“I didn’t break my back lugging that up here to be talked to like this,” he growled as he loosened the second strap and dropped the keg to the ground. The pewter cups tied to the side jangled noisily on the cobbles. A huge paw like hand flew through the air destined to land on the side of the girl’s face.

The water carrier yelped in surprise as his wrist was grasped and painfully wrenched downwards.

“Let’s see if she’s telling the truth, shall we?” Richard said quietly, still holding the man’s wrist tightly in his hand.

“What’s this got to do with you?” His voice was high pitched and he gasped against the pain.

“I too like clean water, so let’s see what you’ve got in here.” Richard, releasing his wrist, pushed him away hard. There was a bung on the side of the keg and he kicked it loose.

“No!” yelled the water carrier as water began to escape in great big belching glugs from the wooden cask.

Richard dipped a hand into the cool cascade and held up the palm full of water in front of the water carrier’s face. “She’s right. I’ve seen cleaner puddles in the street.” Richard cast the water into the man’s face and he flinched as if he had been struck. “Now go.”

A moment later he pressed the bung home again and, hastily hitching one of the leather straps over his shoulder, hurriedly made his way from the yard. Richard turned to the girl. “Go to Great Conduit Street near Mercers’ Chapel, you’ll get better water there.”

Her eyes were still full of anger. “I’ve not time, and he knows it.”

Richard resisted a smile, instead he said seriously, “Mistress I am sorry the water carrier tried to dupe you.”

“The likes of him won’t dupe me. Do I look like I was born last week?”

Richard, amused, managed to keep it from his voice. “No, no you don’t.” Then unable to stop himself he added, “Maybe a week last Tuesday, but certainly not last week.”

The girl’s eyes widened and a curse slipped passed her lips.

“Here, straighten your face, and try Great Conduit Street.” Richard, grinning, flipped a coin towards her through the air.

A filthy hand snatched the coin from the air, her eyes never leaving his face.

Richard turned to continue his journey to the stables and heard the land lady calling for the girl from inside the inn.

“Lizbet, where the bloody hell are you?”

 

†

 

The Duke of Suffolk was also at that moment being tried by another difficult conversation. Jane was still at Syon House in quiet retreat as befitted a newlywed. Unfortunately, Jane was not acting as a newly wedded daughter should.

“Jane. I hear your argument but, Jane, understand this if nothing else: the act is done; the time is past. You are married to Guildford. Edward will name you as his successor, and your reason, your philosophy, your morals and your bloody ideals matter naught. They cannot change it.” Suffolk’s head ached with the desperation of his arguments.

Jane didn’t reply but instead turned in a swirl of rose velvet to gaze moodily from the window.

Suffolk advanced to stand behind his daughter. “Fathers are set to try and gain the best for their children. I admit, as you constantly remind me, that this is an opportunity for me, but why can you not see it as an equal opportunity for yourself?”

Jane still stood staring from the window.

Suffolk saw her lack of words as an improvement on the tirades she had previously thrown at him. He was hopeful the girl was finally seeing sense. He continued, “Jane, you are sensible. Tell me then what you propose to do when the time comes. Admit it; there is little you can do.” That concluded Suffolk’s case and he left his daughter staring from the window, not seeing the tears slide with anguished abandon down her young face.

 

†

 

Peter had heard plenty of tales and alehouse gossip about Robert Fitzwarren’s feud with his brother, and of the death he had attempted to deliver at Harlsey Moor. The reason for the deep and rancid hatred that lay within Robert had remained the subject of conjecture: some childhood transgression, some woman. Whatever the true reason, it had never come to light. Conversations on the matter had dwindled steadily after Richard Fitzwarren had left England’s shores and Peter had even heard a rumour that Richard had met his death in France. Peter himself had been a part of the pack that had pursued Richard when Jack, for some reason unknown, had changed sides and rescued him from, according to Harry, the certain death he had been about to deliver. Of Richard, Peter knew little. Most tales from Harry and Robert cast the man he now pursued as a coward and a trickster, one who spent his life skulking in the gutter and would turn tail and run, as he had done at Harlsey Moor, rather than face an adversary. No honour, no courage: a weasel of a man.

Peter Hardwood made his first mistake in believing he had little to fear from Richard Fitzwarren, who he expected to easily capture and return to Harry in exchange for his pension.

Peter had already made discreet enquiries of the landlord and, on a promise of recompensing him for “any damage which might ensue”, knew the room his prey