Dark Fire

Chapter Sixteen

WHEN I ARRIVED AT Guy's shop there was no sign of Barak's horse outside. Wondering whether he was still with Cromwell, I tied Chancery to the rail and went in.

Guy was at his table, grinding herbs in a pestle, and looked up in surprise. 'Ho, Matthew. I did not expect to see you today.'

'Guy, I have a favour to ask, some information. By the way, I am due to meet someone here. A young fellow with brown hair and an insolent grin. I don't suppose you've seen him?'

He shook his head. 'I have seen no one. It is my morning for preparing my herbs. Is this to do with the Wentworth case? How goes it?'

'We have a stay of execution. I have just come from the family's house, in fact. But it is something else I wanted to ask you about. I am sorry I have not asked you to dinner as I promised, but another matter has stolen up on me; between that and the Wentworth case I have scarce had time to breathe.'

'It does not matter.' He smiled, though I knew he was lonely and looked forward to coming to my house; with his dark skin he got few invitations to company. I slipped the satchel from my back, wincing a little at a stab of pain.

'Have you been doing your exercises?' he asked.

'These past few days, no. As I said, I've scarce had time to turn around.'

'You seem strung tight as a bowstring, Matthew.'

I sat down, rubbing sweat from my brow. 'Not surprising, as someone has just tried to kill me.'

'What?'

'You'd get it out of me in the end. I can't tell you all, but Lord Cromwell has spared Elizabeth Wentworth from the press for two weeks provided I undertake a mission for him. Nothing to do with the monasteries this time, but murder again and roguery –' I broke off, looking through the window. 'Young Barak, who I see tying his horse up outside, has been deputed by Cromwell to assist me.'

'Then the help you want is for Cromwell?' Guy looked at me seriously.

'To help to catch a brutal killer. I am not allowed to say more – I should not even have mentioned Cromwell's name. It is too dangerous.' I sighed. 'I will not press you if you feel you cannot in conscience help.'

The door opened and Barak came in. He looked uneasily at the bottles and jars lining the walls, then at Guy with his dark face and apothecary's robes. Guy bowed.

'Master Barak, I pray you are well.' He mispronounced the W in his lisping accent as he always did. I realized how strange and foreign he must seem to Barak.

'Thank you, master apothecary.' Barak stared around. I guessed he had never been in an apothecary's shop before; he looked like he had always known rude health.

'Would you like a little beer?' Guy asked him.

'Thank you,' Barak answered. 'It is a hot day.'

Guy went out to fetch it and Barak came over to me. 'The earl's worried. He's had Kytchyn taken to a place of safety till this is over.'

'Thank God for that.'

'He says you're being too slow. He's concerned you won't be seeing Lady Honor till tomorrow. There are only ten days till the demonstration, and the king's told him he's looking forward to it.'

'Perhaps he should seek a miracle worker then.'

Barak stepped away as Guy returned, bearing two cups of small beer. I drank gratefully, for I was very thirsty. Guy stood at the end of his table and studied Barak carefully a moment; I was pleased to see Barak look uncomfortable under that penetrating gaze.

'Well, then,' Guy said quietly. 'What help do you both wish from me?'

'We have to deal with alchemists,' I said. 'I know nothing of their trade, and would welcome your advice.' I opened the satchel and laid the alchemical books on the table. Then I carefully took the bottle from my pocket and held it out. 'Have you any idea what this strange stuff might be?'

He opened it carefully, then poured some on his finger and sniffed. 'Be careful, it burns like fire,' I warned as he bent and touched his tongue to it.

To my surprise, he laughed. 'There's nothing to worry about,' he said. 'There's no mystery here. This is aqua vitae, though distilled to a very high concentration.'

'Aqua vitae?' I laughed with astonishment. 'This new stuff that is distilled from bad wine and prescribed for sore eyes and melancholia?'

'The same. I think its value overrated, it just makes people drunk.' He rubbed the stuff between his fingers. 'A cupful, they say, will blind a horse. Where did you get it?'

'On the floor of an alchemist's workshop that had been – abandoned.' He looked at me sharply.

'Never mind where we got it, apothecary,' Barak cut in. 'Are you sure that's what it is?'

Guy gave him a long look, and I feared he would order him from his shop, but he turned to me with a smile. 'I believe so. Though the thickness of the liquid and the fiery taste suggest the concentration is very strong. I believe I may even be able to tell you where it came from. But first, there is a way of proving what it is. I will show you. It is quite spectacular, Master Barak. Wait a moment.'

He put the bottle down carefully, then left the room.

'Listen to me, Barak,' I said. 'Guy is a friend: have a care how you speak to him. And he is not one to be bullied like that doorkeeper. You will only anger him.'

'I don't trust him, on his looks.'

'I think that's mutual.'

Guy returned, carrying a candle and a small glazed dish. He closed the shutters, then carefully tipped a little of the liquid into the dish. Then he touched the candle to it.

I gasped, and Barak stepped back, as a blue flame flared in the bowl, rising two inches into the air.

'You'll burn the shop down!' Barak exclaimed. Guy only laughed again.

'The flame is too weak to set anything alight and it will die in a moment.' Sure enough, as we watched, the blue flame sank as quickly as it had risen, turned yellow, guttered and went out. Guy smiled at us. 'There. That is a characteristic of aqua vitae, that blue flame. It was certainly a very strong mixture.' He opened the shutters again. 'Note there is no smell or smoke.'

'You said you might know where it came from,' Barak said, his tone more respectful now.

'I did. We apothecaries are ever on the lookout for new herbs, new concoctions, from the strange parts of the world Englishmen voyage to nowadays. It is the constant topic at the Apothecaries' Hall. A few months ago we heard of a cargo that had been landed at Billingsgate from a ship that had ventured into the Baltic trade, to the lands of endless snow. They brought back a cargo of a colourless liquid they say men drink there. When people tried quaffing it here, as they would beer, it made them very sick. This sounds like the stuff.'

'What happened to the cargo?'

'That I do not know. I think one or two of my brethren went after it as a curiosity, but were told it had been sold. You would need to enquire among the sailors' taverns to find more.'

I nodded thoughtfully. A thick, viscous liquid that burned in a strange way. In some ways it sounded like Greek Fire, but in others quite unlike. The liquid in the monastery had been black, with a strong smell, Kytchyn said, and the flame we had just seen could never have set light to a ship. But what if this stuff was part of the formula, what if it changed its behaviour if other things were added?

'What do you know of alchemy, Guy?' I asked. I took the alchemy books from my satchel and laid them on the table. 'These books are so full of mysteries and jargon I can scarce understand a word.'

He picked one up and leafed through it. 'Alchemy has given itself a bad name. Perhaps worse than it deserves. The alchemists like to keep their trade cloaked in secrecy and fill their books with references only they can understand.' He laughed. 'Some of the old books I think nobody understands.'

'And it impresses people, makes them think there must be a great mystery there to be uncovered.'

Guy nodded. 'But in that they are no worse than some physicians with their ancient remedies and secret formulae. Or lawyers, for that matter: in some courts you plead in old French no ordinary mortal could comprehend.'

There was a bark of laughter from Barak. 'He has you there.'

Guy raised a hand. 'And yet alchemy is part of natural science, the study of the world around us. God has left signs and clues in the world, that by struggling we might come to understand things: cure diseases, grow better crops –'

'Turn lead into gold?' I hesitated. 'Set water on fire?'

'Perhaps. And the task of alchemy, like astrology and medicine for that matter, is to read those clues.'

'As rhinoceros horn is supposed to bring virility, the clue being its resemblance to the male organ. But, Guy, so much of this looking for signatures and correspondences is mere fraud.'

'Yes, it is. I agree that the manner in which alchemists profess secret, arcane knowledge is often no more than a trick to keep their trade inaccessible.'

'So you think, like most, that alchemy's a suspect trade?'

'Not altogether. There are plenty of rogues who claim to have found the philosopher's stone that can turn base metal into gold, but for each one of them there is another who has striven to make real achievements by careful observation, by study of how substances are made up and how they change. How the four elements of earth, air, fire and water interact to make all the things we know. How heat can change one thing into another – wine into aqua vitae, for example.

'And everything comes from the four elements. Earth, air, fire and water. Any new material that appears, like that strange stuff, can be broken down into those essential elements and reconfigured.'

He smiled. 'There is nothing truly new in the world. No new elements, at least. But a good alchemist may, for example, discover by careful observation how to melt down ores in the furnace in such a way as to produce better iron, as they are doing in the Weald now.'

'Or how to make a finer form of pewter,' I said, remembering Goodwife Gristwood's story of Sepultus's failed experiments.

'Exactly. It is usually a matter of separating out some impurity of an earthy nature.' He smiled. 'I am with those thinkers who consider God means us to uncover the secrets of the earth by the slow, sure path of observation rather than mystical formulae in ancient books. Even if they do come up with some strange notions, like the man in Poland who says the earth goes round the sun.'

'Yes.' Something had stirred a memory. 'A furnace, you said. You remind me that metals are forged in furnaces. So alchemists must often work with founders, as they all have furnaces.'

'Of course,' Guy agreed. 'I make do with a fire here to distil my herbs, but to melt ores and metals a furnace would be needed.' He frowned. 'This is a strange discussion, Matthew. What has it to do with this –' he glanced at Barak – 'this case of yours?'

'I'm not sure.' I frowned in thought. 'A founder would also be needed to make, say, a large metal tank with a pump and pipes.'

'Yes. Alchemists often have arrangements with the Lothbury founders to assist them. It has to be someone they trust, of course, if they're to share their secrets.'

'Guy,' I said excitedly, 'do you remember that young founder I met last week? Would he know who might work with alchemists up there? And perhaps one who works with the City on the water conduits, works with pumps and valves?'

He hesitated. 'Perhaps. That would be a specialized trade. But Matthew, if this is a dangerous matter, I would not involve him.'

'Lord Cromwell may command it,' Barak said.

Guy turned to him. 'He may command what he wishes,' he said imperturbably.

Barak glared. 'Yes, my Spanish friend, he may.'

'God's death, Barak, be quiet,' I said angrily. 'I understand, Guy. I can find what I need as easily from the City records, see whom they employ on the conduits.'

Guy nodded. 'I would prefer that.' He turned back to Barak. 'And by the way, sir, I am not Spanish. I come from Granada, which was conquered by Spain fifty years ago. My parents were Moslems who were expelled from Spain by Ferdinand and Isabella. Along with the Jews – yours is a Jewish name, I think.'

Barak reddened. 'I am English, apothecary.'

'Are you now?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Ah well. Thank you for your understanding, Matthew. I wish you safe in your quest.' He shook my hand, then looked at me wryly. 'Your eyes are alight, Matthew, alight with the prospect of progress in your chase. May I keep those books, by the way? I should be interested to look through them.'

'Please do.'

'If you want to talk more, I am here.' He gave Barak a cold look. 'So long as foreigners are allowed to remain.'

OUTSIDE I TURNED angrily on Barak. 'Well done,' I said. 'Your manners really helped our enquiries.'

He shrugged. 'Insolent old Moor. God's teeth, he's an ugly creature.'

'And you,' I snapped, 'you are what you call everyone else – an arsehole.'

Barak only grinned.

'Since you probably lost us Guy's help in finding the founder, you can go up to the Guildhall and ask for details of all the founders they employ on the conduits. I am going to Wolf's Lane to ask Goodwife Gristwood a few more questions. If Michael and Sepultus were visiting the founders, she must have known about it.'

'I thought we were going across to Southwark to find the whore.'

'I'll meet you at the Steelyard steps in an hour and a half. Who knows, I may even have time to grab a pie from a stall.' I wiped sweat from my brow, the heat of the afternoon was punishing. Barak hesitated and I wondered if he were going to argue: I felt so angry I would almost have welcomed it. But he only smiled, mounted his black mare and cantered away.

AS I RODE THROUGH the narrow streets to Queenhithe my anger ebbed. I found myself once more watching fearfully for dangerous movements in the shadows. The streets were empty, people indoors avoiding the heat if they could. I felt my cheek prickle with sunburn and pulled my cap lower. I jumped as a rat scurried from a doorway and ran down the street, hugging the wall.

The Gristwoods' house was unchanged, the split and broken front door still in place. I knocked, the sound echoing within. Jane Gristwood herself opened the door. She wore the same white coif and grey dress and there was a new unkemptness about her appearance; I saw food stains on the dress. She stared at me wearily.

'You again?'

'Yes, madam. May I come in?'

She shrugged and held the door open. 'That stupid girl Susan's gone,' she said.

'Where's the watchman?'

'Drinking and farting in the kitchen.' She led me past the ancient tapestry into the dowdy parlour and stood there waiting for me to speak.

'Any more news on the house?' I asked.

'Yes, it's mine. I've seen Serjeant's Marchamount's lawyer.' She laughed bitterly. 'For what it's worth. I'll need to take in lodgers – a fine class of tenant I'll get in this mouldy hole. He had my money, you know.'

'Who?'

'Michael. When we married he got a big dowry from my father, to get me off his hands. That's all gone and this is how I'm left. He couldn't even bring any decent furniture from the monasteries, just that ugly old wall hanging. Did you see that whore?' she concluded bluntly.

'Not yet. But I have a query, madam. I believe Sepultus may have worked with a founder in his recent experiments.'

The frightened look that came into her face told me I had hit the mark. Her voice rose.

'I've told you: I'd no interest in his mad doings beyond worrying he'd blow up the house. Why are you asking me these questions? I'm a poor widow alone!'

'You are keeping something back, madam,' I said. 'I must know what it is.'

But she had stopped listening. She was staring out at the garden, her eyes wide. 'It's him again,' she whispered.

I whirled round. A gate in the wall was open and a man was standing there. I dreaded seeing the pockmarked man but it was a stocky, dark-haired young fellow who stood there. Seeing us looking, he turned and fled. I stepped to the door, then paused. Even if I caught him, what then? He could overpower me easily. I turned back to Goodwife Gristwood. She had sat down at the table and was crying, her thin body wrenched with sobs. I waited until she calmed down.

'You know who that man was, madam?' I asked sternly.

She raised a piteous face to me. 'No! No! Why do you try to catch me in these coils? I saw him watching the house yesterday. He was there all afternoon, just watching, he near scared the wits from me. He's one of the men who killed Michael, isn't he?'

'I don't know, madam. But you should tell your watchman.'

'This is punishment for my sin,' she whispered. 'God is punishing me.'

'What sin?' I asked sharply.

She took a deep breath, then looked me hard in the eye. 'When I was young, Master Shardlake, I was a plain girl. Plain, but full of base lusts and when I was fifteen I romped with an apprentice.'

I had forgotten how coarse her tongue was.

'I had a child.'

'Ah.'

'I had to give him away and do hard penance, confessing my sin in church before the congregation, saying how unclean I was Sunday after Sunday. The old religion was no gentler than the new when it came to sins of the flesh.'

'I am sorry.'

'I was thirty before I found anyone to marry me. Or rather, my father did. Father was a master carpenter and Michael advised him once over an unpaid debt. Michael had a few unpaid bills himself, he'd been involved in one of his crazy money-making schemes and my dowry saved him from the debtors' prison.' She sighed. 'But God does not forget a sin, does he? He goes on punishing, punishing.' She balled her work-roughened hands into fists.

'The founder,' I said.

She sat there a few seconds more, her fists clenched. When she spoke again there was tense resolution in her voice.

'They made me give my son away to the nuns at St Helen's. The nuns wouldn't let me near, but I bribed a washerwoman to give me news. When he was fourteen the nuns got him an apprenticeship as a founder.

'And then, when he was free of the nuns, I made myself known to David. I've visited with him every week since then.' She smiled then, a triumphant little smile.

'And then Sepultus took house with you and was looking for a founder to help in his work?'

Her eyes widened. 'How do you know that?'

'I guessed.'

'I didn't tell you because I didn't want David involved in this terrible thing.'

'Madam, your son could be in danger if others know of his involvement. And he has nothing to fear if all he has been doing is honest work.'

She half rose. 'Danger? David in danger?'

I nodded. 'But if you tell me where he is, Lord Cromwell will protect him as he has you.'

She spoke quickly. 'His name is David Harper. It was my maiden name. He is junior to another man, Peter Leighton of Lothbury. It was Leighton that Sepultus worked with.'

'Does Master Leighton work on repairing the conduits?'

She looked at me sharply. 'How did you know?'

'Another guess.'

She stood up. 'I'll go to David now. Warn him. I'll have to prepare him before he'll see you – the founders are a close bunch.'

'Very well, but I must see him and this man Leighton.'

'Can I send word to you?'

I nodded and gave her my address.

'You will help us, sir?' she asked tremulously, an anxious mother, all her harshness gone.

'I will do all I can, I promise. And I will see that watchman of yours, make sure he stays alert. Take him to Lothbury with you. Keep all your doors locked.' I remembered the crossbow. 'And shutter the windows.'

'But it's so hot –'

'It would be safer.' Pock-face and now this young man; I remembered the two sets of bloody footsteps. I had known there were two of them.