The Riverwoman’s Dragon

7 The Dragon Stirs

Owen caught the two taunting the first woman to approach the door of the apothecary, lifting them by their collars and carrying them down the lane and through alleys to the river.

‘No! I can’t swim!’ one cried.

‘You think yourself such a clever lad, eh? I have all confidence in your ability to learn by necessity,’ said Owen with a laugh.

‘We meant no harm,’ whined the other.

‘Oh, but I think you did,’ said Owen.

He had collected a crowd of onlookers, especially youths of both sexes, giggly and calling out taunts. Both boys had pissed themselves.

‘Need help?’ Alfred called as he approached. ‘I’ve a few stout men with me.’

‘Good. Better to swing them out.’

‘No!’ cried the first as Stephen grabbed him and swung him out over the water.

‘Ready, Captain?’

The second lad’s mother pushed through the crowd, cursing her son. ‘You piddle-kneed lunkhead,’ she shouted. ‘I will give you such a beating.’ Owen had counted on her anger.

‘We will gladly hand him over to you, but first they will sit a spell in the pillories on Micklegate. We want to set an example.’

The goodwife grinned. ‘Fair enough.’

Handing the lads to Stephen and Alfred, Owen headed back to the shop.

Crispin met him on Coney Street. ‘Caught sight of you carrying a pair of rats to the river just now.’ He chuckled. ‘Doubt they will cause trouble for a while.’

‘Not if their mothers have aught to say.’ Owen massaged one forearm, then the other. ‘Burly curs. And what a stench.’

‘Are we off to Magda’s, then?’

‘I need a moment with Lucie. Head on to Bootham. I will catch up.’

Owen found Lucie in the workshop assembling herbal nosegays, protection against foul odors that some believed carried the sickness. She motioned him outside.

‘Customers are trickling in. I doubt we would have any had you not lured away the troublemakers.’

‘That was my intention. But I fear they are not the last, and they’ll be adults next time.’

‘Do not worry about us. We will manage. You have a city to protect.’

‘And if someone comes showering curses on you?’

‘I have dealt with Agnes Baker’s venom for years, my love, and it has not felled me. Even so, Jasper will stay at the counter and I will assist from the workshop.’

‘You promise?’

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. ‘Did I not just say that was the plan?’

Her level gaze eased his worry. ‘I must be off to Magda’s, then.’

‘Yes.’

As Owen made his way through the cluster of shacks stretching from the abbey gate to the bank near Magda’s rock, smoke from cook fires swirled and danced in the morning mist forcing him to move his one good eye up, down, and about every few steps. Folk milled about him and Crispin, eager to talk about the incident on Magda’s rock the previous evening. The accounts echoed Einar’s description, though imbued with more wonder at the dragon’s role – for most believed it had eaten the fire and so protected Magda’s home. And though they counted it a blessing that their healer escaped without loss they worried for their own settlement. What if the flaming arrow had landed in their midst? They showered blessings on Owen, thanking him for keeping danger at bay, and, despite being gaunt with hunger, generously offering him food and drink, which he declined, begging haste.

Reaching the bank he glanced back for his companion and saw Crispin leaning on his cane in the midst of a gaggle of small children taking turns touching the stump of his arm, some with trepidation, others with giggles. Catching his eye, Owen motioned that he was ready to cross. While he waited for Crispin to join him Owen explained to the lad on watch at the boat that he preferred rowing himself and his friend. When he sweetened the news with a penny, disappointment turned to delight.

‘You drive a hard bargain,’ said Crispin, joining them.

The lad grinned and bobbed his head. ‘I’ll watch for your return. Make sure the bank is clear.’

Magda stood in the doorway cradling the kitten as they climbed out of the coracle. ‘Thou hast come to see the fiery dragon, Bird-eye?’

‘I would enjoy that, but I see that he is as woodenly inclined as ever.’

With a barking laugh she stepped aside to welcome them into the house.

‘I will just walk round, check for damage, before I join you. Go on, Crispin.’

‘You should have seen the captain disciplining a pair of street rats this morning …’ Crispin was saying as he stepped into Magda’s house.

Fetching a ladder, Owen climbed high enough to examine the roof facing the north bank. He saw no sign of fire. But on the south side he found the remains of an arrow, mostly the metal head – barbed, with a long shaft, for hunting small game – lodged in a scorched area of a wooden patch he had added a year earlier to cover a worm-eaten spot in the overturned ship. He removed it and searched the ground for remnants of more, finding the blackened remains of another directly beneath where the dragon’s long neck was exposed to the south bank. As with the first, it stank of lard, oil, and burnt wood, but the head on this one was badly bent. As he moved the ladder to one side of the creature he apologized for the intrusion. Climbing up, he focused his attention on the carved dragon rather than the height, his half-blindness making him a poor judge of such things, and ran a hand along the wood. Marvelously smooth, and hardly weathered. Peering closer with his one good eye, he detected a scorched patch, but no indentation such as he would have expected. It was as if the arrow had simply bounced off. You are a wondrous being, he thought to the dragon.

As he stepped inside with his findings Crispin reported no sign of damage within.

‘Yet at least two burning arrows managed to strike up above.’ Owen held out the remains to Magda and Crispin, describing the damage to the patch and what might be a scorch mark on the dragon. ‘I would expect something around that patch to have caught fire, but I found nothing. Your dragon has but a slight discoloration, as if the arrow bounced off. As you see from this head, the arrow suffered the worst of it.’ He cocked his head, gazing on Magda.

Ignoring the question in his eye, she asked, ‘Did Einar bring thee news of the attack?’

Surprised by the question, Owen hesitated, and it was Crispin who responded.

‘He did. He fears whoever it was might try again.’

‘Magda’s lads are watching. They are collecting river water to have at the ready should the next arrow land in their midst.’

‘But there is more,’ said Crispin, telling her about the sermons the previous day.

‘Magda has heard it all before. The crows are consumed by the fear of things against which they are powerless, so they beat their chests and spout angry words. Bird-eye and the bailiffs will be busy keeping the peace within the walls. Magda thanks thee for thy concern, thine as well, Bird-eye, but there is no need. Should Magda discover the archer, thou shalt hear of it.’

Owen knew better than to press further. ‘We shall do likewise.’

Crispin had picked up what was left of the two arrows. ‘These heads are the most commonly used for hunting. Might belong to anyone.’

‘Intentionally difficult to trace back to a particular person or group,’ said Owen.

With that, Crispin rose. ‘I am sure you have other matters to discuss.’

Magda handed him a jar. ‘More of the unguent for Dame Muriel to work into thy leg.’

He fumbled with his scrip, but she held up a hand. ‘Until thou canst walk without the cane, Magda will take no coin from thee.’

‘You believe that is possible?’

‘Magda intends it to be so.’

Bowing to her, hand to heart, Crispin departed.

‘He is a good man.’

Magda snorted. ‘Thou didst not always think so.’

True. ‘I had my reasons.’

‘All men veer from the better path at times.’

‘Am I right in trusting Einar with the poor in the minster yard?’

‘Such work under the guidance of the fussy crow might be the medicine he needs to draw out the poison.’

‘Poison?’

‘There is a darkness in him, but also much light. Thou hast done well.’ She smiled. ‘And thou canst rest easy about Lettice Brown. Magda has taken her to safety.’

‘God be thanked. She was not injured?’

‘No. But she is frightened. Magda hopes to hear her tale on the morrow.’

‘You will tell me?’

‘If it seems helpful, yes. Now go in peace. Magda has a full day with many folk to see over a great distance. Time is precious.’

‘You promise to tell me?’

‘Did Magda not say so?’

Conditionally. But he would not argue. On the bank he encountered Twig, the lad who watched Magda’s kitten, waiting for the coracle.

‘I believe you were here last night, when the house was attacked,’ said Owen.

The lad stood to attention. ‘I was, Captain.’

‘Did you see or hear anything that might help us discover who the archer was?’

‘No. But I will keep watch.’

‘I depend on it. You are a courageous young man, Twig.’

‘I’m only here to look after the kitten. It’s the dragon protects Dame Magda’s house.’

Owen glanced back at the fierce wooden visage. Easy to see why the lad would believe it. Having seen the remnants of the arrow, he himself was half convinced some magic was at work there.

The first timid knock came shortly after Owen departed. Lucie found a young mother at the door carrying a swaddled infant and holding the hand of a little boy. Begging Lucie’s pardon she asked if she might shop for what she needed out of sight of the eyes on the street.

‘Someone is watching?’

‘I saw no one, but I fear– Our priest said– Mistress Wilton, I would not ask but–’

Lucie waved away her apologies and saw to her request, sending her on her way only to find another customer waiting outside the door. And so it went, the most worrisome a man frightened for his wife; she had asked Master Bernard to help her after her water broke and he told her to have her mother deliver her child, that was women’s work.

‘But both our dams are long dead, Mistress Wilton. That leech would not help her, but he convinced her that midwives are all daughters of Satan and she would not let me send for one. Can you help her?’

Lucie explained that she was no midwife, nor was there any substitute for one. She named several and advised him to tell his wife they were known as pious women. As they were.

Silently she cursed Bernard and the gullible parish priests as yet another visibly frightened neighbor stepped up to the workshop door.

One step and the distant buzz of the folk in the city and Galtres fell away, leaving only the sounds of the woodland and the inhabitants of the sanctuary. A raven’s caw was no louder than a child’s voice. Scent, too, changed, the mulch beneath Magda’s feet rich with season upon season of leaves and animal droppings. It was as if one of the homes of Sten’s kin had followed her to Galtres, surrounded by a patch of the ancient wood. In the past she had come here when the world bore down upon her, withdrawing into the peace of this place in which time slowed, seeking the happiness of her years with Sten. Memory, more of a trickster than a guide, hiding the darkness of the time after the birth of the twins, reveling in the long happy days when she hungrily learned what she could from Sten and basked in their mutual passion. But gradually the veil frayed and in rushed the pain. From all that she had learned with him and since, Magda summoned the will to sit with her grief, and, through it, find her own peace in the earth and all creation. By then it was too late to help her daughter Yrsa do the same. She was long gone, married and living far away. But perhaps Magda might now help her daughter’s grandson to find his way. If that was his wish. Tonight might provide the chance to see his true intent.

At the beck within the sanctuary clearing Helen’s boys were doing chores – gathering kindling, carrying buckets of water, scrubbing bowls, all with a wide-eyed quiet that bespoke a frightening event. To ask might be to stir up tears. Fergus sat astride a stool near the doorway, his crushed leg thrust out at its strange angle, showing his daughter how to grind the grain for flour. He glanced up with a furrowed brow that smoothed only a little as he struggled to rise, telling Tess to go help her brothers at the beck.

‘I prayed you would come soon, and here you are.’ Tears stood in his eyes.

‘Be at ease,’ said Magda. ‘Thy wife’s time has come?’

‘I woke to find her pacing the room. Then her pains began. From the start they were worse than ever before, and they have not stopped since before dawn. She says they are still too far apart for it to be time. Dame Lettice is helping, but she needs you, Dame Magda. I have sat here listening to them and she is frightening Helen. She fears that her husband’s murderers are coming for her and we are all in danger. Helen tells her you would never place us in the path of such trouble, but she will not hear it. I fear she has already frightened them. I was about to send one of the boys for you.’

‘Magda saw their faces. Give the woodland time to draw them into the wonders. Once they see, they will understand they are safe. Thou art safe. All will be well for thee. Now Magda will see to the women.’ She stepped inside, pausing a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the sleep chamber Lettice bathed Helen’s face in cool water while the expectant mother stood panting.

‘Dame Magda!’ Helen cried, breaking away from the other woman.

‘God be thanked,’ breathed Lettice. ‘I have done all I know to do. She must–’

Magda suggested that Lettice go out for some fresh air and a walk about the clearing while she examined Helen.

‘Bless you,’ Helen said as she eased down onto the bed with Magda’s assistance. ‘She fears–’

‘Thy husband heard. Be assured, this sanctuary will not be breached. It is Lettice who needs the protections about this place, not thy family. But she will be of help to thee when calmed. And thou wilt help her through her first weeks of grieving.’ She massaged Helen’s head as she spoke, listening to the woman’s breathing, waiting for it to slow even more.

When the rhythm pleased her, Magda checked first for breech, but the head was in the right place. Laying her hands upon the distended stomach she awaited the next contraction, feeling where the twin lay as well. ‘Ah, there is the second of the pair.’

‘I cannot feel two heartbeats,’ said Helen.

It was ever difficult to distinguish two, for many reasons. Listening closely, she caught the second, moved her ear along Helen’s distended stomach until the second heartbeat was the stronger one. ‘Two strong hearts.’ She guided Helen’s hands. ‘One here. The other here.’

‘God is good!’

In truth, it was early to rejoice. Much could happen before and during the birth. ‘The pains will ease, return, ease, return. Breathe deep and allow thy body to do its work. Magda will return before sunset.’

‘I must endure this all day?’

‘Thou hast a long wait ahead of thee. Wilt thou allow the woods to ease thee? Walk about the clearing with thy children supporting thee, rest when thou wouldst, then walk again. Listen to the music of the woodland. Watch the wind in the leaves.’

Helen’s heart slowed and her breathing lengthened. ‘Yes, I will do that, Dame Magda.’

The boys dropped their chores and came running to assist their mother, but it was young Tess who arrived first, eager to show her mother her discoveries.

‘As long as I do not need to bend down,’ Helen laughed, taking her daughter’s hand. The little procession moved off into the dappled sunlight. Fergus smiled after them.

Stepping back into the dim interior, Magda tidied the bed. On a shelf in the outer room she arranged all she would need when she returned at the end of her day. She took a wooden cup from a stack on her way out. ‘Watch for Magda just before sunset,’ she told Fergus. ‘The births will come in the night.’

‘Bless you, Dame Magda.’

She found Lettice in the grass by the beck. Kneeling, with hands covering her face, she wept. Magda scooped up water in the cup and added a tonic. With a swirl of the bowl the tonic dissolved and she touched Lettice’s hand. ‘I brought something to refresh you and lighten your heart.’

While Lettice drew her hands away and accepted the offering, Magda lifted her face to the breeze and listened to the creaks and sighs of the woodland canopy, the bird calls, the rustling of animals and birds foraging in the undergrowth, the chuckling of the beck.

‘Dame Magda, I–’

Magda took the empty cup from her hand, set it aside. ‘Splash thy face to cool it.’ When Lettice had done that she sat back, blinking as if awaking from a dream. ‘Now tell Magda what is in thy heart.’

‘I frightened poor Helen in the midst of her pains.’

‘She says that thou dost fear thy husband’s murderers will find thee here? And Helen’s family?’

‘Yes.’

Magda took the woman’s hands, cold from the water. ‘What didst thou witness?’

‘Only the men discovering poor Matthew in the ruins of our home. One shouted that he had been stabbed again and again.’

‘And thou hast a thought to who did this?’

‘I fear– I begged a favor that cost my husband his life. I am laundress for many merchant households, as you know. Some for a long while. Guthlac Wolcott’s – I have worked for them so long I felt I might ask. Master Gavin was complaining about the men who work in the warehouse. He said what could he expect when they were paid by the mayor, not by him. When I was leaving – I do not know now how I was so bold – I told him my Matthew might see to all the work he needed. He chided me for listening, but surprised me then, telling me to send my husband to the warehouse the next morning.’ She swiped at tears. ‘Matthew was grateful for the work. But something happened, as it ever does. Matthew was there but a week when Master Gavin stopped me as I delivered the laundry and said to tell Matthew he should not return. Why did he tell me? Matthew would not believe me. He went along as he had every morning. When I came home from collecting my work that day I found him sprawled on the floor, his nose broken and an eye swollen shut. Two of the warehouse workers accused him of stealing and ordered him out, but he refused, telling them he worked for the Wolcotts. So they beat him and threw him out, threatening him with worse if he returned. My poor Matthew,’ she whispered, the tears falling freely. ‘The next day he went to the Wolcott home, but they would not see him. The servant called him a thief under her breath and slammed the door.’

‘What had he stolen?’

‘They never said what.’

‘Thou didst not ask thy husband?’

‘No. And when I went to fetch the Wolcott laundry on my usual day neither Dame Beatrice nor Master Gavin said anything. I dared not ask for fear they would let me go. And now he’s dead. Stabbed. Murdered.’

‘Thou dost believe Thomas Graa’s workers murdered thy husband?’

‘I do. And I am frightened for Dame Beatrice and her babe.’

‘Her children are dead.’

‘God has worked a miracle. She is with child – a laundress knows these things – and her husband is dying. He is so poorly, Dame Magda. I do not know why Dame Beatrice has not sent for you. But what if those men come to their home– The mayor is a powerful man.’

‘If he is so powerful, why should he wish to threaten Dame Beatrice?’

Her fears came from a place Lettice could not explain.

‘This information would help Captain Archer find the murderers. Wouldst thou permit Magda to tell him?’

‘My daughter – with a newborn child I fear for her. And my son – he works in a shop in the city.’

‘All the more reason to tell the captain. His men can pursue the ones who might make trouble for them.’

‘I thought it best I disappear. Say nothing to anyone.’

‘Magda asks too much of thee.’ She rose, gathering her things.

‘But others might be in danger.’

Magda said nothing.

‘Matthew might have heard something that would endanger many,’ said Lettice. ‘You trust that the captain can protect my daughter or you would not suggest it.’

‘Nothing is certain except that thy husband has been murdered. As was Sam Toller.’

Lettice reached down to the water, letting it run across her hand. ‘I cannot in good conscience remain quiet. Should I go to the captain?’

‘Thou art needed here.’

‘Then yes, I pray you, tell him all that seems important.’

Magda left Lettice gathering a few roots and berries to add to a stew for the family. Whispering her thanks to the spirit of the place, Magda continued on her afternoon visitations. On the main track through Galtres she kept an eye out for a trustworthy friend heading to the city. She needed to get word to Bird-eye to come to her in the morning. She had much to tell him.

Arriving at Graa’s warehouse near King’s Staithe, Owen watched unnoticed for a while, getting his bearings. Two men were doing an inventory, one calling out the contents of barrels and chests, with estimates of how many items were in each, the other making notes on a wax tablet. Thomas Graa wanted an estimate of his losses from the fire, Owen guessed. Other men shifted items away from the area damaged in the fire. He approached one of them, explaining that he was investigating the fire at the mayor’s request, and asking whether they knew who had lost merchandise in the blaze, Graa or one of the merchants who leased space.

‘Those who lease, Captain. Not all damaged, but for some it was everything.’

While he was speaking, the one with the wax tablet joined them, clearing his throat and eyeing Owen with unease. ‘I tagged what was salvageable and now they are moving it to another area,’ he said. ‘Is there a problem?’

Owen explained again why he was there. ‘Would you know whose merchandise was ruined?’

The first man began to answer, but was interrupted by the clerk, who told him to return to his work.

‘We can say no more until I have the mayor’s permission to do so, Captain.’

‘You do not think he meant for me to ask questions?’

‘I do not know which questions he would wish me to answer, and which he would prefer to answer himself.’

‘Then I should go directly to Mayor Graa?’

‘No! No, that will not be necessary, I assure you. It is a matter of form. You understand.’

‘I will return later this afternoon. I advise you to speak with the mayor as soon as possible.’

‘But he might be–’

‘Or I shall.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

The mayor was not likely to rise from dinner until mid-afternoon. Owen would return before then. With any luck the clerk would be out of the warehouse searching for his master, affording Owen an opportunity to look round, catch a worker eager to talk. For now, he headed home.

In the yard of the York Tavern, Bess Merchet called to him from the tavern doorway.

‘See the lass creeping round the wagon to slip into your garden gate?’ she said, nodding in that direction.

Though the day was mild, the warmest day since early autumn, the young woman wore a long cloak and a hat pulled down to cover part of her face.

‘What the–’

‘They are frightened, that is what, frightened to be seen giving their custom to a female apothecary. The monstrous clerics have terrified them.’

‘Is Lucie helping them from the workshop?’

‘She is. All morning. While Jasper sees to those bold enough to enter from the street. Quite a few of those, I must say. To their credit. But it should not be like this. At a time when all are so fearful for their health, it should not be like this. Curse the new archbishop.’

‘I will find a way to convince Lucie to take her dinner with me.’

Bess patted his arm. ‘You are a good husband.’

A man skittered off as Owen crossed to the gate, clutching a small packet to his chest. He disappeared down the back gardens.

Lucie glanced up at the sound of the gate. The young woman had removed her hat. One of Crispin Poole’s servants. Nodding to Owen, Lucie returned to her discussion with the young woman. Owen waited, smiling and bowing to the young woman as she turned to depart.

‘Captain. I pray you say nothing to my master and mistress about my cowardice in hiding my presence.’

‘If you promise not to repeat the offense, I will,’ he said, well aware he would be chided by Lucie as soon as the young woman departed. But the servant agreed, with apologies, and scurried off.

‘Owen.’ The gray-blue eyes were leveled at him.

‘Forgive me, but she was clearly instructed to come to the shop door, not hide back here. Dine with me?’

He expected an argument, but she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before poking her head into the workshop to call Jasper to join them. Following her, Owen saw that the customer he had seen standing outside was the last for now.

‘A messenger came to the shop,’ said Jasper. ‘From Magda. He is waiting in the kitchen. I told him Kate would feed him.’

‘Did he tell you what she wanted?’

‘No. He said he promised to tell you, and that is what he meant to do.’

They found a young man about Jasper’s age sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor near where Kate worked at a table. He had just raised a spoonful of stew to his mouth, his other hand clenching a chaser of bread, but lowered them and rose with remarkable agility when Owen entered.

‘Finish your dinner,’ Owen said. ‘Surely there is no rush?’

Kate laughed. ‘If you waited until Thatch finished you would never hear his message. I have never seen such an eater! And my brothers can stuff all manner of food into their maws in little time.’

Thatch laughed along with her. ‘Oh, aye, Rob is a one.’

‘They lived below us until his father found work in Easingwold,’ Kate explained.

Owen motioned Thatch over to sit on a bench beside him. ‘I’m of an age when I do not trust myself to rise so easily as you from so low a place,’ he said. ‘Now. Magda has a message for me?’

‘She said the woman you seek told her much that you must hear. Come to her on the morrow, early in the morning. Tonight she will be at a birthing. Einar will sleep on the rock.’ Thatch screwed up his face afterward, as if testing whether he had spoken all he had tucked away.

‘If you see her, tell her I will come.’ Owen held out a penny, but Thatch refused it.

‘I should pay you for filling my belly, Captain. And the chance to see Kate.’

‘You are always welcome, Thatch,’ said Owen.

Telling Kate he would eat with Lucie in the hall, Owen gave them peace.

He found Lucie pacing the length of the long table. She had doffed the white coif she wore in the workshop and shaken out her hair so that it softly curled on her shoulders. Christ, she was as beautiful as the day he’d first set eyes on her a decade past. Turning, she caught sight of him and stopped, folding her arms against her. He had expected anger, but her expression pulled him back to a dark time several years ago after she lost a child in a fall. Sorrowful, haunted.

‘What troubles you?’ As if there were nothing awry. Yet he could not guess.

‘I see their fear. The archbishop has stirred up something ugly, menacing. In such a time, the smallest spark and all might go up in flames. He has lit more than a spark.’ She waved it away. ‘What was Magda’s message?’ A frown when he told her. ‘No hint of the matter?’

Jasper hurried in, sliding onto a bench.

‘I have enough to worry over.’ He was telling her about the clerk in Graa’s warehouse when Kate entered with food, Thatch assisting.

The three fell to the food, hungry after their frustrating mornings. A comfortable quiet settled over them.

‘I shall return to the shop now,’ said Lucie when she had eaten her fill. ‘If folk are too fearful to enter by the shop door, let them see how well they fare with another apothecary.’

That did not sound like Lucie. ‘Are you certain you wish to shut out the frightened?’

‘In this instance, yes. I will not be bullied by the likes of that bloated weasel.’

‘You speak of the archbishop?’

They both turned to the kitchen door, where Michaelo stood, almost smiling. ‘I have come to offer my services in the apothecary for the afternoon.’

As Owen retraced his steps to the warehouse he questioned his distrust of Michaelo’s comments regarding Einar. Or his lack of comment. He had applied himself and done his best to help. He found nothing of note about the young man. Had something humbled Einar? For he had not seemed so bland when Owen first encountered him with Alisoun. Had he simply been judging a young man setting his sights on attracting a young woman who intrigued him?

‘You walk as if you are heading into a storm.’

The comment snapped Owen out of his reverie to find Hempe jogging along beside him. He slowed his pace. ‘Thinking.’

‘I thought you should know that Dame Asa, Magda’s daughter, was assaulted this morning near the minster yard. Early this morning. She went to minister to the poor and was assaulted by a young cleric who accused her of being a heretic like her mother.’

‘Is she badly injured?’ Owen asked.

‘When my man got there the folk who had helped her said she was pushed to the ground and lay there awhile, stunned. The cur who beat her was lying on the ground whimpering. She had managed a few good strikes with her cane while her rescuers held him. I escorted the mewling coward to the dean’s house. No man of God does such a deed, I said. He whined that he heard folk in the crowd whispering about who she was. “Born of the Devil,” the fool told me. I boxed his ears before I delivered him. And glad I did. Dean John sent me away, benefit of clergy. Pah.’

‘Do you know where she’s lodging?’

‘Not yet. And if she chooses to hide I do not know how I will discover it. I think it was her first time to the minster yard. By the Rood, I wanted to beat that holy beggar into the ground.’

As hoped, the clerk had not yet returned with Graa’s response. Indeed, Owen found only a few workers within, none of them the ones he had spoken to earlier. Stepping over to the section that had collapsed, he studied the work, admiring how much had already been cleared away. He said as much to the worker who joined him.

‘We work hard here, Captain Archer. But I would like very much to shift to working with the bailiffs. This is steady work, but my back aches most nights.’

‘I will mention you to George Hempe.’ Though he doubted Hempe would be interested, he could not resist ingratiating himself. ‘Mayor Graa will have some merchants complaining, I expect. Was there much loss?’

‘For some, not all. I won’t forget the look on Master Surrey’s face when he found so much of his goods ruined. A few others lost some, but we salvaged more. Master Ferriby’s nephew Luke was furious. Claimed his cloth should have been the other side of the warehouse. Wanted to know why it had been moved, but no one could tell him. Most fortunate were the Wolcotts, with little lost, I think. The son moved out two chests of goods just the day before the fire. An angel watching out for him, that is certain.’

Indeed. Most interesting. ‘How did Luke Ferriby discover their goods were moved?’

‘Came in just to be sure. Found none of it where it should have been. We searched. Found nothing until he discovered some bits in the debris. He will be reporting to his uncle. Master Ferriby’s away in the country, but we will hear of it anon.’

Owen thanked him and promised to speak with Hempe.

Ferriby’s shop door was open to the warm afternoon. Knocking first on the doorframe, Owen stepped within, calling out a greeting. Luke appeared from behind a tall cabinet. A wonder it was, freestanding, made of some exotic wood said to protect the fabric from insects and dust. When the carpenter installed it Peter and Emma had invited them to admire it – the maker hoped to sell more like it, and the Ferribys had thought it might be something for the apothecary. Luke gave it an affectionate thump and invited Owen to join him in the back chamber where the chairs were more comfortable. On a table was a flagon of wine and two plain wooden mazers, both with a bit of wine in them.

‘It is a fine day for guests. You’ve just missed our parish priest, Dom Paulus. He’d come from the bedside of Guthlac Wolcott. Gave him the last rites. Poor man is expected to die any time now. “A most inhospitable home,” Paulus said. By nature a jovial man, but not so today.’

‘I am sorry to hear Guthlac is in his last hours.’

‘Thanks to the ministrations of that slimy Bernard. To my thinking, it’s men like that leech feeding the gossips in the city who are to blame, frightening folk away from the healers who have always seen to us.’

‘You’ve met Bernard?’

‘To my misfortune. Arrogant, telling folk what ails them without bothering to listen. He’s the one should be chased out the gates and good riddance.’

Offered a mazer of wine, Owen asked for just a little. ‘My business should not take long.’

‘Ah, forgive me. I was shaken by Dom Paulus, his worry about parishioners spreading rumors not only about the Riverwoman, but now most of the midwives and healers we need this summer. And I’m repeating myself. Forgive me.’ He poured Owen a small measure of wine, handed it to him, poured much more for himself. ‘How might I help?’

Owen explained that he had been to Graa’s warehouse and learned what had happened to Ferriby’s stock, pausing to allow Luke to express his anger, then asking how much access people other than the warehouse workers had as a rule.

‘Little. The clerk is a tyrant, terrified of his employer. But I noticed before the fire that Gavin Wolcott and Sam Toller, may he rest in God’s grace, well, they seemed to have privileges the rest of us did not. Apparently the young Wolcott has won Thomas Graa’s favor, often dining there according to my uncle.’

Owen thanked him for the information, waving off the offer of more wine. The man was clearly feeling the solitude with all the family away. While passing the Wolcott home Owen noticed a servant standing in the shadows beside the house, weeping. Calling to her, he asked whether her master had died. She shook her head, lifting it enough for him to see the blood at the corner of her mouth. Concerned, he went to her aid.

‘Who did this to you?’

She backed away from him, shaking her head and putting a finger to her lips. Now he heard, from within, Gavin Wolcott shouting at another servant.

‘Is he often like this?’

‘No. But he’s not like the old master, so kind. I pray you, go. He must not see us speaking.’

In truth, it was not Owen’s business. But he thought it a good time to speak with Graa. Hurrying to Castlegate, he learned that the mayor was out of the city for a few days. A family member ill. Convenient.

Late afternoon, no line of folk for the shop. Owen stepped within to find Lucie dictating to Brother Michaelo a list of items to replenish – myrrh, bugloss, butterbur, marigolds. She looked up with a surprised smile.

‘You are home early.’

He kissed her on the cheek. ‘No dearth of custom?’

‘No. Folk seemed comforted by Brother Michaelo’s presence in the doorway, welcoming them in, speaking to those who waited.’ Lucie touched Michaelo’s hand. ‘I am grateful to you.’

Though he gave a little sniff, the monk’s eyes were warm with pleasure.

‘You had success at the warehouse?’ she asked.

‘A goodly amount. I’d hoped also to speak with the mayor, but an illness in the family has taken him away.’

‘I know. His wife was here. I counted it a friendly gesture to seek my help so openly, though Dame Katherine did push through to the front of the line, one of her manservants guarding the door so that she might consult with me without gossips hearing it.’

‘Would the gossips have learned anything worth repeating?’ Owen asked.

‘She wanted whatever might draw the poison from the pustules, and juniper to burn to protect those in the family not yet stricken.’

‘For whom?’

‘Her sister and elderly mother in Beverley.’

‘Has there been any more trouble?’

‘Not from the lads,’ said Michaelo. ‘But a pair of youths showing off for a foul-mouthed young woman hung around the graves in the square calling out insults to the customers. The mere sight of Stephen bearing down on them put them to flight.’

Owen grinned.

A customer stepped into the shop, leaning on a cane. Lucie moved toward the beaded curtain to help him.

‘Do you want to send Jasper in from the garden?’ Owen asked her.

‘No need,’ she said. ‘I doubt many more customers will appear.’

He had much to mull over with her, but the customer’s cane called to mind what Hempe had told him about Asa. ‘I will be back in a while,’ he said, hurrying off.