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  I moved along the street and stood at the corner. My costrel had a little ale left in it, and I pulled the plug and sipped. The pitch had flavoured the ale as usual, and it tasted sharper, but that was all to the good. I felt the cool liquid drop down my gullet, and as I pushed the bung back in and tapped it lightly with the heel of my hand, I saw her again: Ann Derby.

  She was a glorious woman. Tall, but not slim or boyish in outline. No, Ann was utterly feminine, with curves like a ship of the line, with bosoms between which a man could suffocate, and hips that were built for grappling. Ah, but she was a lovely wench!

  Sadly, her demeanour showed that she had considerably less regard for me than I for her. Earlier, when she caught sight of me, the twinkle had died. Now, as she noticed me again, her eyes narrowed. She turned abruptly and moved along the street like a galleon under full sail. I tried to catch up with her, but she turned into an alley, and when I darted into it after her, she grabbed my jack and yanked me in, almost pulling me from my feet.

  I squeaked. ‘Hold! Wait, what are you doing?’

  ‘I ought to gut you here, you miserable prick!’ she hissed.

  SIX

  Her face was only inches from mine, and I could smell her breath. She had been chewing cinnamon or cloves and her breath was the sweeter for it. I couldn’t help but think how plump and soft her lips looked.

  Her next words dispelled any further amorous reflections.

  ‘Why did you kill him?’

  ‘What?’ If I squeaked before, this time I squealed like a stuck pig. ‘Me?’

  ‘Don’t deny it! You think I’m a fool? Everyone saw you go out, and moments later he was dead. The gull had realized his purse was gone, and went out after you to raise the hue and cry. You slew him as soon as he accused you, didn’t you?’

  ‘You’d blame me for robbing him?’ I said, and I meant it to sting.

  She had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Yes, well, you know how these things are.’

  ‘I saw your confederate take the purse, and he was foolish enough to pass it to me.’

  ‘And you gave me a bag with bone counters.’

  ‘I didn’t think your man would know there was anything missing.’

  ‘At least he didn’t kill anyone for it.’

  I glared at her. ‘What happened to the counters?’

  She glared back at me. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care!’

  I tried to be conciliatory. ‘Look, your man robbed the gull. You can’t get angry with me when he made the mistake of passing the stolen purse to me, can you!’

  ‘Can’t I? I was to have a share of the money.’

  ‘That’s hardly my fault!’ Something struck me. ‘Was that it? You were going to share the money?’

  ‘Yes. We were to share it: one third to me, two to him.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I held it for a moment and gave it back to him when I could. I should have guessed. It wasn’t heavy enough. I had seen how heavy it was when it dangled from the gull’s belt, but when you passed it to me, it was much lighter. And we saw it was different when we looked at it outside. And when he opened it.’

  ‘After I’d left the room?’

  ‘Of course! You think we’d open it while you and the gull were there? After you walked out, we left the gull sitting on the bench and went to the street. We’d begun to stroll towards the cathedral when I gave him the purse, and – and he went mad! I never saw a man become so full of choler so swiftly! I thought he might die of rage – and then he ran back inside to chase after you. I didn’t know what had got into him. Not at the time.’

  ‘You hadn’t seen I had taken the purse from your man, then?’ I said, feeling smug that the switch had been so successful.

  ‘He told me later, after he found you with blood on your hands, standing over the poor fellow.’

  ‘I wasn’t standing!’ I protested, but she just tipped her head as though I was plainly lying. It was hurtful. ‘Your man called the constable, did he?’

  ‘It’s usual when a man’s found in the act of murder.’

  ‘He waited there? I hope you ran off before the law arrived.’

  ‘No, I stayed. I didn’t think anyone would accuse me of anything. I was in the tavern all the while when you killed the poor fool. He seemed to know the constables when they arrived. Anyway, so what? What do his actions have to do with you?’

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I know some constables myself, but they were the sort of men who had limited senses of humour, and I wouldn’t wait for them to appear at a crime. It was odd that a proficient purse-snatcher should be on terms with them. What sort of man knew the officers but could prise a purse? Someone with more money than me to spend on bribes. I reasoned, ‘I think he must have killed the gull and knocked me down. He came in from the gate to the alley behind the tavern, broke my head and then killed the gull. Who was he? Where does he live?’

  ‘Do I look the sort of woman who would wait on a man like him?’

  ‘That depends on how much he was paying you,’ I said.

  She looked at me with withering contempt. ‘More than you could afford,’ she said pointedly.

  I ignored that.

  ‘In any case,’ she said, ‘when the shouting and bellowing all started and the hue and cry was raised, I made myself scarce. I didn’t want to wait any longer than I had to. You were lucky to escape. You should have seen all the men there haring off to catch you. I wandered away before anyone could accost me.’

  ‘Yes, well, the door to the alley was open, so I took it.’

  ‘And you ran. Why you took so long, I don’t understand. You had the body there. You were found red-handed, weren’t you? Why didn’t you flee as soon as you had killed him?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him! Why should I?’

  ‘Then who did!’ she snapped.

  That was the nub of my problem, I realized. If no one had seen anyone, other than me, leaving the room, it would make establishing my innocence a great deal more difficult.

  ‘I told you. Your companion came at me through the alley and …’

  ‘He didn’t. I saw him. He went back inside the tavern. It must have been you.’

  A thought struck me. ‘The man with the wide-brimmed hat! It must have been him! He did it!’

  ‘What man with—’

  ‘Someone was there,’ I said. I recalled the door in the wall, trying the latch, the way it gave way, then the pain of the blow on my pate. ‘There were three men in the tavern. One had a hat with a broad brim, but he left the place just as I was rising. I thought he was going to attack me before I could get to the front door, but what if he went out, then came at me along the alley? Someone came in from outside. I was knocked down, and I didn’t come to – not until your fellow came after me. Whoever it was who came through the gate must have hit me on the head and then killed the gull. That other fellow murdered him, and would have killed me, too, but for the speed of your man coming out, I suppose. I’ll bet it was the man with the hat. Your fellow surprised him, I think, and he fled. Leaving me lying injured and unconscious to take the blame.’

  I thought I struck the right tone there. Not arrogant, but with just a hint of professional appreciation, as though I was experienced in such crimes. After all, I was the only man who could describe the scene.

  ‘Where?’ she said.

  ‘Where what?’

  ‘Show me where you were hit.’

  I bent my head and indicated the lump. She felt it without sympathy, with a grudging respect and a fair amount of ungentle roughness.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Very well. I can see you have been knocked down.’

  ‘So you believe me?’

  ‘Let’s say I’m less inclined to disbelieve you,’ she said.

  ‘But I didn’t do anything!’

  ‘So you say,’ she said with scorn. ‘If someone else was there, no one else saw him. Everyone in the tavern did see you go out there, and the other fellow followi
ng immediately after you; when you disappeared, he was dead. It’s no surprise everyone thinks it must be you.’

  ‘You could have told them I wouldn’t kill a man!’

  ‘And how would I know that?’ she spat. I could feel the spittle hit my face, and I closed my eyes and lifted a hand to wipe it away, but as I did so, she thrust me from her and I tripped over a piece or two of trash and fell heavily on my rump. She turned to leave me, wiping her hand on her skirts as though to clean them of my filth.

  ‘Who is he, anyway?’ I said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your companion. The man who was with you in the tavern? The man who came out and found me?’

  ‘He called himself Henry, but I don’t know more than that.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  ‘He found me on the street. Where else? But I can tell you this: I saw him once at a house in Paternoster Row, near St Michael-le-Querne. I think he lived there.’

  ‘Could you show me?’

  ‘Why? What does it matter?’

  ‘He might know something. He was trying to rob the fellow. Perhaps there was more than money involved.’

  ‘Look! You killed that poor gull, and that is all that weighs in the balance.’ She began to walk away. ‘You are dangerous. I don’t trust you, and nor does anyone else. You’re marked as a murderer.’

  ‘Ann!’ I called, and she paused.

  ‘What now?’

  ‘You have to believe me! I didn’t do anything!’

  She curled her lip, but this time more in amusement than contempt. It was oddly irritating to be looked down upon by her. I felt like an urchin viewed by a knight’s lady. ‘Looking at you now, I hardly think you have it in you to stuff a man full of steel,’ she said, ‘but there was no one else there that I saw!’ and she was gone.

  SEVEN

  For a long time I remained there deep in thought.

  Her words had shocked me. It never would have occurred to me that anyone could think me guilty of committing a murder, and yet Ann thought exactly that, if her face and actions were anything to go by. If she believed me capable of killing a man, who would believe me? Especially since I had bolted as soon as the first man appeared. Not that it was my fault: whoever it was who had knocked me down was surely the guilty man. And yet that man had come in from outside the tavern. No one would have seen him arrive.

  Panic set in. What was I, other than a rascal who had run to London at the first opportunity, leaving his home and father alone, to try to make his own way in the world by living on his wits? I was quick with my hands, and competent enough at word-play when it was necessary, but I was not capable of killing in cold blood. How could anyone think I would plunge a dagger into a man’s belly?

  The answer to that was easily. This was London. The city was full of men who would draw a knife or sword at the slightest provocation. If a man felt insulted, if a man felt his honour was impugned, if a man felt he was being made to look a fool, let alone if he thought he was robbed, he would be more than capable of killing another. In God’s name, I’d seen it often enough.

  I had to get back to the house and speak to Bill. He would know what to do.

  Yes. Back to see Bill. That was the main thing. I clambered to my feet and set off back the way I’d come. I peeped out into the roadway and sauntered out among the passers-by, making my way back towards the river, treading carefully amid the horse, dog, cattle and donkey dung that liberally covered the whole of the way. It was a way to distract myself – not that it worked. I was deep in thought as I went. The young gull was dead, I was blamed, and I had no idea who was responsible. I didn’t know who the fellow was, nor why I had been knocked unconscious before he had been killed.

  The only thing that made sense was that someone struck me down to rob me and … and robbed him, too. The man with the broad-brimmed hat.

  I stopped.

  No one would have come through that gate knowing that I was there. Someone appearing behind me would not have known I was there before they opened the gate. Whoever it was didn’t want me dead. They were looking for better prey. And the lad had a well-filled purse. Surely it was a man who saw him in the tavern, guessed he would be in need of a piss after a while, and decided to lie in wait. For him and his money.

  Except … I took out the parchment I’d found in the bottom of the stolen purse. It made no sense to me. Just a jumble of letters and occasional strange symbols, and I peered at it with confusion. No one could make sense of a thing like that, surely. Which was the point, of course. A man who had need of such a code had something to conceal.

  And the rebels were approaching London just at the time that this fellow appeared and died.

  Somehow this reflection was not reassuring.

  When I reached Trig Lane, I climbed the rickety steps to the loft and was surprised to see Bill already there. He was over at the paillasse where Ham and I slept, and he sprang up with a face that turned a deep red as I entered.

  ‘What are you doing back here so soon?’ he growled. ‘If you’re thinking you can have an early night because of one purse, you can think again!’

  His aggressive manner drove all thoughts about why he was at Ham’s and my bedrolls. I hastened to explain my predicament.

  ‘I can’t stay in the streets. I have to talk, Bill. I need help.’

  He was mollified by that. He looked at me askance and persuaded me to sit on a stool while he fetched us both wine from a leather flagon. ‘Well?’ he said when we were both seated.

  ‘Today a man was killed behind the tavern near Ludgate, and people are saying it was me killed him!’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘I was there. That purse I took?’ I explained all about Ann and her companion, then about bolting to the yard and what happened. Bill listened with a frown on his face. I ended, ‘I don’t know what to do!’

  ‘It was Ann’s friend found this man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re absolutely certain that you didn’t see whoever it was knocked you down? You don’t know him?’ he demanded.

  ‘Why are you so suspicious? I don’t have eyes in the back of my head!’

  ‘Ann’s friend found you, you say?’

  ‘Yes. He left her outside the tavern when he came back in, according to her.’

  ‘Does she know who he was?’

  ‘Who cares? He came through the tavern. He couldn’t have flown from the tavern, out to the alley, then back in to knock me down and kill the other fellow,’ I said sharply.

  ‘Watch your temper, boy,’ he said.

  I swallowed my justifiable irritation. ‘I just spoke to her and she had no idea what the name of the man was, other than that he was called Henry.’

  ‘Henry? Are you sure?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said. I was a little perturbed to see how Bill leaned away, staring at me.

  He took a long pull at his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I thought his expression was too much like that which he wore when the carts rolled by with men being carried to the gallows: ‘There, but for the grace of God,’ he seemed to be thinking. Now he wore that same expression as he looked at me.

  ‘You’ll have to keep your head low, then. Perhaps you ought to go back to Kent and hide out there.’

  ‘But I can’t!’ That was unthinkable. ‘I can’t run away from the city! My father wouldn’t have me back now, and I don’t know anyone else.’

  Bill nodded and shrugged. ‘Well, you are going to be hunted now, and since you’re responsible for stealing a rich purse, they’ll look all the harder. You’d best stay here, hidden.’

  ‘I didn’t even steal it from him. I took it from Ann and her friend.’

  ‘I don’t think that will help save you from the rope.’

  EIGHT

  Bill’s view was straightforward enough. Unhelpful to me, but straightforward. He thought that I would be in great danger if I left Trig Lane, and that if I were to be caught, I’d be
killed.

  ‘It’s either run far away, back home to Whitstable, or at least stay here and keep your head down,’ he said. ‘Do you still have that purse?’

  ‘No. Gil took it.’

  ‘The shit. Typical of him,’ Bill said. He eyed me a while in silence, before nodding to himself. ‘Right. First thing is, we ought to find out what’s being said on the street. You wait here. Understand me? You hang about here. I’ll go and see what I can learn.’

  I nodded, feeling only relief to think that he was on my side, glad to know that he would look after me. It was only after he’d gone that I realized I hadn’t told him about the strange code in the bottom of the purse. He knew about the money well enough, but the message was hidden. I pulled it out again and stared at it. Someone must be able to understand it, I thought. But I had no idea who. There were magicians and others who had skills in the strange art of deciphering such messages, but they were not the sort of fellows who would frequent the haunts where I was known.

  Alone, I was bad company for myself. It was impossible to settle. I meandered about the room, but no matter what I did or how I tried to drive it away, I couldn’t get rid of the memory of that man’s face, drained of blood, eyes wide, and the sight of all that blood everywhere. Whoever had tried to set me up as the murderer of the fellow had done an excellent job – that much was clear. I sank into a gloomy reflection, convinced that I was doomed now. I would be caught and hanged for a murder that was nothing to do with me.