Dark Fire полностью

'I am a Londoner, your grace,' Rich said stiffly. He turned to me. 'The duke has come to discuss the transfer of some monastic lands.' There was no need to tell me anything at all; he was providing me with an explanation for the meeting in case I spread rumours of conspiracy. What he said might be true: it was well known that Norfolk, for all his religious conservatism, had taken his full share of the monastic spoils.

'Ay,' Norfolk said. 'And you've transferred Barty's to yourself in all but name, eh Richard?' He laughed. 'Sir Richard has granted houses round Bartholomew Close to so many of his officials you might as well call this the Smithfield office of the Court of Augmentations. And poor Prior Fuller not yet dead. It's not true you're poisoning him, is it, Richard?'

Rich smiled thinly. 'The prior has a wasting sickness, your grace.'

I guessed the duke's mockery was intended as further evidence for me that they were not friends. Rich turned aside as a servant appeared at the gate, holding a heavy sack, and murmured something to him. 'Put them in my study,' Rich said sharply, 'I'll go through them later.'

Norfolk looked curiously at the sack as the servant went back inside. 'What's in there?'

'We are digging up the monks' graveyard in the cloister, to make a garden. It seems there is an old custom here that when a man died some personal possession was buried with him. We have found some interesting items.'

I remembered the boys scrabbling in the coffins when I came here to see Kytchyn, the little golden trinket the watchman had appropriated.

'Valuable, eh?'

'Some, yes. Things of antiquarian interest too. Old rings, plague charms, even dried herbs buried with an infirmarian. I have an interest in such things, your grace. My mind does not run on profit all the time,' he added sharply and I realized that for all his ruthlessness and brutality Rich did not enjoy his reputation for venality.

'A strange custom.'

'Yes. I don't know where it came from. But everyone buried here, whether monk or hospital patient, had something personal buried with him, something that was most characteristic of his life, I believe. We'll be finished with the monks in a couple of days, then we'll start on the hospital graveyard. I might have some houses built there.'

I drew a sharp breath as I realized what might have been buried with the old soldier St John. Someone was going to great lengths to conceal all signs of Greek Fire, but what if some was still here at Barty's, buried under the ground!

I became aware Rich was looking at me. 'Something piqued your interest, Shardlake?'

'Just that I too have antiquarian interests, my lord. I found some old stones at the Ludgate, from an ancient synagogue-'

'We had best get to business, my lord,' Norfolk interrupted rudely. 'It's too hot to be out in the sun all day.'

'Yes, your grace. Well, good morning, Brother Shardlake.' He looked at me, the grey eyes narrowing. 'Don't devil too far into others' business; remember, you might get your fingers burned.' And with that they turned and walked away to the gatehouse. The duke's retainers looked at me curiously as I turned Genesis round and rode away. I found I was sweating, and not just from the heat. What had Norfolk and Rich met to discuss? Sales of monastic property, or plots against Cromwell? Or Greek Fire? Rich's warning, mentioning fire, sounded like a reference to that. But was it?

It was with relief that I turned into Long Lane and rode away to Lady Honor's, my mind running now on opened graves.

THE HOUSE OF GLASS lay quiet and still in the morning heat. A servant in the Vaughan livery answered the door. I asked if I might see Lady Honor on an urgent matter of business and he admitted me, asking me to wait in the hall. Looking through a window into the inner courtyard, I saw the banqueting hall was shuttered against the heat. One of the panes had a family motto under the coat of arms. I bent to look closer. Esse quant videri. To be rather than to seem. To be a truly powerful noble family at the heart of the king's court, as the Howards were and the Vaughans had once been – I wondered what price would Lady Honor pay to achieve that end. In a few hours I would see Cromwell; I had to find out.

The servant reappeared and said Lady Honor would see me. He led me up to a first-floor parlour. Like the rest of the house it was richly decorated, with tapestries on the walls and an abundance of big embroidered cushions on the floors. There was a fine portrait on one wall, an elderly man in Mercers' Company livery. The face above the short white beard had a kindly look despite the formal pose.