The Assassin's Riddle Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘You may go.’
    The two clerks walked out of the room, slamming the door behind them, raising fresh puffs of dust.
    ‘What do you think, Brother?’ Cranston took the wineskin out. ‘Devil’s futtocks, this is a dry place!’
    ‘Every place is too dry for you, Sir John.’
    Cranston winked, took a swig from the wineskin and patted his stomach. ‘It’s time we had refreshments, Brother, something to soak up the wine. You didn’t answer my questions.’
    ‘I think they are as guilty as Pilate and Herod,’ Athelstan replied. ‘In my view, Sir John, those two are evil young men who believed they have carried out the perfect crime.’ He sighed. ‘And they may well have.’
    ‘They killed Drayton?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘As God made little apples, Sir John, I believe they are guilty but how they did it is a mystery.’
    ‘Flaxwith!’ Cranston roared.
    The bailiff hurried into the room, Samson trotting behind him, tongue hanging out. He took one look at Sir John’s juicy leg and would have launched himself forward. Flaxwith had the good sense to grab him by the leather collar and scoop him up into his arms.
    ‘Sir John, Samson and I are at your service.’
    ‘Bugger him!’ Cranston growled. ‘I want you to do three things. First, visit the bankers, the Frescobaldi, in Leaden-hall Street. Seek confirmation that they made a delivery of silver here yesterday. Secondly, go to my host at the Dancing Pig: did those two beauties spend last night there? Finally, I want them and their lodgings in Grubb Street watched; if they try to leave London arrest them!’
    ‘For what, Sir John?’
    Cranston closed his eyes. ‘For cruelty to your dog.’

CHAPTER 2
    As Athelstan and Cranston arrived in Ratcat Lane, Luke Peslep, clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax, swaggered into the Ink and Pot tavern on the corner of Chancery Lane to break his fast. Peslep, a young man of good family and even better prospects, felt all was well with the world. Three nights ago he had dined well and been entertained by the most delicious whore. He was still elated by it all. This morning he had risen, washed and put on new robes ready for another day in the office of the Green Wax. He stood in the taproom of the Ink and Pot and beamed round. He looked through into the back, so happy and contented he did not see the animals: a mongrel dog, a mangy cat, or the scraps of food and stable manure piled high in the midden. Nor did he notice the smell from the privies at the far end of the yard behind a hedge of scrawny bushes. Peslep only saw the sunshine reflected in the puddles, heard the clack of geese and, closing his eyes, savoured the appetising odours from the buttery. He took his usual seat in the far corner and, when Meg the slattern came up, he ordered his usual pot of ale and trauncher of sliced bread, apple and cheese. Peslep, as always, put his hand down Meg’s low-cut bodice and clutched one of her breasts, squeezing it gently.
    ‘Riper every day, eh, Meg? Soon fresh for the plucking?’
    Meg wiped her hair from her grease-stained face and forced a smile. She could not object. Peslep always paid in good silver and, if she protested, the landlord would only cuff her ears until they burnt. Peslep sat munching his apple, listening to the sounds drifting through the tavern. A choir carolling from a nearby church, women gossiping in the street, children shrieking, a lazy cock crowing to greet the dawn, a pedlar crying his wares. From the open work-shops near the Fleet prison came a medley of sounds: planing and hammering, clanging and forging, seething and hissing. Peslep closed his eyes. This was the London he loved.
    A guild of beggars entered the tavern and gathered round a table to count the coins they had collected from the crowds coming out of morning Mass. Their leader ordered jugs of wine and hot dishes. Peslep knew they would stay there until all their money was gone and they fell to the floor blind drunk to be fleeced by the wily