The Poisoned Chalice Read Online Free PDF Page B

. . who is he?'
'Monsieur,' the voice repeated slowly, 'you should not be worried about Monsieur Ralemberg but rather us.'
    One of my hands was seized and, strange upon strange, a small wax candle thrust into my palm.
    'Next time you meet Monsieur Ralemberg, just tell him his old friends the Luciferi are with him!'
Suddenly a voice bellowed from the top of the alleyway.
'You, sirs! What are you doing?'
    My face was banged against the wall and my assailants disappeared. I crouched, holding my bruised temple and cursing the arrow of pain which coursed through my face. My rescuers were three bully boys, swords and daggers stuck through their waists. You know the type, with their tight hose, protruding codpieces, puffed doublets and short cloaks. They didn't chase my assailants but helped me to my feet, solicitously enquiring after my health. It was dark, I couldn't make out their features, but I was terrified that I had jumped from the pot into the flames. Even then I should have known something was wrong. Why should three bully boys help a stranger in a darkened alleyway off Cheapside? However, they caused me no ill and I staggered back to the Golden Turk and the tender care of the slattern, a bowl of rich broth and countless frothing tankards of ale.
Chapter 2
    The next morning I awoke anxious over what had happened. I stared wonderingly at the small, wax candle which I had thrown on to the floor of my chamber. I forgot about my rescuers, I was more concerned by the Luciferi.
    I knew enough Latin to know this name meant the Light-Bearers, Satan's name before he was thrown out of heaven. But who were these Light-Bearers? I wondered. A rival company? Personal enemies of Ralemberg? I felt my stomach lurch and my heart beat a little faster. My hands felt clammy, the usual signs of old Shallot beginning to wonder whether it is time to cut and run. My elation of the previous day began to evaporate until I remembered Agnes, the indentures I had signed, and the basic honesty of Ralemberg and de Macon. I washed, dressed, strapped on my sword belt and strutted out, quietly vowing that a group of cut-throats and alley-sneakers could not frighten this new Merchant Prince. Oh, Lord, the foolishness of youth!
    I went straight to Ralemberg's house, hungry to see the ever-smiling Agnes. My poor heart soared like a bird when she agreed to accompany me and her father to a parchment-seller in Lothbury. We kept off the beaten track, away from those traders who fixed high prices, for Shallot knew where to go. This shop or that, then across London Bridge under the rotting, decapitated heads of traitors to a small parchment-seller's in Southwark. The gods smile on those they intend to destroy, and within three days the parchment we bought up was carted down to de Macon's cog and hoisted aboard. The captain was as happy as a pig in the mire.
    'Better this,' he bellowed, 'than begging for trade from Westminster to the Wool Quay!'
    He explained how, due to the cessation of hostilities between England and France, the hiring of vessels was now cheap and easy and, for what he had to sell, it was a buyer's market.
    Two days later he sailed and I, forgetful of all dangers, was now in my seventh heaven. (One of my few virtues. When I am happy, I can't give a rat's arse about anything else!) Ralemberg was likeable. He reminded me of Benjamin with his dry wit, sardonic observations and palpable honesty. We roamed the streets together looking for possible future providers of parchment and, taking advantage of the good weather, rode north to Oxford to the parchment-sellers along Holywell and Broad Street as well as the little shops on the Turl near Exeter College.
    Of course, there was always Agnes, and I lived for the nights when I joined the Ralembergs for their simple meal. The Frenchman treated me like a son; his wife was a little more distant and cool so I complimented her and brought her small gifts, wooing her as if she was the maid. As for my beloved,