Evett gaped at him. ‘You were ordered to disarm.’
‘Then we are lucky I declined. Please do not twitch – you are attracting its attention.’
‘They will never look for it in here,’ said Evett shakily. The weapon slipped from his trembling fingers and he bent to retrieve it, while the lion looked on with interested eyes. ‘Cats do not like water. It will kill us long before they search this part of the Tower. Sweet Jesus, Heyden, it is standing up!’
‘I thought you were a soldier.’ Chaloner was unimpressed. ‘Pull yourself together.’
‘I am a soldier, but I have not been trained to fight slathering beasts.’
‘Think of it as Cromwell, then,’ suggested Chaloner. The lion was not a particularly fierce specimen, and Evett was armed with a blade. ‘Or Buckingham.’
Suddenly, Evett elbowed him out of the way and made a dash for the boat. He did not get far before he lost his footing, and went bouncing down the stairs, wailing as he went. The lion and Chaloner watched his antics in astonishment.
‘Robinson told you to mind your footing.’
When Evett seemed incapable of standing, Chaloner walked carefully towards him and took his elbow. As he did so, he noticed a rope had been placed across the third stair. He inspected it curiously. It had been rubbed with slime from the walls, so was virtually invisible to anyone using the steps. It was a potentially lethal hazard, and Evett was fortunate he had not cracked his skull. Chaloner wondered who had put it there, and supposed it was someone’s idea of a practical joke, albeit a very dangerous one.
As soon as he was upright, Evett lurched for the boat and tried to push it away from the pier. With silent grace, the lion sprang from its perch and made its way towards them. Evett tore wildly at the knot that moored the little craft, but his fingers were clumsy with terror. The lion swayed towards Chaloner, then pounced, while Evett’s shriek of fright echoed shockingly in the damp chamber.
The sudden weight of a fully grown lion was too much for Chaloner’s fragile balance on the slick steps, and he went down hard. The dagger flew from his hand. He gripped the creature’s throat, fingers disappearing into thick, oily fur as he sought to keep its teeth away from his neck. It batted him with its paw, and he noticed its claws were sheathed. He shoved it, and it backed away obediently.
‘It is tame,’ he said, beginning to laugh as he stood up. ‘The poor creature probably escaped to stretch its legs. Those cages are very small.’
Evett was unconvinced. He grabbed Chaloner’s knife and hurled it at the lion. The weapon clattered harmlessly against the wall.
‘No!’ snapped Chaloner, interposing himself between them. ‘You will hurt it.’
‘Then help me with this,’ pleaded Evett, scrabbling desperately at the painter. ‘I do not trust it.’
Chaloner staggered when the lion placed its paws on his shoulders again. It stank of old meat and urine, and he wondered whether the scent would cling to him, so Metje would notice it that night. If she did, he wondered how he would explain it – and whether she would believe him if he told her the truth. He unravelled the knot that tethered the boat, struggling to keep the lion away from the cowering Evett, then jumped into the craft and propelled it out on to the river. The cat watched, tail swishing behind it. Someone shouted when they emerged, and Chaloner saw soldiers on the wall above, pointing weapons. He supposed, from their hostile stance, that they assumed a pair of prisoners were making a bid for freedom, and was obliged to nudge Evett with his foot, to make him say something to stop them from being shot at.
Evett tried to stand, but his legs would not support him, so he identified himself sitting. Robinson appeared, and ordered his men to stand down. He raised a hand in farewell as they floated away, and Chaloner heard wheedling calls emanating from the gate – the keeper was trying to seduce his charge back into his tender care. Evett made a sudden lurch and was sick over the side. Chaloner looked away as he rowed to the nearest jetty, intending to see the boat returned to its rightful owners as soon as possible. He did not want to be accused of stealing Crown property.
‘You must think me a fool,’ said Evett in a low voice, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Chaloner nodded. ‘A coward, too. I would not like to go into battle with you.’
‘Well, that is honest,’ said Evett, attempting a smile. It emerged as a grimace. ‘I have had a deep fear of wild animals ever since I saw a bear chew the head from its owner as a child. I do not like … and a lion …’ He trailed off with a shudder.
‘I cannot imagine you encounter them very often.’
‘More than you might think. The King is stocking the royal parks with all manner of dangerous creatures – vicious, bronze-coloured birds with long tails and nasty, slashing beaks.’
‘Pheasants?’
‘And in White Hall, there are dogs everywhere.’
‘Dogs are not dangerous creatures,’ Chaloner pointed out.
‘The King’s are: massive things with dripping teeth. I hate them all. Why do you think I want to be Lord High Admiral? Because you do not get rampaging animals on ships.’
‘Well, we are away from it now,’ said Chaloner, thinking him deranged. ‘Who is Lee?’
‘What?’ Evett blinked stupidly at the abrupt change of subject.
‘When I was talking to Fanny, I saw a report you had written for Robinson about your previous searches for the treasures. It was on the window sill, waiting to be filed. It mentioned a Mr Lee, as well as Wade and Pepys.’
‘Lee is just a clerk. Robinson suggested we involve him, because he is quick at counting money and we were anticipating barrels of the stuff.’
‘Why did you not mention him before?’
Evett shrugged. ‘Why would I? I did not mention all the soldiers who wielded spades for us, either. None is relevant to the enquiry, and there is no point in me wasting your time.’
Chaloner was not so sure. ‘According to your report, Lee lives near the Tower – Thames Street. I suggest we visit him. We cannot talk to Pepys and Wade, but no one has warned us away from Lee.’
‘Now?’ asked Evett. ‘It must be almost three o’clock. It will be dark in an hour or so.’
‘Now,’ said Chaloner, easing the boat into the dock near Tower Wharf. A man in royal livery was waiting to collect it, although he said he would wait until the lion was in its cage before rowing back.
‘But it is tame,’ said Chaloner, puzzled.
The man tapped his temple. ‘Its wits are stewed. Sometimes it is as gentle as a kitten, but other times it is vicious. Even its keeper cannot predict which it will be.’
Chaloner led Evett along Thames Street until they located the clerk’s house. It was a tumbledown affair, leaning precariously between two equally unsteady neighbours, and no one answered their knocks. Evett, regaining his composure, suggested that Lee was probably at work, since it was a Wednesday, and would have no reason to be home. Chaloner stared at the windows.
‘No,’ said Evett, guessing what was in his mind. ‘I will not break in. It is illegal.’
‘We should not do it at the front,’ agreed Chaloner. ‘Too public.’
He made his way to the rear of the property, only to find it unlocked. He inspected the door carefully, then stood back to assess the rest of the building. A window was broken, and he could see someone sitting on a chair in the chamber within. He pointed out the shattered pane to Evett.
‘So?’ asked the aide. ‘Glass is expensive to replace, and Lee will not earn a huge salary at the Treasury. We should go there and talk to him, since it appears to be important to you.’
Chaloner opened the door, standing well back as he did so. He knew what he was about to find. The familiar odour of death was not overpowering, because the weather was cold, but it was strong enough to tell him that Lee had been past caring about broken windows for several days.