Not realising he was scowling so fiercely that people were taking a wide path around him as he walked down through the crowds on Fleet Street, Dodd stopped and stared unseeingly at an inn sign for the Fox amp; Hounds, a few doors up from the Cock Tavern where he and Carey usually went out of habit. He’d looked at the book, recognised it, and dismissed it as uninteresting. Damn it to hell. It had been…
The inn sign was particularly badly painted, mainly out of over-ambition on the part of the sign painter, with the fox running as it were towards the sign and the hounds in the distance behind him, so it looked as if his head made the shape of a capital letter A upside down…
The backs of Dodd’s legs actually went cold as he realised what the answer was. He blinked up at the inn sign which may have inspired the original code and almost certainly had inspired Carey to guess what it was. He cursed under his breath. Next thing he had loped along Fleet Street, past Temple Bar, knocking the beggars flying, along the Strand, and in at the gate of Somerset House which was quiet that afternoon. He went up the stairs two at a time to Carey’s chambers and sat himself down sweating and puffing slightly at Carey’s desk where he pulled Foxe’s Book of Martyrs towards himself and set to the first coded letter.
It took him a long time and at the end of the hard labour he realised he actually had one and a half letters: one was from Fr. Jackson to somebody he addressed as “your honour” explaining that the trap was ready to be sprung as most of the lands were now held by the one called Icarus. The other was from Richard Tregian and also addressed to somebody he called “your honour” explaining that he had found out why certain lands were being sold for inflated prices as full of gold ore and good sites for gold mines. He was horrified and alarmed at it and was about to…The letter was unfinished.
Dodd leaned back and stretched his aching ink-splattered fingers. He stared into space for five minutes and then gathered up his translations and the original letters, folded them all and put them in his belt-pouch along with Carey’s infuriating message. Hearing the cacophony of hounds and horses returning to the courtyard by the main gate, he stood up quickly and ran down the passageway to his own chamber where he collected his cloak and his new beaver hat that Carey had bought him a week before as a celebration of Carey’s deliverance from his creditors.
He clattered down the back stairs and into the kitchen where he quietly grabbed half a loaf of bread and a large lump of cheese, then put them back because he had nowhere to stowe them since he wasn’t on a horse and wasn’t wearing a loose comfy doublet..
In the rear courtyard that led to the kitchen garden, the cobbles were covered in hunting dogs, very happy to be home and already gathering around their dog boy, tails wagging, tongues hanging, waiting to be fed.
“Sergeant Dodd, have you heard…” sang out the dog boy excitedly, but Dodd just waved a hand at him, slipped through the gate into the main garden, and headed down for the orchard and the boatlanding.
All the way there he was quietly praying there would be a boat waiting for him. There wasn’t, of course. Still, Temple steps wasn’t very far away, so Dodd climbed from the boat landing to the narrow strip of land between the orchard wall and the Strand itself, then eased himself along until he came to a fence which he climbed over, followed along until he came to the other fence, climbed over that, and continued through a narrow alley that led to a secret set of steps hidden by a curve in the river. That wasn’t the one so he struggled along the top of a sea wall and then to another alley that passed through a shanty town full of hungry looking children in nothing but their shirts and dogs scuffing hopefully through the mud.
Finally he was at Temple steps, his ears itching in anticipation of the hue and cry that would be made for him once Lord and Lady Hunsdon realised who was missing. Enys was standing there, wrapped in cloak and hat, his expression a strange combination of hope and fear.
“Ay,” said Dodd, not explaining why he was arriving by climbing out of a tiny handkerchief of herb garden, guarded by a ginger tomcat.
Enys raised his arm and yelled “Oars!” A Thames boat arrived quickly, the boatman looking very hopeful-ah yes, of course, the taste of students at the Inns for the fleshpots and dissipations of the South bank.
“Three Cranes in the Vintry,” Dodd ordered, practically vaulting aboard. As usual Enys dithered over stepping in and nearly fell in the Thames again before he sat down.
“Are you sure, sir?” said the boatman. “I heard there’s a good game at Paris Garden tonight…”
“Ye heard what Ah said,” snarled Dodd. The boatman shrugged and started rowing the hard way.
They came up against the wharf which was quiet and Dodd paid the man and jumped out. Jesu he was getting as high-handed with his cash as Carey was-mind, it wasn’t his cash, it was Carey’s. That gave him a warm cosy feeling in the place where the rage was still packed tight.
As before there were a few well-dressed exquisites and one or two prosperous merchants hanging around not doing very much, including the boy in the tangerine paned hose and cramoisie doublet, a walking headache everywhere he went.
Mr. Briscoe was on the door as before, looking haggard with bags under his eyes. He touched his hat sadly to Dodd before stepping forward to stop Enys.
“Do I know you, sir?” he asked very politely.
“Ah, Sir Robert asked me tae bring him to meet Mr. Pickering.” Dodd tried. Briscoe hesitated “It’s Mr. Enys, my lord Baron Hunsdon’s lawyer. He wis at the inquest, ye recall?”
Briscoe allowed them past and they climbed the steps to the gambling chamber with its banks of candles and white mats. Enys seemed quite open-mouthed at the women standing about there, with their strangely cut stays that cupped their white breasts but left them bare so the nipples were visible peeking over the lacy edge of their shifts like naughty eyes, prinking and pinking in the draught from the door.
Dodd dragged his eyes away and swallowed hard. It seemed his kidneys were recovering. Then he stopped one of the comely boys running past with trays of booze, and asked if Mr. Vent was there.
“No sir,” said the boy. “Shall I tell Mr. Pickering you’re here? He has some information for you.”
“Ay.”
Dodd took two cups from the tray as the boy turned to go and gave one to Enys who was bright red again. Dodd knew how he felt. All those round plump tits just begging to be cupped and fondled and licked…
He took a large gulp of brandywine and tried to look at something less entrancing. But the walls were hung with the cloths painted with completely naked people doing lewd things with swans and bulls and such. It was impossible to concentrate, which no doubt was half the intention.
“Mr. Pickering will see you gents now,” said the boy at his elbow, so he tapped Enys on the shoulder and followed the boy into the back room where Pickering sat by the fire with a large plump man in a dark brocade doublet and snowy white starched falling band.
Pickering smiled as they came in and Dodd made his bow to include both of them, reckoning that a bit of respect to a headman on his own ground never did any harm and might do some good. Enys sensibly bowed too, rather more gracefully.
“Welcome back, Sergeant Dodd,” said Pickering. “Sir Horatio was ‘oping to meet Sir Robert. Is ‘e here?”
“Ah. No,” said Dodd, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain further.
“Is ‘e on ‘is way?”
“Ah. No,” said Dodd.
Pickering frowned and so did Sir Horatio. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope I haven’t offended him in…”