‘Of course not,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But Risleye…’
Risleye was one of few lads who had official access to his storeroom, came a clamouring voice in his head. And Risleye was secretive and sly – he kept his possessions locked in a chest, whereas everyone else left theirs for others to share. Bartholomew put his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the betrayal. Then he stood abruptly, not sure how he would start his interrogation of Risleye but determined it would be at once.
‘Where is he?’ he asked.
Deynman shrugged. ‘He was here a moment ago, talking to that Dominican priest about wet horses. Perhaps he went to the hall. Thelnetham is lecturing, and you know he is an entertaining–’
Thelnetham looked up questioningly when the physician burst in, but Risleye was not there. Without so much as a nod to his bemused colleague, Bartholomew ran back to his room, wondering whether the students were lying down after the journey. It was empty, so he tore up the stairs to talk to Michael.
The monk was studying the documents from Margery’s travelling bag, treating Langelee to an account of his experiences in darkest Suffolk at the same time. The Master was still draped in his altar cloth, and Agatha had resumed her pinning. Bartholomew paced back and forth in agitation as he told them about the missing poppy juice and his prime suspect.
‘Valence and Tesdale are just walking past,’ said Langelee, peering through the window into the yard. He leaned out and ordered the students to get themselves up the stairs in a bellow that would have been heard on the High Street. ‘Perhaps they know where Risleye has gone.’
‘He went out with the Haverhill priest, sir,’ supplied Valence, when the Master demanded the whereabouts of their classmate. ‘And will drag him from stable to stable until the poor man is forced to admit that wet horses smell worse than wet dogs.’
‘Did you know he has been stealing medicine?’ asked Langelee baldly.
Tesdale’s jaw dropped. ‘How do you … He is not … Lord Christ!’
‘No!’ cried Valence at the same time. ‘I do not believe you!’
‘I should have been more careful,’ said Bartholomew bitterly. ‘Then it would not have happened.’
He thought about the stain on his workbench, which had reeked of poppy juice. He should have known it was a new mark, and that he would not have overlooked it when he had been cleaning the day before. He rubbed a hand through his hair, feeling his stomach tie itself in knots.
‘Do not blame yourself, sir,’ said Valence, still struggling to control his shock. ‘It is not your fault he took advantage of your trust.’
‘Meanwhile,’ added Tesdale, ‘you have the evidence to confront him, so make him pay you back and then dismiss him. Meanwhile, we will all learn from this and make sure it never happens again.’
‘It is good advice, Matt,’ said Michael soberly. ‘Be more vigilant in future, but do not hold anyone but Risleye responsible for what he has done.’
‘I am sorry to change the subject,’ said Tesdale tentatively. ‘But Isnard sent word: he was very drunk last night and needs a tonic. Shall Valence make it and take it to him?’
‘You do it,’ ordered Langelee, while Valence rolled his eyes at his classmate’s brazen idleness. He held up a thick forefinger when Tesdale started to object. ‘No excuses. I am tired of seeing you foist your duties on to your friends, and unless you change your ways, you can look for another College.’
Bartholomew handed over the key to the storeroom and watched his students leave, his thoughts in chaos. It was all very well for Valence and Tesdale to dismiss so blithely the actions of a classmate they had never liked, but Risleye’s actions would bother their master for a long time to come.
‘I need to find him,’ he said, trying to imagine which stables Risleye might have elected to visit. ‘I cannot just wait here for him to show up.’
‘You can – and you should,’ said Michael. ‘You run the risk of missing him if you dash off on a wild goose chase. He will not be long. Just be patient.’
‘Clippesby has not been himself since you left,’ said Langelee, deciding the physician needed a diversion. ‘Wynewyk’s treachery hit him hard, and I have never seen him so unhappy. He has not even found solace in his animals.’
Bartholomew regarded him in alarm. Clippesby did not forsake his furred and feathered friends lightly, and when he did, there was usually something seriously wrong. ‘Has he been … unwell?’
‘You mean has he been more lunatic than usual,’ translated Langelee. ‘No – quite the reverse, in fact. He seems as sane as any of us, except when you actually listen to what he is saying. Then you realise he is raving. He keeps claiming that Wynewyk took poison because he was unable to live with his remorse.’
‘Fortunately, we know that is untrue,’ said Michael. ‘Wynewyk made these business arrangements in good faith, and we were wrong to have suspected him of dishonesty.’
‘Yes and no,’ said Langelee. ‘He may not have stolen from us, but he had no right to give our money to these Suffolk lords, no matter what the returns. It has left us all but destitute – and we will remain destitute until we have these pigs, wood and coal. I am not forgetting that he tried to kill me, either. He may be innocent of cheating, but he was definitely guilty of that.’
‘He took Kelyng to Suffolk, too,’ added Michael. ‘And must have known some harm had befallen the lad when he failed to return from the mine. Then to pretend to be worried … it beggars belief!’
‘Are you sure it was Wynewyk who tried to kill you, Master?’ asked Agatha conversationally. ‘Only Idoma Gosse likes to ambush men in the dead of night. Incidentally, I heard her brother bragging the other day in the Cardinal’s Cap. He claims to be on the verge of acquiring wealth that will see him established in the finest house in Cambridge.’
‘Did he say how?’ asked Michael nervously.
‘No,’ replied Agatha. ‘But you can be sure it will not be legal.’
‘Arrest him, Brother,’ said Langelee promptly. ‘Now. Today. Before he earns these riches.’
‘I shall,’ vowed Michael. He turned to Agatha. ‘So you had better tell me exactly what you overheard in the Cardinal’s Cap.’
‘Unfortunately, he declined to give details, and none of us liked to press him,’ replied the laundress apologetically. ‘Well, he said one thing, but I do not see how it can be relevant.’
‘What?’ demanded Michael.
‘He said his fortune is closely tied to that of a Fellow, and that they have great plans together.’
‘Not Wynewyk?’ asked Langelee heavily.
‘No. It is someone from King’s Hall – and from his description, I would say it is Paxtone.’
‘Damn!’ muttered Michael, standing wearily. ‘I thought I would have a few quiet moments to study my Blood Relic texts, but it seems I must go to interrogate King’s Hall scholars instead.’
‘You planned to study?’ asked Langelee incredulously. ‘I thought you would have been deploying your troops to hunt down Gosse. Or, if he proves elusive, to prevent him from doing any mischief during this tiresome debate.’
‘Junior Proctor Cleydon has that in hand,’ said Michael coolly. He disliked it when people questioned the way he ran his affairs. ‘I trust him.’
‘Then you can help me read Margery’s documents,’ said Langelee, waving the monk back down again. ‘You volunteered me as arbitrator, so it is only fair that you help me prepare, and you can talk to King’s Hall when we have finished. Meanwhile, you can visit Clippesby, Bartholomew. It will take your mind off Risleye – until he comes home.’
Bartholomew found the Dominican in his room. Clippesby was reading a book on Blood Relics, and the physician sincerely hoped he did not intend to take part in the debate: he might claim animal sources to prove his points, and lead the rest of the University to assume Michaelhouse was full of lunatics.