Henry stood woodenly, staring vacantly into the fire. “I don’t accuse Richard. I can’t believe that of him. We are kin, after all.”
Crispin kept his thoughts on the subject to himself. History was littered with bodies dispatched by the victim’s own relatives. “What of his advisers?”
Henry’s lip curled in a snarl. “Yes, I can well believe that of them. But which one?”
Leaning forward, Crispin pressed his hands to the table. “You said before that you wanted to help me, Henry. Do you? The woman I seek is still missing, may be in terrible straits. I must still find her.”
Henry’s eyes glinted from the candle flame between them. “I do. What would you have of me, Crispin?”
“See what you can discover about Richard’s advisers. About anything that might hint at this lay preacher, about the Tun. You cannot go to court yourself, but surely your men can keep their ears peeled, ask discreet questions. I would know of anything they might discover.”
“Yes. I would know the swines who put my life at stake. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, Henry. For my sanity’s sake, lay low.”
Henry chuckled and bowed. “Very well, Master Guest.”
Crispin glanced at both Henry and Jack in turn. “Both are troublesome and neither wish to mind me when I clearly know what I am talking about.”
Henry laughed again and even slapped Jack on the shoulders. “Young Jack, I think he’s talking about us. Did you know, Jack, that Crispin here raised me, too? Taught me to be a knight. Or at least how to comport myself as such. He left when I was still quite young.” His voice softened when he said to Jack, “In many ways, I envy you.”
“Me, sir?”
“Yes. He’s tutoring you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.” He flicked a glance at Crispin’s reddening face. “He taught me to read and write. Taught me history, and arms, and languages. And Aristotle-”
“That damned Aristotle!” Henry shook his head, but he was still smiling wistfully.
“Oh, he’s most wise, sir, is Aristotle. He wrote sage words on life and such. Like ‘All persons ought to endeavor to follow what is right, and not what is established.’ That’s a hard thought, isn’t it? But that’s what Master Crispin always does, don’t you, sir?” he said to Crispin. “My master lives by them words … those words, sir. And I would, too.”
Henry’s eyes twinkled. “I see. Well, young Jack, you listen well to your tutor. I’ve no doubt it will make of you a better man.”
Jack raised his chin proudly. “He already has, sir.”
Crispin cleared his throat. “Hadn’t you better be on your way, my lord?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, grabbing the door latch. “God keep you both.” He leaned into Crispin and asked, “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
He smiled. “Never.”
The door closed after Henry’s chuckles, and once his steps no longer thudded down the stairwell, all fell to silence again.
And then Avelyn stirred the coals once more.
“Can’t she stop doing that?” Jack held his arms over his chest and swung away, standing at the back window and looking out over the rooftops of St. Martin’s Lane.
He watched the boy for a time before turning to Avelyn and touching her shoulder. “Put the poker down. Perhaps it is best if you go.”
She shook her head again, but Crispin insisted. “We have much to plot this night. I won’t have time for you.”
She huffed and sneered in Jack’s direction. Her fingers had their say, showing her displeasure. He could only imagine what they said.
“Beastly woman,” he muttered, and steered her toward the door. She resisted, but he pushed. Hard. She stumbled and righted herself. When she turned toward him, he expected a scolding, but she only grinned slyly. The implication made him blush. “I repeat. You are a witch.”
She made a silent chuckle and then a gesture to come closer. He complied, already regretting sending her away. When he was directly before her, she grabbed his coat and dragged him down for a kiss. It was wet and warm and full of promise. And he nearly forgot he was sending her away when his hand found her hip and squeezed the plump flesh there.
She stepped back out of his embrace and raised her chin. She winked and turned quickly, slipping out the door.
He closed it slowly behind her and leaned on it, bringing his breathing back under control.
“You didn’t have to do that, Master,” came the soft voice behind him.
He adjusted his braies and straightened his coat before turning to face Jack. “I did. She is … distracting.” He stared at the fire for a moment before he went to the table and opened the box with the chess pieces. “Fancy another game?”
“Aye. Might as well.” He sat on the stool and shuffled it to the table.
Crispin laid out the board and waited for Jack to begin. They moved pieces, Jack taking more time to examine his options, sometimes speaking them aloud so Crispin could instruct.
Crispin moved a piece and settled his chin on his hand. “Once it is daylight, Jack, I want you to go to Flamel’s shop and guard him.”
“Why can I not go with you, sir?” he asked, moving his rook. “I’d rather help you gather more clues.”
“You sure you want to do that?”
Jack looked up with shock etching his face. “Help you with clues?”
Crispin nodded to the board. “No. That.”
“Oh, blind me.” He scoured the board once more and finally nodded.
“Very well.” Crispin captured the rook with his knight.
“Dammit. I missed that.”
“You’re a little distracted.” He settled his elbows on the table and closed his hands together. “I trust you. That is why I want you to guard them. Someone must.”
“But you’re the one going into danger alone. Why can I not protect you?”
“Because it might be a trap and I want at least one of us to keep the alchemist safe. He might do something foolish.”
“How long must I wait for you, then?”
“I reckon I will be gone for a good part of the day. Check.”
“Check what, sir?”
“Your king is in check.”
“Oh.” His eyes scanned the board. Most of Jack’s pieces had been taken. The lad’s mind was clearly not on the game.
While Jack studied the board, Crispin yawned and only casually glanced at the array of pieces. He was tired. He should go to bed. And he would do so once the game was done. He was sorry he had made Avelyn leave. She would have kept him warm. He shivered slightly and wrapped his arms around himself.
When he glanced down at the board again, his sleepy eyes snapped open. “God’s blood!” He nearly upended the table jerking to his feet.
“What? What is it?”
He pushed back the wayward locks of his hair. “I missed it. I completely missed it.”
“What did you miss? Did I win?”
“Get your cloak.”
“What? Now?”
Crispin was already at the door and pulled down his mantle from its peg. “Get your cloak!”
27
Jack scrambled up and seized his cloak as Crispin threw open the door and carefully stepped out onto the icy landing. The cold hit him hard, and he paused to pull up his hood. Down he went, hand easing over the railing and ready to grab it if he slipped.
He made it to the slushy snow at the bottom. The light snow had continued from early evening, blanketing the street in lacy white. It reflected the sparse light from a wayward crescent moon that dodged clouds slipping over its face. It was enough light to see, at any rate, and Crispin quickened along the lane, partly to keep warm and partly because he wanted to hurry.
He turned up Old Fish and headed for the alchemists’ guildhall for the third time this night and found himself waiting for Jack to catch up to him.
“What are we doing here again?” Jack whispered.