‘Why is that done?’ Athelstan asked. ‘I know.’ He smiled at Laveck. ‘You can see them on any strongroom door but why?’
‘Because if someone tried to break in, Brother, these iron bosses outside take the force, protect the wood they do. It’s very, very difficult to remove them but, in this case, one has been. Here, in the second row beneath the eye grille. What seems to have happened is this.’ Laveck shuffled sideways to give them full view of the door. ‘The clasp on the inside was loosened, the bolt taken out.’ Laveck held up one of the iron bosses. ‘Look at that, Sir John. Clean as a whistle. It’s been removed, polished and greased. This,’ he picked up another one, ‘is all dark around the edge. Now, from what I can gather, a bolt was removed and greased then put back in again.’ He shrugged. ‘Is that of any help?’ He picked up the clasp or screw. ‘This held it from the inside. Notice again.’ He held it up. ‘How the rim has also been cleaned and oiled. Very clever indeed!’
‘Anything else?’ Cranston asked.
Laveck shook his head. ‘Do we put it back?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cranston answered, glancing over his shoulder. Athelstan was lost in some reverie. ‘Is there anything else, Brother?’ he asked.
Athelstan was about to reply when there was a pounding on the stairs and Sir Lionel Havant came striding down the passageway.
‘Do you have the Regent’s silver yet, Sir John?’
‘No, I bloody well don’t! Surely you haven’t come down to ask me that?’
‘No, Sir John, I haven’t!’ The young knight slapped his leather gloves against his thigh. ‘His Grace the Regent is now more concerned about his clerks at the Chancery of the Green Wax. Another one has been killed, outside the house of Dame Broadsheet: a crossbow quarrel straight through his heart. According to the porter there was no one in the street, certainly no one from Dame Broadsheet’s. Elflain died immediately. He tried to speak but nothing came from his mouth except a stream of blood. Naturally, the Regent is anxious…’
‘Naturally,’ Cranston repeated.
‘Oh.’ Havant handed across a greasy piece of parchment. ‘This was found near the corpse.’
Cranston undid the scroll, read it and handed it to Athelstan.
‘My third is like Fate,’ the scrawling hand had written.
‘What does it mean?’ Havant asked.
‘Heaven knows.’
‘Well,’ the knight replied. ‘You know as much as I do. Elflain has been killed, a riddle left by his corpse. The Regent has lost another clerk, not to mention his silver. He is not in the best of moods, Sir John.’
‘In which case you’d best tell his Grace that at least we have something in common,’ Cranston snapped back.
Havant hurried off.
Athelstan told Laveck to put the bolts back, then he joined Sir John further down the passageway.
‘Four clerks dead,’ Cranston murmured. ‘Each with a riddle left by his corpse. My third is like Fate. ’ He paused. ‘No, that’s strange, isn’t it, Athelstan?’
‘Sir John?’
‘Well, four clerks have been killed; Chapler, Peslep, Ollerton and now Elflain. However, no riddle was left by Chapler’s corpse whilst the assassin apparently regards Elflain as his third not fourth victim.’
Athelstan tweaked the coroner’s cheek. ‘My Lord Coroner, like a swooping hawk! The poppets should be proud of their father.’
John beamed, then his smile faded. ‘Why is it important, Brother?’
‘Because, Sir John, you are correct: the killer draws a distinction between the murders of Peslep, Ollerton and Elflain and that of the first, Chapler.’ Athelstan sat down at the foot of the stairs, his chin cupped in his hand. ‘Sir John, could those clerks of the Green Wax be involved in some villainy?’
‘Such as what?’
‘Forgery, theft, blackmail?’
Cranston scratched his chin. ‘What they do, Brother, is draw up licences and letters. The seal itself is held by Master Lesures. I doubt if he would be involved in such wickedness.’
‘Could they forge a seal?’
Cranston raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s not unknown, Brother. We should go down to the Chancery.’
‘It would be a fruitless journey’ Athelstan tapped his sandalled foot. ‘I am sure Masters Alcest and Napham will have very good explanations of where they were. I also wager a jug of wine that it was well known that Master Elflain visited Dame Broadsheet’s on a certain day at a specific hour. Yes, we would be wasting our time. I am more concerned about these riddles. Let’s have them again.’ Athelstan closed his eyes. ‘My first is like a selfish brother,’ he recited. ‘My second is the centre of woe and the principal mover of horror. My third is like Fate.’ He glanced up at Cranston. ‘What’s the centre of woe, Sir John?’
‘No claret,’ the coroner replied.
Athelstan grinned. ‘The centre of woe: does it mean the word itself? Of course it does.’ Athelstan got to his feet. ‘O is the centre of the word “woe” and, without it, horror as a word would not exist. Now that was found beside Ollerton’s corpse. And what is Fate, Sir John?’
‘The finish…’ the coroner stammered. ‘The end of life.’
‘Fate also ends in an E, the first letter of Elfiain’s name. Peslep’s riddle’s a little more difficult, isn’t it? Like a selfish brother: what begins with P, Sir John?’
Athelstan, fully immersed in the riddle, began to walk up and down. ‘Like a selfish brother,’ he repeated. ‘The riddle definitely refers to a P. The first letter of Peslep’s name.’ Athelstan paused. ‘That’s it, Sir John. A selfish brother’s the first to pity but the last to help: “pity” begins, and “help” ends with a P. But why the letters? These clerks have apparently been killed according to sequence P, O, E.’
‘Poe?’ Cranston asked. ‘No such word exists.’
‘Ah, we’ve not finished have we, Sir John? There’s Napham and Alcest. Add N and A and what do we have? There’s no such name as “poena” but in Latin poena means punishment.’
‘Punishment!’ Cranston exclaimed. ‘The assassin is playing a game with his victims. The first letter of each of their names is hidden in these riddles and the killer believes he is carrying out a punishment. But for what?’
‘One thing is clear,’ Athelstan replied. ‘The murderer believes all these clerks are guilty but, as you say, guilty of what? And two other questions warrant our attention. Why isn’t Chapler’s name mentioned? He worked with these young men. Secondly, was he innocent of any crime?’
‘How do we know Chapler’s dead?’ Cranston asked.
‘Oh, Sir John, don’t be stupid!’
‘I’m not being stupid, monk!’ Cranston snapped. ‘A young man is fished out of the Thames, and only by the contents of his wallet do we know he is Edwin Chapler.’
‘But Mistress Alison, his sister, recognised the corpse as that of her brother.’
‘No, no.’ Cranston shook his head and leaned against the wall. ‘What happens if Chapler is not dead? He knew the habits and customs of his companions. He knew they liked riddles. Perhaps he and his sister are waging their own private war of vengeance, God knows for what reason.’
‘It’s impossible,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Mistress Alison was not in London when Peslep was killed; she was in Southwark when Ollerton died and the second riddle delivered. We know Havant viewed Chapler’s corpse whilst the poor clerk was last seen alive near the very place where he probably died.’
Athelstan stared down at the corridor where Flaxwith still stood with the carpenter Laveck. ‘It’s like any puzzle isn’t it, Sir John?’ he continued. ‘There are many answers but only one is correct. I may have the riddles wrong. Chapler could well be alive. Moreover, we must not discount Master Lesures: he must know what is going on in his own Chancery office. And there’s the other little strand we’ve picked loose: your good friend, the Vicar of Hell, seems to know a lot about our beloved clerks. Perhaps he has a score to settle? He can move round the city like a will-o’-the-wisp. Finally…’ Athelstan paused, wiping some dust from his sandal.
‘Yes, Brother?’
‘We must not be carried headlong by the force of our own logic. Here we are suspecting everyone of murder but there are others, besides Lesures, we must not forget. Napham and Master Alcest, in particular. How do we know that one, or both, might not be the assassin? Was there some quarrel amongst the clerks? Peslep might have been born wealthy but all these young men do seem to have a lot of money.’