He was expecting to see Leybourn or Mary, heading to the kitchen for a drink. But it was neither, and he frowned when he recognised Kirby. Over the Hector’s shoulder was Leybourn’s money sack.
Chaloner was tempted to make a commotion, so Kirby would be caught red-handed, but he was not sure what excuse he could give for being in his friend’s house in the depths of the night. Mary would certainly make hay with the fact that he had broken in, and he did not want to put Leybourn in a position where he was forced to choose between them again. He followed Kirby outside, and accosted him as he cut through the graveyard of St Giles without Cripplegate, careful to keep his face in shadow and his voice soft enough to be anonymous. He had reloaded the gun he had confiscated from Greeting — the musician was a danger to himself with it — and he pointed it at Kirby as he called through the trees.
‘Put the bag on the ground and raise your hands above your head.’
Kirby leapt in alarm. There was enough light from the street for him to see his assailant was armed, but he quickly regained his composure. He was braver than Treen. ‘What if I refuse?’
Chaloner cocked the gun. ‘The sack goes on the ground with or without your cooperation.’
Slowly, Kirby set it down. ‘Come to a tavern with me,’ he said wheedlingly. ‘There is no need for rough tactics. We can share the contents over an ale, and both be happy.’
‘Walk away,’ ordered Chaloner. ‘And do not look back.’
But Kirby was not ready to relinquish such a large fortune without making some sort of stand. ‘You will not shoot me,’ he blustered. ‘If you want the sack, you will have to come and get it.’
Chaloner was tempted to make an end of him, but he had never enjoyed killing, even during the wars, and was loath to shoot a man in cold blood. On the other hand, he had no intention of fighting for Leybourn’s treasure. He aimed at a spot just above Kirby’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The henchman gasped his alarm at the sudden report, covering his head with his hands as twigs and leaves fell around him.
‘The next ball will be between your eyes,’ whispered Chaloner. ‘Walk away or die.’
When Kirby had gone, Chaloner grabbed the bag and hid behind a tomb, waiting for Kirby to double back and try to catch him. The man was predictable, and came from precisely the direction Chaloner had anticipated. He watched him pass by on his futile errand, then headed south, where he kept to the smaller alleys, and the sight of the gun meant no one was reckless enough to stop him and ask what was in the sack.
Because he was being careful, it took an age to reach home, and by the time he did, he was heartily sick of wind-blown rain. He was about to go through his front door, when he saw several people sitting in the tavern opposite. It was outrageously late, even for the Golden Lion, and instinct warned him to be wary. He crouched behind an abandoned hand-cart and waited. Eventually, one of the patrons stood and stretched. It was Giles Dury — again.
Dury did not seem to be watching Chaloner’s house — at least not obviously so — and the Golden Lion was the kind of inn that conducted all manner of clandestine business, so the newsman’s presence might have nothing to do with the spy. But Chaloner was now responsible for Leybourn’s entire personal fortune, and could not put it at risk by returning to his own rooms to sleep. So he went to Lincoln’s Inn instead. Sinister shadows lurked there, too, although Chaloner was sure they had nothing to do with him. The Inn was home to several controversial lawyers and some of the country’s most rabid religious fanatics, so was often under surveillance. He did not feel inclined to walk through the front gate even so, and scaled the wall at the back instead. Then it was a tortuous journey through the wet gardens, and a forced entry through a ground-floor window. By the time he reached Chamber XIII and tapped softly on the door, he was exhausted. So, when Thurloe answered wearing a comical night-cap, Chaloner was too tired to stop himself from laughing. The ex-Spymaster regarded him coolly.
‘You are filthy and soaked through. What have you been doing? Robbing houses?’
Chaloner nodded as he set the sack on the table. ‘Hopefully, Mary will leave Will when she learns he is destitute — and that it is not her friends who have the proceeds.’
Thurloe’s eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Is this how you use the skills I taught you? To burgle your friends? Should I put my valuables under lock and key when you are visiting?’
‘When I am not visiting,’ recommended Chaloner. ‘If I am here, you can keep an eye on me.’
‘What do you intend to do with it? He will be distressed when he finds it gone.’
‘Mary will almost certainly order my room searched by Hectors, so we cannot leave it there. Will you put it somewhere safe? He can have it back when he comes to his senses. Or when he is too far under Mary’s spell for redemption, and we are obliged to give up on him.’
Thurloe regarded him soberly. ‘Let us pray for the former. I will conceal it in-’
Chaloner held up his hand. ‘What I do not know, I cannot be forced to tell.’
Thurloe’s face creased in worry. ‘Do you think it might come to that? Perhaps you should just give it back. William will not think his savings worth your life.’
‘Then convince him — and Mary — that I had nothing to do with its theft. You will not be lying, because I really did not steal it. I intended to, but Kirby was there first.’ Chaloner laid the gun on the table, next to the sack. ‘You had better keep this, too. No one followed me here, but I want you to have the means to protect yourself, even so.’
Thurloe’s expression became pained as he told him how he had thwarted Kirby’s burglary.
‘You were with me all night,’ said Thurloe. ‘We have been discussing Newburne’s death and its various twists and turns, and then, since the weather is foul, I insisted you sleep here. You were never out tonight, so how can you have anything to do with the disappearance of William’s sack?’
Chaloner woke on Saturday with the sense that time was of the essence, and that he only had two days left before the Earl dismissed him. It was a foul morning, with splattering rain carried on a gusting wind. Although it was still dark, Thurloe was already up, writing at the table in his bedchamber. He shared some thinly sliced bread and watery ale — old man’s food, though he was not yet fifty — which did little to alleviate Chaloner’s hunger.
It was the day of Maylord’s funeral, and Chaloner could hardly attend wearing his housebreaking gear, so he went home first. Remembering who he had seen in the Golden Lion the previous evening, he climbed into a neighbour’s garden to avoid using his own front door, and slipped up the stairs to his room without being seen. The tiny fibre that rested on the door handle was still in place, and so were the hairs in the hinges of his cupboard and chest, which would have told him if anyone had searched them. The cat was out, although a second dead rat by the side of the bed told him it had been around. He placed the new corpse next to the first one, thinking he would get rid of them later.
The clothes he had worn the previous day were almost dry, so he donned them again, then looked in his pantry. There was no reason to suppose anyone had left him a gift of food, and there were so many people who wanted him dead that he would not have eaten it anyway, but Thurloe’s meagre breakfast had done more to whet his appetite than relieve it, and he was ravenous. The cupboard was bare except for the cucumber and spices — galingale and cubebs. They released a mouth-watering aroma, and served to make him hungrier than ever. He was not, however, desperate enough to resort to the cucumber.
He knew he should report to the Lord Chancellor first, to let him know he was still on the case. He did not want to be dismissed because the Earl was under the impression that he was lying at home all day, waiting for answers to appear. Of course, he thought ruefully, as he jumped across a puddle that contained a drowned pigeon, answers were not coming at all, despite his best efforts, and he had more questions now than when he had started.