“So Mistress Black, how well do you believe this rumour?”
Ned watched her response carefully. The apothecaries’ apprentice evaded his gaze and twitched distractedly at her dress. For the first time Ned felt like he was in command of the situation so he pressed harder. “I need to know-it could mean our lives. I will swear an oath to any saint you choose that I’ll not betray your secrets.”
As a token of trust, it failed. Mistress Black continued to stare steadfastly at a patch of wall over his left shoulder. Ned’s daemon cheered-it knew she was hiding something, perhaps that she supported one of the court factions. Ned was quite prepared to join them if this was the case, even if they proved to be hairy kneed Scots, just so long as they offered protection from Wolsey. His erstwhile saviour seemed to have her own secrets to protect.
Mistress Black frowned and shook her head. “No. First swear by your mother’s soul and by your hope of salvation.”
This was unexpected. And indeed very binding. Ned briefly considered evasion, but the image of the flames of Hell made even his daemon gibber in terror. Time was running out. “Alright, if that is what will make you happy, I do so swear.”
“No, say the words.”
Now it was his angel’s turn to remind him of his mother’s memory. He sighed and breathed out deeply. “By the soul of my blessed Mother and by my own hope for salvation in the world beyond this, I swear that I mean neither you nor your brother any harm.”
After this Mistress Black relaxed visibly, tilting her stool back until she leaned comfortably against the end wall. To Ned’s growing amazement she explained the shadowy workings of the city’s various businesses. “You know Master Lawyer that apothecaries are part of the Grocers’ Guild?”
That received a short nod of agreement.
“Well, the Guild has an arrangement with some of the officials at Westminster, and at the Royal Court. They let the Guild know well beforehand of any significant events happening in London.”
It was Ned’s turn to nod in comprehension. So it was as simple as a bribe. And, he thought, in this way are the meshing cogs of government and trade greased.
“According to my uncle this has proven to be very useful, since with foreknowledge they can order sufficient provisions for the influx. As for our trade, we need to stock up on medicines, both for the sessions, and for the families and retainers of the Commons and Lords that attend.”
For a lad who had his own methods of gaining intelligence, he could easily see how advanced warning could be a bonanza for the well prepared merchant. They’d be able to get their purchases in before the suppliers at farm and warehouse heard the news and jacked up the prices. Clever. Ned considered the inventory in the workroom below, and his Uncle Richard’s reliance on his spiced physic. Yes, for an apothecary, stocking up on expensive, exotic medicinal necessities like cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger and pepper could have one rolling in gold before the end of winter.
“We have it on good authority that the King is going to issue the writs by the end of September for an October sitting.”
This was very interesting, and well before the Michaelmas law term. That began at the start of November. The timing would be very good for the city.
Suddenly Ned realised that Margaret Black had said something very important. “Who did you say was going to summon Parliament?”
She frowned at him for interrupting. “Are you deaf or just stupid? I said the King is issuing the writs.”
A vision flashed before Ned’s eyes, and for that brief moment he knew what had happened to Smeaton. “That, technically, is true. The King does call Parliament, but usually he uses the Office of the Lord Chancellor who, then in turn, has Chancery send off the writs. Where did this rumour come from?”
Her reluctance to answer returned. “Umm. It came from a reliable friend. He had it from a Groom of the Chamber, but confirmation also came from a foreign envoy.”
“You can afford to bribe an ambassador?”
At each succeeding revelation, Mistress Black had acquired a greater level of smugness. “They have debts too, and we do have some friends from across the sea.” This was becoming most vexing.
Mistress Blacks’ statement was both a realistic appraisal and an enigmatic answer. The Grocer’s Guild must have more wealth and power than that of the Mercers. Although once you thought about it everyone had to eat and he ruefully considered that if he were placing a spy or informer, then the kitchens would be the best place. Gossip was the readiest currency among servants.
“Now what we need to know is, has the King bypassed the Office of the Lord Chancellor for this instruction? If so, then we’re a step closer to solving the murder.”
At this she looked downright evasive and twisted her fingers together in visible agitation. “It may be possible, but…”
Ned leant in closer. Mistress Black may be going to divulge another fascinating titbit. However, whatever she may have being going to say, was left unsaid as Gruesome Roger chose this moment to reappear. His right arm and head hove back into view as he struggled free from the hidden passage.
His mistress may have extended a limited bond of trust, but Gruesome Roger hadn’t and still retained his ill concealed suspicion. Mistress Black retreated from her almost intimacy and leapt up off the stool to consult with her returning retainer. Ned tried to look both innocent and harmless as Gruesome Roger broke off the whispered conversation to throw him a selection of threatening frowns. Finally the fellow glowered once more then stomped off down the small staircase, though the stomp was more an indication of his mood, since Ned noticed the man usually moved with nary a sound.
Margaret Black rubbed her pert nose and gave him another of her puzzled glares. “How have you upset the Spanish?”
That was new. Ned stammered out reply. “I…I don’t even know any Spaniards!”
“The captain of the skulkers out the back is clearly one, and from his doublet, cap and sword, a well off gentleman.”
Oh God and the saints, not more hunters! Ned waved the distraction aside. “It doesn’t matter. How are we to get out of here, your secret passage?”
“No. Roger has arranged a disturbance to sweep away the watchers. Follow me.”
With that enigmatic answer, Mistress Black led him down the staircase, in the wake of her gruesome guardian. Well, at least he was getting to see the other levels of the apothecary’s establishment, and it was quite some revelation. From his descending view along the corridors, it was all wood panelling with painted ceilings. If his uncle had seen this much opulence, then Ned would have been knee deep in herbs before the end of the week.
At the end of his quick tour they’d finished up at a rear door set in a high brick boundary wall out past the workroom, by way of a profusely scented garden. No doubt it led onto a small twisting alley. The well-armed Roger was there, pressed up against the door timbers, listening intently to the sounds beyond. He had a wicked looking blade in his left hand and the metal shod cudgel in the right.
It was probably only a few minutes, but to Ned’s thudding heart it seemed much longer. Suddenly through the normal hubbub of the living city there rose the bellowing call of a band of apprentices out for a brawl. The disturbance drew closer and echoed down the overshadowed alley. He could hear their watchers cry out in alarm, and then the dull thuds as they tripped over and bounced off walls in their haste to be gone. When the cacophony was at its loudest, Gruesome Roger pushed open the door and stepped out into the street. There was a maelstrom of whirling figures, fists and knives flashed and clattered, then the last of the watchers broke and fled. Ned could have sworn that he saw a red velvet cloak on the last man as he disappeared around a corner. No matter. The apprentices raised the cry and sped off in pursuit, while the three of them headed up the lane deeper into Greyfriars and into the camouflage of the busy city streets.