Ned gave an excited shiver and trailed by one of Gryne’s men stepped on to the road heading for the gate. As he approached the last of the day was washed with the reddish evening light, casting the worn and crumbled tower battlements into fractured shadows. Their long tendrils of dark steadily eroded the wan pool of light under the arched entrance. His daemon muttered of omens while his better angel waspishly commented on bargains with traffickers of the Dark Arts. Ned ignored it and stepped through with a swagger towards the White Lamb. Even the rude snubbing by Mistress Black at the Inn failed to shadow his day. Lady Fortuna was guiding his footsteps. This was his destiny and he just had to reach out a hand and seize it.
Chapter Twenty One-The White Lamb, Moorgate
The White Lamb was a well-known landmark in the north of the city. It served both the locals of Moorgate and travellers from beyond the walls like the farmers and carters that daily flowed in and out of the gate. To fulfil this dual role the Inn had expanded in its recent past and swallowed up a couple of narrow dwellings either side, giving it a more organic lopsided look than the aged stone walls of Mont Jovis Inn. That wasn’t the only factor that set the two Inns apart. The White Lamb could boast more recent repairs than the converted monastery, with freshly white washed walls. When not splashed by the mud of traffic or the daubing of urchins, it gave the building an apparent unity despite the higgledy piggledy array of windows on each face.
Even a hundred yards down the road the structure caught the eye squatting like a resting giant on the corner with its four storey height and overhanging thatched roof. A large painted sign of a lamb at rest hung from an iron bracket above the timber doorway and gave the establishment its name as well as alluding to its affinity with the wool trade. As Ned expected even at this hour the Inn was a hive of activity since it was across the road from the Armourer’s Guild Hall. For him that bustle made the Inn a perfect place to transact quiet business secreted in one of the many panelled cubbies that provided a valued measure of privacy in the crowded city.
The past few days had been an extremely steep learning curve for Ned, and had served to exaggerate his already high regard for caution, so before entering the Inn he gave the crossroads a quick sweep. Nothing unusual stood out. Still a few precautions with his escort wouldn’t hurt. Gryne’s man would enter first and take a position by the door. If any obviously threatening parties arrived he’d leg it back to Moorgate Inn for assistance. Ned just hoped that his guardian’s thinking ability was up to the task. The hired retainer certainly looked intimidating enough with a heavy blade at his side and scarred face that proclaimed his practice of violence. Captaine Gryne reckoned Tam was one of his best lads and Ned had to trust someone sometime. Anyway every now and then you just had to take a chance on Lady Fortuna’s grace.
He waited a few minutes giving the street one final lingering inspection before entering the White Lamb. It took a moment or two for his eyes to become used to the dimmer luminance of rush lights, and then spot his uncle over to the left, about half way down the common room with old Perkins as his retinue.
Ned weaved through the evening crowd towards Uncle Richard and found himself automatically looking for clues that might indicate moods. No such luck. Master Richard Rich had put on that bland smiling veneer he used with his legal petitioners. Friendly and attentive, but promising nothing. Ned slid onto the bench seat opposite and noted the slightest tense quiver of his uncles’ nostrils. Hmm, unhappy his daemon supplied querulously.
“Good day Uncle Richard. I hope you and the rest of the family are well.” Ned tried for a subservient tone, but the tremor of his uncle’s jaw indicated this may not have been a good start.
“Little you seem to care for your family Edward, you ungrateful whelp!”
Ned sighed. This was obviously going to be one of those arguments where they both ploughed along the same familiar well-worn furrows. He thumped the table suddenly, startling his uncle out of the beginning of a new tirade. “This is important. It concerns treason, Uncle!”
Uncle Richard stopped his expected outburst and glancing around surreptitiously lent closer and hissed angrily. “Not so loud you fool. Do you want the entire tavern to hear? You careless dolt what have you done? All manner of dangerous men are calling on me demanding to know where you are!”
Ned felt a painful twinge of remorse for his cousins and step mother. Someone had obviously divined the Bedwell connection. Well it had to happen sometime and only made this conversation more urgent, not less. “I’ve found Smeaton’s killer and it concerns treason to the King.”
This gained his uncle’s attention and for an instant his face lost that veneer of bland assurance revealing a touch of eager hunger before reverting to form. “Is that so… who is it then?”
A surge of warning instinct washed over Ned before he could answer. Both his daemon and angel screamed this was too simple. Uncle Richard was a skilled player in the cut throat game of advancement. Only a muckle brained fool would ask such a straight forward question or else they’d get dragged in for ‘questioning’. Was that a warning or a trap? Either way Ned chose his own version of baited answer. “It was the retainer of a noble. He murdered Smeaton for some court faction play. I suggest you warn your friend, Thomas Cromwell, and I must get to the King!”
Ned spoke low and urgently trying both to fix his attention on his uncle’s reaction and the crowded space of the Inn.
Uncle Richard paused and gave his smooth chin a reflective rub before giving out a short nod and his own question. “I see Edward, important ehh. Oh well its possible. Do you have what poor Smeaton was carrying?”
Carrying? Ned stifled his surprise. He’d yet to mention that little detail to his dear Uncle. So it was a trap. He shouldn’t have been so naive warned his daemon. Well Ned could deal with that and so he smiled innocently back. “No uncle, but I do have an idea what it was about, and where such things may be found.”
His uncle once more rubbed his smoothly barbered face as if in thought. “You believe Cromwell is under threat, you say?”
Ned maintained a demeanour of ardent concern, as his instinct began to demand action. “Yes the plot aims at Wolsey. Heads will roll for treason before tis finished.”
Uncle Richard nodded sagely as if considering the advice. Ned wasn’t fooled. He’d tried an oblique warning. Now other discrepancies cropped up. His uncle’s man, Perkins, had remained as silent as a stone with not even a twitch or shake. That was strange, not even a greeting. Perkins was a taciturn fellow by nature but he never skimmed on the common courtesies.
“It concerns the King, and you need to see him, you say?” The feigned concern of Uncle Richard was masterful. No wonder he was popular as a lawyer in the courts.
Ned continued his facade. “Yes, I believe it touches the very closest matters to his Majesty.”
Richard Rich, Commissioner of Sewers, gravely nodded his head then seemed to come to a decision. “Well my lad, you’re in luck. My good friend, Sir Gilbert Talbot is in the city today and he can get you an audience with his Majesty before the week is out. The King is supposed to be visiting one of his estates out west by then. If you wait here I will go and arrange matters. Have a few drinks on my account till I return.” With that Master Rich plonked down several groats and hustled off as fast as possible.