‘Better and better,’ grinned Dickon.
‘I still cannot believe you allowed yourself to be involved in such a wild scheme,’ said Tulyet a short while later. He and Bartholomew were in his house, sitting in the room he used as an office, and he was pouring wine for his guest. ‘I hope to God your cronies will not remember the formula tomorrow, especially Meryfeld. He strikes me as rather unscrupulous.’
‘They were hurling substances into the pot willy-nilly,’ said Bartholomew. He was exhausted, partly from his colleagues’ irresponsible antics, partly from the worry of what might unfold the following day, and partly from too many disturbed nights. ‘Even if one of them does recall what he added himself, he will never know what the others put in.’
‘You probably do, though,’ said Tulyet. ‘And it is a dangerous secret.’
‘It is not a new invention – I have read about “wildfire” in texts from the Ancient Near East. It is said to have brought great armies to their knees.’
Tulyet regarded him balefully. ‘This is deadly knowledge, and you should not share it with anyone else. I find it repulsive, and I am a professional soldier, used to slaughtering my enemies. Let us hope your friends will be less reckless when they are not sodden with wine. Unless…’
‘Unless what?’ asked Bartholomew, suspecting from the tone of Tulyet’s voice that he was about to be told something he would rather not hear.
‘Unless one of them knew exactly what he was doing. I am sorry to malign men you probably like, but Gyseburne bothers me. He claims he studied at Oxford and Paris, but the Chancellor told me there is no record of him at either, and there is something … unsettling about him.’
‘The Chancellor must be mistaken.’
‘I doubt it. And Meryfeld is as bad. I am uncomfortable with the fact that it was he who found Gib’s body, and I am not sure I believe his tale about the pilgrim badge he claims to have lost. Or Gyseburne’s, for that matter. I think one of them may be the killer-thief.’
Bartholomew regarded him coolly. ‘And is Rougham on your list of suspects, too?’
‘He was,’ Tulyet flashed back. ‘But Yolande de Blaston is his alibi for several of these crimes, and I trust her implicitly. I am not confiding my suspicions to annoy you, Matt, but to warn you to be on your guard. One of them may have been trying to kill you tonight, to hinder your investigation.’
‘That is ridiculous!’ All four of us were in danger from the experiment, not just me. And even if one of them is the culprit, why would he harm me? You and Michael are the ones on his trail.’
‘And we have had our close calls, too,’ said Tulyet soberly. ‘Michael when a rock was lobbed during a skirmish he was trying to quell, and me when the castle portcullis fell suddenly yesterday.’
‘That portcullis has been threatening to drop for years. Its chains are rusty.’
‘Perhaps. However, just ask yourself whether it was lucky no one was hurt in Meryfeld’s garden, or whether someone just did not anticipate your speedy reactions when you hurled yourself away from the blast.’
‘You are wrong,’ persisted Bartholomew doggedly. ‘I know you are.’
Tulyet changed the subject. ‘What more have you learned about the case? I hope your antics were a way to gain information, because you should not have been fooling around when we have a moral obligation to use every available moment to stall tomorrow’s trouble.’
‘I “fooled around” because I did not want three of Cambridge’s four physicians to be out of action when we might need their services,’ retorted Bartholomew tartly, thinking it was not the Sheriff’s place to berate him. Then he relented, knowing Tulyet was apprehensive about the next day, too, and it was worry speaking. ‘I have learned something new: Helia claims Neyll murdered Jolye.’
‘Really?’ Tulyet was interested. ‘Then do you think he dispatched Gib, too? They often quarrelled over Helia – my men were called to quell fights between them at least three times.’
‘It is possible. Neyll does seem to be a violent man.’
Tulyet rubbed his chin. ‘Of course, that solution makes no sense. Even Neyll – no great intellect – must know that sticking a yellow wig on a colleague and shoving him off the Great Bridge is not a good idea. It basically says that Chestre Hostel is home to the killer-thief.’
‘Neyll may have acted on Kendale’s orders. I agree with you that Gib’s murder seems to do Chestre no favours, but Kendale is complex and sly, and may well have devised a way to turn such a situation to his advantage. I cannot see how, but that means nothing.’
Tulyet groaned. ‘Damn scholars and their love of intrigue! Has Michael arrested Neyll?’
‘I imagine he will wait until after tomorrow’s game. The tension between the Colleges and hostels is too tight to do it before. Have you learned anything new?’
‘Yes, actually. I have eliminated Celia and Heslarton as suspects for the killer-thief.’
‘Really? How?’
‘I have a trustworthy informant in Emma’s household, and Heslarton was with him when Drax was murdered. And if Heslarton did not kill Drax, then he is innocent of the other crimes, too, given that Michael assures me we are looking for a single culprit.’
‘And Celia?’
‘Reliable witnesses say she was in Emma’s home for the first part of the morning that Drax died, and in mine the second.’ Tulyet grimaced. ‘My wife saw fit to admit to me this morning that Celia came to complain about Dickon. She claims he has been spying on her, but of course it is nonsense.’
Bartholomew wondered why Tulyet should think so, when the Sheriff knew perfectly well that Dickon regularly spied on their other neighbours. Prudently, he kept his thoughts to himself.
‘I hate to admit it, but Chestre has bested me,’ said Tulyet, after a while. ‘My engineers have been unable to manoeuvre that damned trebuchet out of the Guildhall, and your hostels will be laughing at me, knowing their ingenuity is greater than mine.’
Bartholomew stood. ‘Would you like me to try?’
‘What, now?’ asked Tulyet, startled.
‘Why not? It is not so late. Besides, Michael wants Cynric to break into Chestre tonight, to look for evidence that Gib’s cronies are the killer-thief. I will not be able to sleep until he is safely back.’
Tulyet frowned. ‘Is that a good idea? If a College servant is caught burgling a hostel…’
‘That is what I said, but Cynric assures me that capture is not on his agenda.’
Tulyet’s eyes gleamed. ‘In that case, I have an excellent idea for a diversion.’
‘You do?’
‘The trebuchet. If you really can get it back to the castle, we shall make sure the Chestre boys know we have solved the problem they have created. They will come to watch, to see whether it is true. And while they do, Cynric can go about his business.’
Bartholomew and Tulyet met Michael on the High Street. The monk was with his beadles, prowling the town to make sure the hostels did not reply to Welfry’s egg trick with something vengeful. But nothing was happening, and he was almost disappointed to report that the streets were quiet.
‘They will not stay that way for long,’ warned Tulyet. ‘It is the calm before the storm.’
‘I am at my wits’ end, Dick,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘I can feel a catastrophe looming, but I am powerless to avert it.’
‘Then let us hope Cynric finds evidence to prove the killer-thief is Kendale and his louts,’ said Tulyet. ‘Without its sponsor, the game will be cancelled, and it will not matter if half the town marches on Chestre and sets it ablaze, because it would have to be closed down, anyway.’