The fear rose up again, but now it wasn’t for me. ‘He’s not here. Isn’t he with you?’
It was a stupid question with a very obvious answer.
Henry shook his head. ‘I’ve been keeping watch out on the quay, hiding across the path from the little passage that leads down to that young priest’s workroom. Some of the others came by from time to time, but I didn’t see the master.’
I was nodding even as he finished speaking. I thought I knew what had happened: Jack had gone straight to the tavern, to talk to Luke, and Henry had already been sent out to watch the passage by the time Jack got there.
I hurried back into the far room and hastily donned my overgown and my boots. I grabbed my satchel and ran back to Henry.
‘Come with me,’ I said. ‘I know where he is.’
Along the quayside, nobody seemed to be awake yet. The taverns and the brothels were shuttered and dark, and the few boats tied up there appeared to be deserted. Word had spread throughout the fenland waterways of our town’s terrible trouble and people were keeping away. It was yet another reason why Sheriff Picot ought to have been doing more to stop the killings, for the prosperity of a great many people depended on trade. Seeing the normally busy quay so quiet and empty was deeply disturbing, in more ways than one.
Henry and I reached the tavern that Walter and his men were using as their base. As we approached the entrance, I heard a strange sound which, after a moment, I identified: it was a low, steady hum of voices.
A man I didn’t know stood leaning against the door. Until we were right in front of him, I hadn’t noticed him, for the doorway was recessed and he was hidden in deep shadow. He stepped forward, sword in hand, but then he recognized Henry, just behind me.
‘You’re the healer,’ he said in a gruff voice.
‘Yes.’
He opened the door and jerked his head, which I took as an invitation to go inside.
I stood in the entrance to the room which Walter and his lads appeared to have appropriated. Where there had once been half a dozen of them, now their number had increased. The room was full of men, and Henry and I had interrupted their breakfast. I looked at them all – there were at least twelve of them – my eyes flashing from face to face. Some of them I recognized, for I’d seen them in the patrols and going about the sheriff’s business. Some were strangers. One or two I knew from other contexts; I had treated the bearded man by the hearth for a bad back, and the skinny, black-haired one’s wife had borne a pretty baby girl a few months back. These two nodded to me in recognition.
Had these sheriff’s men deserted Picot and his nephew, then, and brought friends and relatives with them? Had they all despaired of the Night Wanderer ever being caught unless a better man took up the leadership? It was the only explanation I could come up with. And it was more than likely, I reflected, for, unless they were in the sheriff’s pocket, they must surely prefer Jack’s hard-working honesty to the Picot brand of corruption.
Jack stood over in a corner, in earnest conversation with Walter. He knew, somehow, that I was there; his head spun round and he met my eyes.
Henry, good manners forgotten now, elbowed his way roughly through the crowd until he reached Jack’s side, where he began to speak, his gestures and his very stance revealing his anxiety. Jack listened intently without interrupting until Henry had finished. Then he muttered something to the boy, rested his hand briefly on his shoulder, then called the room to attention.
Into the sudden, expectant silence he said, ‘It’s happened. They are a day earlier than I expected, but we are ready.’ He glanced around the room, and fifteen pairs of eyes turned towards him. ‘You all have your orders.’ He glanced at Walter, who nodded. Then, as a boyish excitement briefly lit up his face, he raised his arm and yelled, ‘Go!’
It became clear that not everybody had orders to go on the sortie. I knew without even having to think about it that Jack would tell me to stay with those who were remaining behind to guard the room at the tavern, and so I didn’t give him the chance. I slipped out into the passage, crouched right down in a corner while they all filed out, then hurried after them and tucked myself in behind Fat Gerald.
Walking soft as cats, Jack and Walter led us along the quay. Soon Robert Powl’s warehouse loomed up ahead; the light was stronger now, and colours were just starting to emerge from the dawn greys. Henry, at Jack’s side, whispered something to him, and Jack nodded. Turning, he caught the eyes of each of the men and, gesturing, he indicated where each should stand. I slipped out from Fat Gerald’s shadow and stood right up against the front wall of the warehouse, out of Jack’s line of sight.
Silently, moving in small groups, the men arranged themselves so that the end of the narrow little passage was blocked off. Others stood further back, covering the possible escape routes on either side in case anyone managed to escape through the first line.
I caught movement, and close beside me one of the men, watching intently, gave a soft gasp.
I couldn’t see, and I had to. A barrel stood by the wall, and I clambered on to it. I had a clear view, right over the men’s heads.
Jack was advancing alone up the passage.
I was very afraid. I reached inside my satchel and touched the familiar round hardness of the shining stone. It seemed to be picking up my dread. It felt hot, as if it wanted to fight.
I looked at the door at the far end of the passage. It had been broken open. There were lights inside, quickly becoming superfluous as the rising sun lightened the sky.
I heard voices. There was a faint muttering, then someone gave a cry of delight, swiftly hushed.
I pictured the little leather purse with the drawstrings that Jack and I had left on the bench. The thieves, it seemed, had found what they came for. One of them, perhaps, had just done what I did, and spread out those seven beautiful emeralds, picked one up, held it to the light…
Noises from the end of the passage. Jack stood ready, and now Walter and Luke had moved up to stand just behind him. Did they feel as I did, I wondered? Did they fear for their leader, standing there alone?
Four men emerged from the workroom. I knew the brawny one and the little fellow, for they were the ones who had gone to Osmund’s cell earlier. I stared at the other two, trying to see if I recognized them.
‘Those are the ones that beat me up,’ I heard Ginger whisper very softly from somewhere close at hand, although he used another word than ones; I’d never heard it applied to men before.
I studied the four men. I paid particular attention to the small man. He was my size, if a little shorter, and it seemed to me that he wasn’t as broad in the shoulders as I am.
If I could wriggle down that earth tunnel which burrowed into the river bank and emerged in Robert Powl’s barn, then I reckoned he could have done, too.
The man in the lead had seen Jack. His face falling into dismay, he put a hand to his sword, half-drawing it. Then he saw Luke, and Walter, and, ranged behind them and closing off the mouth of the passage, the other men.
He pushed his sword back into its scabbard, holding up his hands in surrender.
I knew then that the six victims hadn’t died by his hand. Whatever I might think of the Night Wanderer, I had to admit that it took courage – of a deeply perverted nature, but courage nevertheless – to do what he did; to go out by night, alone, to conceal himself in dark places and, when the fire in the blood overtook him, step out and so coolly, so ruthlessly, so efficiently, slay his victims.
The man who had just led his men out of the little room at the end of the passage was a coward. Jack’s force wasn’t that numerous; wouldn’t it have been worth at least trying to get away? And what about his men? Could he be certain they too wanted to surrender? One or two might have evaded capture; I’d have put money on the little man somehow managing to wriggle his way out through the hands that tried to detain him and making his escape.