Old Bede shook his head. Winifrith was busy with the children.
‘No,’ said the woman. ‘I knew nothing until my son shouted “fire”.’
‘Is your house far enough from the flames?’
‘I pray so, Captain. Go. Help with the fire. I will take them home.’
Four buildings burning, and the sparks were catching the thatch on a fifth. Owen directed a few buckets there, enough to wet it. ‘Keep watch on that,’ he ordered a young woman working the line, skirts hitched up, her eyes aglow with the fire. He moved through the crowd, helping where he could. So far it seemed everyone had escaped their homes, most of them working to put out the fire. Homeless, frightened, but safe. Owen helped the water-bearers until Crispin limped down to tell him that the fire appeared to be under control.
‘Hempe says leave it to the men,’ said Crispin. ‘You need to rest up. You will be busy tomorrow chasing down the culprit.’
After passing a few more buckets, Owen sought out the woman sheltering Old Bede’s family. ‘Did your son see who started the fire?’ he asked the woman.
A young man stepped forward. ‘I heard someone shout “plague house,” and “burn out the Death”, but there was so much smoke.’
‘Did you see or hear anything else that might help us find them?’
‘No. I can ask my friends. Should I come to you if I hear anything?’
‘Me. Or Bailiff Hempe. Good work, calling out your neighbors.’
Hempe waited beneath Ouse Bridge. ‘Ned’s taking charge for the night,’ he said ‘They will watch the fires, keep them low. That’s one of the Graa family’s warehouses at the staithe. His men complained that you ordered them about. I set them straight who you are. They whined that in the smoke they hadn’t recognized you. As if I believed them. They’d note the patch no matter the smoke.’ He spit off to the side. ‘I set them to stand the watch with Ned and the others, told them if I heard they’d wandered off I would fine them.’
‘Unwilling helpers can be more of a nuisance than a help,’ said Owen.
‘I don’t much care if they guard only the mayor’s warehouse. The others will be free to watch the rest.’
‘Clever.’
‘So off home with you.’
‘First I’m off to Bootham Bar to see that Alisoun gets through,’ said Owen, ‘then home.’
3
A Deepening Mystery
Alisoun stood on the rock with Magda and Asa, watching the smoke. One of the lads who manned Magda’s coracle had come to report the fire.
‘A plague house, they say. Some say it’s Old Bede’s.’
‘I saw him yesterday,’ said Alisoun. ‘He would have mentioned illness in his house.’ But she remembered with what cruel speed the Death cut down her family, as if with each heartbeat she was more alone. She crossed herself.
Magda took her hand, pressing it for courage as she told the boy to set a watch with his friends through the night in case trouble traveled.
‘Captain Archer returned,’ said the lad. ‘He will see to it.’
‘He cannot be all places at once,’ said Magda. ‘Be his eyes on this part of the river tonight.’
She drew Alisoun back into the house, Asa following close behind. ‘Bird-eye will see to it,’ Magda assured Alisoun. ‘He knows what to do.’
‘All-knowing, all wise, most honorable Captain Archer,’ Asa muttered as she limped past them. ‘Sworn to the city and the crown. He will do as he’s told.’
Alisoun bristled, but before she could compose a retort Magda nudged her back toward the worktable. She watched Asa limp over to her pallet near the fire, using her cane to ease herself down. Even if she had been so inclined, Alisoun knew better than to offer her assistance. Such gestures were met with sharp rebukes. I am no cripple. Did I call for aid?
Magda picked up the mortar and pestle she had abandoned when the boy knocked. ‘Bird-eye does not require her approval,’ she whispered.
Propped up on pillows, Asa resumed watching them, her dark eyes glinting with suspicion, so unlike Magda that Alisoun had to remind herself that this was her teacher’s daughter. Strewn on and around Asa were drawings on bits of paper, women with branches rather than arms, their bodies twined in flowering vines, legs ending in long, tangled roots, stranger even than those Ned had shown her. No wonder folk whispered about her.
Alisoun had felt those eyes on her all the while she’d stood with Magda at the worktable gathering what she might need at Freythorpe Hadden, herbs, roots, barks not likely to be found on the manor lands, as well as sufficient supplies of what she might find to last until she could replenish them. As before the interruption, she struggled to ignore Asa and keep her mind on the work, the lists, Magda’s instructions. Even now, her teacher must tap her hand to bring her attention back to the worktable.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
‘It is wise to stay alert to a wild one,’ Magda said softly.
Startled, Alisoun met Magda’s gaze. The clear eyes held hers for a breath, then the instruction continued, and now she engaged, asking questions, seeking to understand not only what she must do, but why. Her heart raced as she took in the breadth of the responsibility she was undertaking, keeping Owen and Lucie’s children safe from the pestilence and all other childhood ailments and injuries. She would have neither Magda nor Dame Lucie to advise her. Remembering her family, how quickly they had fallen … She used the fear to push her mind to the task at hand, thinking through every instruction, searching for anything that might be beyond her ken.
Finally Magda declared her ready, with the knowledge and the skill needed to protect her charges. ‘When the Death took thy family thou wast but a child. Now thou art prepared. Thou wilt do thy best. There is no certainty.’ She handed Alisoun the pack.
Slinging it over her shoulder, Alisoun yet hesitated, uncertain how to take her leave.
‘Magda will come out with thee.’
Asa stirred, rising to join them. ‘I wish you a safe journey,’ she said, startling Alisoun by taking her hand. She whispered something unintelligible, blowing on their joined hands, whispering more until Alisoun yanked hers from the woman’s strong grip.
Looking insulted, Asa said, ‘You would refuse a charm against the pestilence, and a spell to assist you in keeping safe the children in your charge?’ The dark eyes in the strong-boned face challenged.
‘Behave thyself, Asa.’
‘You might have asked permission,’ said Alisoun.
‘Come, Alisoun.’ Magda drew her out the door.
Owen carried a jug of Tom Merchet’s finest as he left the York Tavern. He’d changed into dry, clean clothes at home, answering Lucie’s worried questions about the fire. He stopped first at his friend Archdeacon Jehannes’s home, hoping to warn Brother Michaelo about the possibility of trouble on his nightly charitable rounds among the poor who slept on the north side of the minster. But Michaelo had already departed. Jehannes reassured Owen that he had told him of the uneasy mood in the city.
The jug was to be shared with Carn, on duty at Bootham Bar, a genial man known as the Scot for his brawn, his copper hair, and his ability to drink long into the night without effect. Except for the hair color, the rest had nothing to do with Scots blood in Owen’s experience, and Carn’s family had lived near York and guarded the gates for generations untold. Reaching the gate, Owen called out, ‘They tell me Carn the Scot appreciates a good ale. I’m here to test that.’
A rattle as the door unlatched. ‘Oh aye? Is that Captain Archer?’ Carn’s bulk filled the doorway as he peered out, a tuft of red hair standing up at the back of his head as if he’d been asleep. Yet he’d heard Owen. ‘What does a Welshman know of ale?’