A Conspiracy of Wolves

Groups of people stood out on the street, heads together as they swapped stories about the tragedy, but they all followed Owen and Geoffrey with their eyes as the two passed. All along Coney Street and across the Ouse bridge conversations halted as people turned to watch them. A few called out to Owen, asking if he needed help. He paused to speak to some, quietly asking whether they’d seen Old Bede. He saw the worry in the faces even before they answered. The old man might be a tell-tale, but he was York’s tell-tale, and no one wished him a violent end. One man suggested they check a house down an alley on Peter Lane, the home of Old Bede’s best friend, Timkin. Bede’s daughter had not mentioned it.

They found it to be more a shack than a house, no windows, a hole in the roof that would vent the smoke if there were a fire beneath it, but the ashes in the middle of the earthen floor had been ground into the dirt by the old man’s coming and going. He was huddled in a corner, snoring so loudly he did not hear them enter. Owen shook him awake.

A snort. Eyes wide. ‘I didn’t do it! I swear. Sleepin’ it off. I’m just an old drunk, no harm to anyone.’

‘Rest easy, Timkin,’ said Owen. ‘We’re here looking for Old Bede. He didn’t come home last night and his daughter’s worried. Someone thought he might have stopped here, but I see you’re alone.’

‘Old Bede, now?’ Timkin scratched himself. ‘Nay. He has the coin for the York, but it’s a long while since I could pay the Merchets’ prices. Pray God he’s not fallen in the river. Strong swimmer, Bede is, but not when in his cups.’

Alfred insisted on coming across the stones to help Lucie over to Magda’s rock. ‘They’re slippery at the beginning of low tide.’ Rob and Rose were already hopping across, balancing small bundles of clothing on their heads. ‘Am I to mind them?’ Alfred asked.

‘No,’ Lucie laughed. ‘They’re relieving you of your watch. My husband needs you.’

‘Bartolf Swann’s murder?’

‘You’ve already heard about it? Out here?’

‘A visitor told me. You’ll want to talk to him. He’s why Stephen went to Bartolf’s alone this morning.’ Alfred called out to the twins to wait for him before opening the door. ‘I don’t want to startle him,’ he said. He was not smiling.

By the time Lucie and Alfred reached the rock the twins had disappeared round the side of the house. Everyone in York was curious about the strange, dragon-guarded dwelling, and they were clearly no exception. Alfred knocked on the door and called out that Dame Lucie Wilton, the apothecary, was with him, then pushed it open.

Someone wrapped in a blanket was struggling to rise from a seat close to the fire.

‘I pray you, rest easy,’ Lucie said. ‘I will come and join you.’

Letting the blanket slip down from his head to settle on his shoulders, Old Bede greeted her hoarsely.

‘God be thanked. I am so glad to see you.’ Bess had told her he was missing. Lucie noticed his clothes hanging from the rafters. ‘What happened?’

‘I swam here in the dark of night. Upriver. They didn’t think a dried old bean like meself had it in him. Faith, I wasn’t so certain meself. I’m thankful it’s late in a dry summer. I wouldn’t have made it when the rain on the moors comes thundering downriver.’

Lucie glanced up at Alfred, who nodded. ‘He was soaked through and shivering so hard he couldn’t talk until he’d shed his clothes and I’d rolled him in blankets and stoked the fire.’

‘Tell me what happened,’ Lucie said. ‘Did someone follow you when you left the York Tavern last night?’

Old Bede nodded. ‘They came up behind me down on staithe, as I was doing my business. Stopped me from heading upriver to bridge. Two of ’em, big men. I reckoned I’d seen them playing drunk earlier, coming out of that very gate Bartolf Swann had gone through and died, eh? But now on staithe they’ve another with ’em, has a dog, all teeth and straining to break free and jump at me. Between the wolf and the dog, I was, so to speak, them or the river. With the river I had a chance. I dived in and pushed down, down. God was looking out for me, leading me to piss at staithe, where river’s dredged and I could go deep. I fought current till my chest wanted to burst. They couldn’t find me in night black as pitch, water such a good brown. But I can’t go home now, can I?’

From the doorway, Rose said, ‘We’ll keep you hidden here, Old Bede. No one will know.’

Lucie nodded. Rose and Rob could do it. ‘You can trust them. We’ll take care of the rest. You’ve seen any of them before?’

‘Mayhap the one with the dog. Can’t say for certain. Minds me of one worked on staithe. He’s been gone some time. Ran off after some trouble. Bailiff Hempe could tell you his name. Always with a dog back then, nasty. Had the devil in ’im. Not the same dog now, but those same teeth …’ He shook his head.

For once Lucie was grateful for Old Bede’s love of gossip.