A Conspiracy of Wolves

So quickly noted. To Owen that meant Geoffrey had known of Crispin Poole before his arrival in York.

‘I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to help, not hinder your investigation of the murders of these good men,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Crispin Poole’s friends at court – that’s your interest, eh? You are to uncover what it is he’s doing for them, this one-armed merchant?’ Owen believed he’d hit the mark, though Geoffrey’s flinch was subtle. Was it Alexander Neville? As Owen could not guess whether Prince Edward favored the new archbishop or considered him as a threat, he thought it best not to mention him. Not yet. ‘So as long as my discoveries do not inconvenience either the king or his heir, you’ll allow me to bring the murderers to justice?’

‘Allow? I’ve no such power over you, my friend.’

They exchanged smiles, saluted each other with their tankards, then drained them.

‘Thank you, my friend.’ Owen pushed back from the table. He would rise early and catch Erkenwald at the beginning of his day. ‘One more thing. Have you ever seen Poole with a dog?’

‘Ah. Back to the murders.’ Geoffrey shook his head. ‘I’ve seen no dog with him.’ He nodded toward the door. ‘The lad’s been watching us for a while.’

Ned sat at a table near the door with Alfred.

Owen thanked Geoffrey and crossed the room to his men. Catching sight of him, Alfred rose, just raking a hand across his bald pate as if to smooth back his long-vanished hair, a nervous habit. Nothing of use to tell him, Owen guessed. Ned looked more sanguine, rising slightly and bobbing his head.

‘Come to the house with me, I would have my wife hear your news as well,’ Owen said, leading them out the door and through the garden gate.

Lucie rose from the window-seat where she and Jasper had been talking.

‘Any news?’ she asked, motioning the men to the table. Kate hurried out with a pitcher of ale, blushing at Ned’s greeting. The young man was far too generous in his attention to young women.

‘I’ve none to offer. Learned nothing of use,’ said Alfred as he settled on a bench. ‘Braithwaite’s manservant Galbot was reluctant to talk.’ Bringing Ned up to date, he described the dog Paul Braithwaite had brought to guard his parents’ home.

‘A man lacking tact,’ Ned noted.

‘It would seem,’ said Owen. ‘Everyone copes with loss in their own way. And with such violent deaths, fear competes with their grief. Paul Braithwaite might feel this is how he might contribute to the protection of his family. He looked to Olyf Tirwhit, Bartolf’s daughter, for approval, which puzzled me.’ He glanced over at Lucie, who nodded, interested. ‘I am hoping to have news about the dog and his handler.’ He looked to Ned.

‘I found Galbot and the dog in the kitchen, and the cook complained they’d been there a while. Not the pair I’d seen.’

‘A coincidence that Galbot took Tempest off guard when another dog was in the area?’ Owen wondered aloud as Ned drained his bowl and set it aside.

The young man sat forward. ‘I did talk to someone on the street, asked if he’d seen a man with a large dog. He had not, but he mentioned a cart sitting in front of the Fentons’ house for a time. He’d wondered whether the family had returned, but when he came out of his house it was gone.’

‘He moves the dog about in a cart?’ Lucie wondered.

‘Clever,’ said Jasper. ‘Folk might not even notice the dog in a cart.’

‘Was George Hempe in the tavern?’ Lucie asked. ‘Does he know about tomorrow’s service in St Helen’s?’

‘No.’ Owen looked to Alfred.

‘I will tell him we’ll need men at the two houses, and the church,’ said Alfred. ‘Will they bury them in St Helen’s churchyard?’

‘She did not say,’ said Owen.

‘Several of her ancestors are buried beneath the church,’ said Lucie.

They spoke of Crispin Poole and of Cilla’s disappearance, Jasper muttering something about a fool’s errand to the minster yard, Michaelo merely seeking attention. Owen was left feeling frustrated when Ned and Alfred rose to leave and Jasper headed for his bed over the shop.

‘Stay a moment,’ Owen said to Alfred. ‘Early in the morning, before you set up for the burial, take one of the bailiff’s men and walk the route a cart would take from the Fenton home to John Gisburne’s manse, ask anyone you see along the way whether they noticed a man with a dog in a cart today.’

‘I thought the lad said who would notice?’

‘But if someone, just one person, did–’ Owen nodded to him.

‘Gisburne. Aye.’ Alfred whistled as he stepped out the door.

‘Much as I dislike him, I see no evidence,’ said Lucie.

Owen knew she was right. ‘Perhaps I do it for spite, but if we learn anything, all the better.’

‘We need to see the pattern in the attacks,’ said Lucie as she lit their way up to their bedchamber.

‘The Swanns are the center.’

‘And Crispin Poole the spur?’ Lucie turned on the steps to regard Owen. ‘Why did he leave when he did, do you know? A falling-out with Hoban?’

‘And a dog somehow involved, is that what you’re thinking?’ Owen could not help but grin as he kissed her.