The Riverwoman’s Dragon

The sun was low in the sky, the streets evening-dark. Cool breezes whispered around corners, signaling an end to the warm spell. Owen shifted the pack on his shoulders as his mind raced, searching for a clue as to where Alan might hide his belongings, and Jack Fuller’s chest of papers and coin. Nothing in Alan’s belongings suggested such a place. But Hempe’s report of the delivery to the Wolcott home drew him there.

Voices of guests could be heard in the Wolcott yard. He passed it, slipping into Ferriby’s yard next door. John, the ‘gardener’, nodded to him.

‘Plenty folk coming and going at the street door, but not the leech,’ he said. ‘Heard him prattling at folk in the parish often enough I know his voice. I’ve listened for him, and he’s not been there.’

‘Have you heard anything of interest?’

‘Servants moaning that when the young master and the mistress leave early tomorrow they’re to scrub down the house and close it. The rest is much moaning about all the work, some tears for the old master.’

Peering through the hedge, Owen noticed the cart Hempe had mentioned, loaded, covered, ready for a morning departure. He saw no one about.

‘The cart is not guarded?’

‘Has been. I expect all the household is caught up with the guests.’

Leaving the pack of Alan Rawcliff’s belongings with John, Owen told him to stay close to the hedge, then slipped through into the Wolcott yard, ducking behind the cart. He waited, listening for footsteps or any sign he had been noticed. When he deemed it safe he untied a corner of the cover on the cart. The sun still cast light in the garden, the contents of the cart visible – bedding, cushions, a few chests of the sort that commonly hold clothing. Hearing footsteps, he crawled into the cart, dropping the end of the cover he’d lifted. He held his breath as the footsteps came close but then continued moving away from the house. Someone heading for the midden, he guessed. He lay still. The person returned, hesitating for a moment near him, then continued to the house. Slithering out, Owen peered up, and, seeing no one, lifted the cover more. He had felt something that might be a small chest beneath some cushions. Too dark beneath the cover and the cushions to see any carvings to identify it as Fuller’s, he shifted a larger chest to search beyond it. More footsteps, and voices. Again he climbed in, dropping the cover over him. The men were discussing protections against the pestilence. One said he had participated in a penitential procession in his church. The other scoffed, arguing that once the pestilence was in the city no amount of penance would push it out.

The first said, ‘Penance for my sins, not those of all the city. I know plenty deserve to be afflicted.’

‘Afflicted? You make light of the Death? There is no other end to it, you know.’

‘I know of two survived it.’

‘Pah. They thought they did is all.’

The men moved past, heading for the midden again, Owen guessed. He moved a foot to ease a cramp and reached down to rub it, stopping as they returned.

‘Did you hear Wolcott’s leech beat the Riverwoman’s daughter? She would have died but Captain Archer took her to her ma.’

‘Is that why we have not seen him today. I would hide, too, if that one-eyed Welshman caught me out.’

‘Too bad the captain did not stay at the prince’s court.’

‘Why? The city needs a protector.’

‘Protector? He’s spying for the prince and who knows who else.’

‘They say the Riverwoman’s dragon survived burning arrows without any damage.’

‘Mind me, those who tried to burn that witch’s house will all be dead of the pestilence before the harvest.’

‘So might we all.’

Their voices fading, Owen eased out, dragging the small chest to the light. Fuller’s initials, and a rose. What did it mean? Alan was paying to leave the city in the cart? Did he believe the sheriff would act on Asa’s word? Or might he truly fear Magda’s wrath?

Handing the chest through the hedge, Owen had returned to the cart to retie the cover when he heard footsteps. Ducking down, he heard Gavin Wolcott questioning a servant.

‘Where did you see him?’

‘Near the hedge.’

‘Carrying something?’

‘I thought, but might have–’

‘My apologies if I alarmed you,’ John called out from the direction of the Ferriby garden. ‘I was on the ladder trimming the top of the hedge. My shears flew out of my hand.’ He waved the old shears. ‘Found them.’

Gavin cuffed the servant and stormed back into the house.

Owen silently cursed as the servant began to pace and mutter curses, some to the ‘young master’, some to the Ferriby gardener. Though he managed to retie the cloth over the cart when the man turned away, Owen dared not leave. He waited for what seemed hours until Ferriby’s nephew Luke came strolling into the yard, hailing the serving man by name. Eager to complain to a sympathetic friend, the serving man grumbled away as Luke led him round the side of the house, motioning with a hand behind his back for Owen to take advantage of the distraction. In a flash, Owen was through the hedge, thanking John for fetching Luke.