A Twisted Vengeance

A sudden squall forced Kate to wait in the prior’s doorway, watching black-robed friars bustle past with their hoods up, hands tucked up their sleeves, feet squishing in their waterlogged sandals. As soon as the rain ceased, the sun burst out of the clouds and she needed to shield her eyes against the blinding glare on the puddles and the rain-heavy shrubs lining the walkway as she hurried toward the church, hoping Jennet had taken refuge within. She found her just stepping out from the church porch.

“So. Did you speak to Robin?”

“He died last night.”

Jennet crossed herself.

“Bran and Carter were by his side, but not Nan. I don’t understand – she loves Robin so. She would have been at his bedside if she could.”

“I have not given up the search,” said Jennet.

“Perhaps she does not wish to be found?”

A shrug. “Even so.”

“Nor was Robin’s brother, Fitch, at his deathbed.”

“Lionel’s Fitch?” Jennet shook her head. “That’s a nasty bit of news. Along with Robin’s death and the dean’s odd behavior, a difficult morning for you.”

“Yes, I believe he meant Lionel’s manservant. The prior hopes so. He now expects Lionel will take responsibility for the burial.”

Jennet snorted. “He might as well ask the Devil for alms.”

Kate agreed. “I think it’s time I paid a call on my brother-in-law.”

They headed out onto Micklegate, passing William Frost’s grand house.

“Your cousin will be happy to see the last of the campfires doused,” said Jennet.

“It is a wonder that Isabella has not found a way to evict them,” Kate chuckled, but her spark of amusement flickered and went out. “I wish I could keep the news of Robin’s death a secret. Sister Dina–”

Jennet pressed her heart, shook her head.

They walked through an eerie, rainbow-sprinkled mist as the hot sun sucked the moisture from the street and the houses round them. The Ouse Bridge, with its buildings climbing up to the crest, shimmered in the weird fog, rooftops sparkling. The sun also teased out the stench of the fish sellers’ carts, by midday always ripe, but even worse now.

“It’s a wonder we can stomach to eat fish,” Jennet muttered.

“It’s Berend’s skill that makes it palatable.”

As they passed the council chambers on the bridge, Kate called out greetings to acquaintances but kept most of her attention on the crowd milling round her. And then she caught a flash of movement, a disturbance in the crowd as someone pushed through. “Jennet, look. Over there.” Jennet looked where Kate pointed. “Bran?”

He turned for a moment, and when Jennet saw his pretty face, she nodded. “That’s him.”

Kate followed Jennet as best she could, but Jennet blended skillfully into the crowd, weaving among the folk who were strolling, talking to shopkeepers, greeting neighbors, trying to push their way through, hurrying to make their next appointment, or home. Kate stepped on feet as often as hers were stepped on, trying to stay in Jennet’s wake. The odor of bodies first soaked then heated almost gagged her so soon after the spoiling fish, and she stumbled, but Jennet plunged on. Ah-hah! Bran was forced to pause as he cut a strap. Long enough for Jennet to step behind him and lock him in a deadly embrace, pressing a knife against his throat, while with her other hand she twisted the wrist of his beweaponed hand until the knife dropped with a clatter, along with the cut purse. Bran was so poorly trained that he hardly struggled. Jennet easily yanked his right hand behind his back. She whispered something in his ear. He groaned, but moved with her as she inched them off the bridge and down beneath the pilings on the bank. Muddy, but quiet.

As Kate joined them, Bran tried to kick out at her. She kneed him in the groin. He doubled over, Jennet not quick enough moving her knife from his throat. Kate saw the blood on her hand and hoped it was not a deep cut, else he’d be of no use to them.

“I’m bleeding! You’ve killed me,” he gasped.

“Clearly not.” Kate pulled him up by his hair, looked at the wound. “It is nothing. Tell me, Bran, why did your friend Robin risk his life to rob Dame Eleanor and her sisters?”

He coughed, spit to one side, cleared his throat.

Jennet grinned at Kate over the thief’s shoulder.

“So, Bran?” Kate demanded.

“How do you know about that?”

“Never mind. Who hired you and what were you after?”

“You’re Mistress Clifford.” He strained to see behind her, into the shadows.

“Ah, you fear the hounds,” Jennet said, controlling him with the arm she held behind his back. One strong jerk and he would collapse with the pain of his shoulder popping out of its socket.

Kate took firm hold of his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze, preventing him from looking round to see what was near. “So you fear my hounds? My great war dogs?”

“It was not me who robbed you, mistress. It was Robin, as you said, may he rest in peace.” He crossed himself with his left hand.

Bad luck, that.

“Yes, poor Robin. Now, if you tell me what I want to know, I will not set the hounds on you.”

“But I–”

“A generous offer,” Jennet said in his ear, startling him. “I advise you to take it.”

He began to squirm.

“Is there someone you fear more than you fear Lille and Ghent?” Kate gestured as if the dogs were right behind her and she was holding them back.

Bran suddenly eased his squirming. Thinking he might be going limp to slip down, Kate reached out. Noticing, Jennet squeezed him tighter. Kate smelled piss. The fool had wet himself.

“Just tell my mistress what she needs to know and I’ll release you,” said Jennet.

“Our mate Thatcher offered us the job.”

“The one-legged cook,” said Jennet.

“That’s him. He said we was to be richly rewarded for the books – holy books – and a golden Christ child, from the chests up in the solar. Agnes Dell’s solar. We would receive more than we ever made at the staithes or the warehouses.”

“He cooked for her,” Jennet said.

“She turned him out without warning. And him a cripple.”

“Who has done quite well for himself,” said Kate. “How did he hear about the items in the chest?”

“That was Robin bragging of his Nan to the soldiers, hoping to join them. The soldiers Thatcher was cooking for.”

“So why was Robin sneaking into the kitchen?” asked Kate.

“For the key to the house. Nan had said – Is she all right?”

“I don’t know. And then, once he had the key?”

“All he wanted that night was the key. In the morning, when the household went to mass, we would slip in, take the books and the golden doll, and slip away, tossing the key in the grass. Nothing simpler, said Thatcher.”

“What happened when you did not succeed?” Kate asked.

“Thatcher warned us to stay away. There were far worse things about to happen there. ‘You don’t want to be caught,’ he said. So we stayed away. Nan is not with you?”

“No,” said Kate. “We are worried about her. You do not know where she is?”