‘If you are innocent, why are you threatening us?’ asked Bartholomew, standing his ground.
‘Because he asked the Lady what she was doing on the night of the murders.’ Lichet glared at Michael. ‘And she told him that she read all night – alone. So I had no choice but to entice him down here with the promise of answers. I did not want to kill anyone, but now I have no choice.’
‘In other words, he lied,’ called Michael. ‘He has no alibi.’
‘Yes, I lied, but that does not make me the killer,’ Lichet shot back. ‘Yet you would have accused me anyway, and I have no way to prove my innocence.’
‘So why did you lie?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Because no one would have believed the truth,’ replied Lichet wretchedly. ‘Which is that I was sound asleep all night, and only woke when Adam raised the alarm. And of course I was one of the first on the scene – I had the least distance to travel.’
‘Then we shall help you prove it,’ coaxed Bartholomew. ‘We can–’
‘It is too late,’ cried Lichet desperately. ‘Because now I have threatened to kill you, and there is the small matter of Marishal’s death to explain.’
‘But that was not your fault,’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘He fell – we all saw it.’
‘It does not matter – folk will claim it is murder because I failed to fish him out.’ Lichet’s expression turned haunted. ‘Unlike Charer – I splashed about for an age in the hope of saving him.’
‘Why were you down here together at all?’ asked Bartholomew, more to keep him talking than for information.
‘I saw him totter through the upstairs door, so I followed him to make sure he came to no harm.’ Lichet shook his head bitterly. ‘It was an act of compassion – simple, honest concern for a fellow human being. I asked what he was doing, and he said he had come to fish! The man was a drunken sot, and his friends should have minded him better.’
‘There is still hope for Marishal,’ said Bartholomew quickly, as Lichet raised the bow again, his eyes full of fear and despair. ‘He–’
‘There is not! Besides, if he dies, the Lady will appoint me as her permanent steward. The post is hereditary, but I cannot see her wanting Thomas.’
‘No,’ conceded Bartholomew. ‘But you have not killed anyone yet, so–’
‘I saw Margery and Jevan … I mean Roos together the night they died,’ blurted Lichet, and ran a trembling hand over his face. ‘I have mentioned it to no one else, because I wanted to be the one to solve the mystery. Roos was angry with her, and she was trying to calm him down. I imagine she invited him here to make peace.’
‘Probably over the letter she sent to Cambridge,’ surmised Bartholomew. He glanced around. ‘Although it is a curious place for an assignation–’
‘He liked it here,’ said Lichet hoarsely. ‘God knows why. She probably chose it to appease him.’ He took a firmer grip on the bow. ‘But I must go. I cannot miss the Queen’s arrival.’
‘Wait!’ cried Michael, as Lichet aimed at Bartholomew. ‘We can help–’
‘No!’ barked Lichet. His voice shook – he was not a natural killer, and was clearly appalled by the situation in which he had found himself. ‘You will betray me. You already know my qualifications from Bordeaux are bogus. You will tell the Lady, and she will send me packing.’
‘We will not,’ promised Michael desperately. ‘And I can award you a degree from Cambridge if you like. It is easily done – a few strokes of a pen and a stamp of the Chancellor’s seal.’
‘You will renege on the offer the moment you are free. Besides, I have it all worked out. I shall blame Quintone when your bodies are found – and earn another hundred marks for solving the mystery of your deaths.’
Bartholomew forced himself not to flinch as Lichet’s finger tightened on the trigger. Then there was a sudden splash, and a hand shot from the water to grab the Red Devil’s ankle. It was Marishal. The crossbow bolt went wide, although Bartholomew was sure he felt it whip past his ear. Lichet lost his balance on the slippery pavement, and fell heavily, landing close to the steward – who reached out to plunge a dagger into his chest. Lichet twitched briefly and died. It all happened so fast that Bartholomew and Michael could do nothing but gape.
‘Do not just stand there, man,’ shouted Marishal angrily, hauling himself out of the water with the agility of a much younger man. ‘Help the monk off that ledge.’
Bartholomew hastened to obey. Once on safer ground, Michael dropped to his knees in relief, drawing in huge unsteady breaths.
‘I heard it all,’ said Marishal, water streaming from his clothes as he looked dispassionately at the man he had killed. ‘He may not have stabbed Margery and Roos, but he was about to dispatch you. He deserved to die. He is–’
He stopped. A peculiar sound was coming from deeper in the cistern, a rumbling that started softly, but that grew steadily louder. The surface of the water began to shiver more violently.
‘What is that?’ gulped Michael, clambering quickly to his feet and looking around in alarm.
‘Someone has opened the valves on the roof tanks,’ explained Marishal in a shocked whisper. ‘Water is pouring down the pipes – and as the cistern is almost full already, it will soon reach the ceiling. I am sorry, Brother, but it seems you are destined to drown today after all.’
Chapter 13
The rumbling grew ever louder, and within moments, water swirled over the lip of the pavement and flowed towards them, foaming from the force of the deluge.
‘The steps!’ yelled Michael. ‘Quick! Climb up–’
‘The door is secured from the outside,’ shouted Marishal, and in the flickering lamplight, he was almost as wan as the monk. ‘The stairwell will flood as quickly as the cistern, and no one will hear us shout for help. We will die there for certain.’
‘Thomas,’ said Bartholomew with desperate hope. ‘He knows we are down here – he came to ask you for the key.’
‘I sent him to spread word about the Queen being delayed.’ Marishal staggered as water surged around his knees. ‘He will not know anything is amiss until it is far too late.’
And he might have been the one to open the valves anyway, thought Bartholomew – to rid himself of Lichet, two annoyingly persistent investigators and an unloved father in one fell swoop.
‘But the cistern is a clever piece of engineering,’ he said urgently. ‘Lichet installed the silly device on the door, but the original architects were much more sensible. They will have predicted that someone might be trapped one day and catered for such an eventuality. We just need to find–’
‘Yes!’ Relief blazed in Marishal’s eyes. ‘There is a special chamber. It is almost directly above where Michael was just standing – I remember being shown it as a child. Access is via a ladder, assuming it has not rotted over the years …’
The ladder was still there, although by the time they reached it, water was bubbling around their thighs. Bartholomew went up it first, alarmed when the ancient rungs flexed under his weight, sure they would not take Michael’s. He climbed quickly, the lamp in one hand. Eventually, he reached an irregularly shaped chamber, which he predicted would be above the cistern’s ceiling, so would form an air pocket.
Marishal followed, but Michael was heavy and not particularly agile. Rungs snapped when he trod on them, and twice he fell back into the churning water, saved from being swept away only by the fact that he was strong – and terrified – enough to keep a powerful grip on the uprights. It felt like an age before Bartholomew and Marishal finally managed to pull him to safety.