So with Rob Black’s reassuring presence, he left the grey walls of the Tower and walked past the spreading cluster of buildings that had begun to fill in the space between the moat and the river bank towards Petty Wales. Seeing this new sprawl, there was no doubt that the ambitions of their King had been good for trade. This row of structures had sprung up recently to cope with the overflow from the Royal fortress and included storage sheds, workshops and fitting yards for wagons as well as the other impedimenta of war. At times it was more frantic out here than inside, especially when armaments were being prepared for one of the King’s great ships. Then the place swarmed with men and more resembled a scene from Bedlam, complete with screams, shouts and the coarse groaning of stressed rope.
This evening it lacked the recent frenzy. The only activity was a few men working on one of the wharves loading a small wherry, probably with provisions for one of the King’s vessels at Greenwich. They looked busy and the taller one with his cap topped with a waving peacock’s feather could be seen passing barrels to his companion. That spoke of a dedication lacking in officials like Sir Welkin. Most servants would have sloped off to a tavern by now. Ned nodded approvingly and briefly considered hailing them to see if they’d accept a fee for rowing him and Rob up river. However a guilty conscience and his better angel prompted that his legs need the exercise, and at this moment a walk along the river front could be of more value than lazing in a wherry. With a sigh Ned turned away from the opportunity and strode off with Rob.
Despite the short distance, the last ragged banners of twilight fled to the west before they reached the wharf. The dimming of the light however didn’t seem to effect the ranting of those damned friars. He saw another one screeching away at the southern waterside boundary of Petty Wales. From the size of the audience, this one was more successful than the fellow at Aldgate. However he was not without opposition. A colourful and beribboned collection of riverside punks disputed his possession of their patch and the ruining of their custom. The girls made overloud sneering comments about the reputed prowess and excess of friars and the abundant woolliness of their usual bed mates. The crowd lapped it up and in true city fashion, egged the angry friar to respond to the challenge, while a few enterprising young lads were capering in front of the gathering, bleating and baaing with keen intent while a third pretended to be a monk. Ned had to smile and threw them a few pence for their effort.
After that reminder of the plague of friars, it was no surprise to see a cluster of lanterns illuminating another gathering at the customs house at the entrance to Smarts Key. With the bulk of Rob before him Ned easily pushed past the crowd. From what he could see it was a mixed body, some armed retainers, others the usual frequenters of the docks, along with a smattering of merchants. He also noted the hushed talk as he pushed through. Most was the local dockside cant, but the more prosperous of the crowd, spoke in the accented tones of Germans. Word of the happenings here had spread.
As they made their way past the ranks of ships to their moored vessel, renewed muttering broke out behind them. Ned had this creepy, twitchy feeling run up his neck as if a lump of snow had dropped down his doublet. Something wasn’t right. There was a heavy air of anticipation of entertainment from the crowd, more than the usual hunger from those of London. Considering the macabre circumstances that was disturbing. He was suddenly very glad a dozen of Gryne’s men were plainly visible as guards on the wharf.
Once on boarding the ship, Ned gave a brief nod to Gruesome Roger, who barely acknowledged his greeting before pulling Rob eagerly aside. Ned shrugged. Well, since that was the best reception he was going to get, he made his way to the former shipmaster’s cabin.
Pushing the door open he found Margaret Black ensconced with her Hanse partner from the Steelyards, Albrecht Hagen. Both were bent over the trestle table comparing what must be the shipping records. Her companion would peruse a list through closely held eye glasses and read out some obscure merchant’s term then Meg would sort through the pile of loose parchments until she came across a scrawled reference. To Ned the process looked more chaotic than the usual mayhem of a lawyer’s rooms. He fervently hoped that it meant progress, but from the deep creasing of Meg’s brow, he feared that the reconciliation was not going well.
Maybe an interruption would serve them all. He cautiously cleared his throat and gained their instant attention. The Hanse merchant looked up, startled and snapped the ledger shut, while Mistress Black swapped her frown from the papers to him. “Good evening Master Hagen. If you would be so kind, I need to speak to Mistress Black.”
That request gained a very interesting response. From a look of guilty surprise, the Hanse’s face relaxed to tolerant amusement. He gave a muttered greeting and brief bow, and with the ledger clasped under the cover of his long, forked beard, claimed a need for fresh air as he squeezed past. Ned could have sworn he glimpsed a flicker of fear in the fellow’s eye, but maybe it was just the lantern light.
Ned was never quite sure how to deal with Albrecht Hagan. He had made the merchant’s acquaintance last year during the Cardinal’s Angels affair when the Hanse had sheltered them from the pursuivants of the Duke of Norfolk and Cardinal Wolsey, amongst others. That act of succour had been gratefully received, but Ned had also overheard the Hanse merchant offer to remove one Red Ned Bedwell from the scene, quietly and permanently if that would make Margaret Black’s life any easier. It had been a salutary experience for a young lad when she had, after a considering pause, reluctantly vetoed the suggestion. Since then when they had met, Albrecht had been unfailingly friendly and welcoming. Still Ned thought there was a continuing undertone of speculation.
Ned took up the vacated stool while Meg lent back and massaged her forehead. Shoving the pile of loose papers to one side he unfolded the writ. A pair of moved lanterns then held it in place while the Meg Black, apothecary’s apprentice, perused their flimsy parchment shield. It didn’t take long.
Meg flicked a stray lock of hair off her face and shook her head. “So much for your good lord, Ned! He’ll protect us up to a point before offering us as a sacrifice to the Lord Chancellor.”
Ned wasn’t sure what sort of reception he’d expected-a tad more enthusiasm, mayhap? Her response was muted and dull. Maybe Meg had been spending too much time in the company of corpses. He glanced over at the bunk- no, thankfully it was empty. “Where are Joachim and Pieter?”
Meg waved towards the door. “They were dressed and moved to the hold by some of the crew. They took the sight pretty badly but they wanted to do these last honours themselves.”
Ned was relieved. At least that distraction was gone, though it brought up another question. “What of the coroner?”
Meg pursed her lips for a moment before answering. “That was Doctor Radcliffe. He arrived some hours ago, viewed the bodies and accepted the depositions of our witnesses. However when Albrecht pressed for a release of the bodies, he became very evasive and scurried off.”