Murder Most Treasonable by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2023-08-14T00:00:00+00:00

PART FIVE

Layne: to keep silent

Brother Athelstan drew a deep breath and stared around the sacristy. All was in place. Mass had finished and now he had to make the usual journey across the sanctuary and out of the church. He knew the parish council would be waiting for him with their usual petitions and requests. Could they meet? What was happening? Why couldn’t they continue the Great Hunt of the Lord?

‘Because I do not,’ Athelstan muttered to himself, ‘wish to discuss that – not yet, not with you, and not until I am ready. And no, my beloved parishioners, I am not yet ready.’

Athelstan pulled his cowl close over his head. Outside was freezing, and he was determined to return as swiftly as he could to his studies. Days had elapsed since he’d seen Cranston, and he wondered what might be happening along the Secret Cloisters of Westminster. Athelstan crossed himself, left the sacristy and hurried across the sanctuary through the rood screen and down into the nave. He brushed aside Watkin and his coven, calling out to Mauger and Benedicta to join him. They left the church, following the twisting coffin path up through the thickening mist to the priest’s house. Athelstan unlocked the door and waved his two guests inside.

‘Would you like some morning ale, Father?’

Athelstan smiled at Benedicta. The widow-woman, like himself, had soon recovered from their ordeal along the river. Athelstan believed that it was an act of God that had saved him, though he would never forget his debt to the Fisher of Men and his motley crew. He’d already sent a message to the Fisher that, when the present business had finished, Athelstan intended to hold a special Mass for the crew of the Thanatos, followed by feasting and revelry at The Piebald.

‘Father,’ Benedicta repeated, ‘do you want some morning ale? You’re just standing there, staring at me.’

‘Yes, yes.’ Athelstan pointed across to the cauldron hanging on a tripod above the well-banked fire. ‘And get . . .’ He paused, gaping at the hearth.

‘Father?’

‘Bonaventure!’ Athelstan strained his hearing, but he could detect no meowing or scraping. ‘Bonaventure!’ he gasped, ‘Bonaventure should be here.’

‘Father.’ Mauger, sitting on the wall bench, sprang to his feet. ‘Father, what is wrong?’

‘It’s misty outside,’ Benedicta replied. ‘Bonaventure never goes out when a fog sweeps in.’

‘More importantly,’ Athelstan shivered at a prickle of fear down the back of his neck, ‘because of the mist,’ he asserted, ‘Bonaventure was here toasting himself when I left to celebrate Mass.’

‘Yet you locked the door behind you,’ Mauger declared. ‘You must have. I saw you turn the key to let us in.’

‘Someone,’ Athelstan replied, ‘picked that lock and opened the door. Bonaventure never likes strangers, and he may have also sensed danger. He would race from this room, mist or no mist. So,’ Athelstan pointed to the cauldron, ‘take that down and pile into it every single morsel of food and drink in this house.’

‘Father?’

‘Mauger, think! Someone skilled in picking locks turned the one on my door and entered this room whilst I was celebrating Mass.

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