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Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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neck. 'But it was brought here by -' she closed her eyes '- a foreign man, dark-faced with strange orange hair.' 'Orange?'
'That's how it appeared to me. I forget his name. There was an Englishman with him. Sir Thomas Kempe.'
A chill caught my spine. I knew Kempe. One of the Great Beast's Agentes in Rebus, I had met this collection of lovelies before: a gang of assassins, spies, secret agents whose motto was: 'THE WILL OF THE PRINCE HAS FORCE OF LAW'. If the Great Beast wanted something – anything – they'd oblige!
I finished my tryst with the young lady but, I'll be honest, my mind was elsewhere. If Kempe was around I intended to stay in the shadows. Two days later, he and the stranger, Theodosius Lord of Egremont, imperial envoy to London, slipped into the shop just before dusk. I stayed at the back of the house because Sir Hubert insisted on dealing with them alone. I heard the clink of steel outside and knew Kempe had brought some of his braves along. I stared through the poor light and caught Egremont's features. He was swarthy-faced, cruel-eyed and narrow-mouthed, lean of visage and his wolf-like face was not helped by his hair, which was dyed a disgusting colour. Sir Hubert took them downstairs to the fortified chambers in the cellars where he kept his most valuable commodities. An hour later they returned, and then Kempe and Egremont disappeared into the night.
Later on, after supper. Sir Hubert asked me to stay behind. Whilst the hall emptied, he chatted about everyday matters before he grasped my wrist. 'Roger, if something happens to me…' I looked up in alarm.
'If something happens to me,' he repeated hoarsely, 'go upstairs to my chamber, where there's a tapestry on the wall depicting Daniel come to judgement. Take that down and behind it you'll find a small door. The handle is intricate: you can only open it if you press it down twice, then up three times. It's the work of London's best locksmith. No keys but, remember,' he pointed at me, 'two down, three up, gentle pressure. Anything else and the door will not open.' 'Master,' I whispered, drawing closer. 'What nonsense is this?' 'No, no, listen.' And I had to, even though my stomach was beginning to curdle.
'In the little recess,' Berkeley continued, 'there are valuables: my will, and certain manuscripts. More importantly, there's a velvet pouch containing two keys: one is to the middle door in my cellars. When you open this you'll find nothing there except a steel box with three locks. The second key will open all three but only in sequence. The middle one first, followed by the one on the right, then the lock on the left.' 'Master,' I asked. 'Why trust me?'
'I have to.' Berkeley smiled. 'You may be a villain, Roger, but I've watched you. Since you arrived here, not one piece of silver or gold has disappeared.' 'Master!' I stared in mock anger. 'As if I would!'
'You are a rogue, Shallot,' he quipped back. 'But an honourable one, not a dog that bites the hand that feeds it.' He drummed his fingers on the samite tablecloth. 'On second thoughts,' he declared. 'Stay here.' He walked out of the hall.
A few minutes later he returned, a velvet pouch in his hand, and beckoned me to follow him. We went along the gallery and he opened the door leading down to the cellar. He paused to light a lamp and then I followed him down the steps into the dank, cold passageway. Berkeley stopped again to light other lamps that were placed on hooks against the brick wall. The gloomy passageway flared into light. I noticed three cells or storerooms, The door to each was reinforced with steel bands and metal studs. Berkeley opened the centre door and went in. The room was a perfect square, no windows, no other opening whatsoever, just a stone floor with brick walls.
In the centre of the room stood an oaken table and, on it, the metal chest Berkeley had described. He locked the strong room door behind us and showed me how to open the chest. He lifted the lid and carefully
'That's how it appeared to me. I forget his name. There was an Englishman with him. Sir Thomas Kempe.'
A chill caught my spine. I knew Kempe. One of the Great Beast's Agentes in Rebus, I had met this collection of lovelies before: a gang of assassins, spies, secret agents whose motto was: 'THE WILL OF THE PRINCE HAS FORCE OF LAW'. If the Great Beast wanted something – anything – they'd oblige!
I finished my tryst with the young lady but, I'll be honest, my mind was elsewhere. If Kempe was around I intended to stay in the shadows. Two days later, he and the stranger, Theodosius Lord of Egremont, imperial envoy to London, slipped into the shop just before dusk. I stayed at the back of the house because Sir Hubert insisted on dealing with them alone. I heard the clink of steel outside and knew Kempe had brought some of his braves along. I stared through the poor light and caught Egremont's features. He was swarthy-faced, cruel-eyed and narrow-mouthed, lean of visage and his wolf-like face was not helped by his hair, which was dyed a disgusting colour. Sir Hubert took them downstairs to the fortified chambers in the cellars where he kept his most valuable commodities. An hour later they returned, and then Kempe and Egremont disappeared into the night.
Later on, after supper. Sir Hubert asked me to stay behind. Whilst the hall emptied, he chatted about everyday matters before he grasped my wrist. 'Roger, if something happens to me…' I looked up in alarm.
'If something happens to me,' he repeated hoarsely, 'go upstairs to my chamber, where there's a tapestry on the wall depicting Daniel come to judgement. Take that down and behind it you'll find a small door. The handle is intricate: you can only open it if you press it down twice, then up three times. It's the work of London's best locksmith. No keys but, remember,' he pointed at me, 'two down, three up, gentle pressure. Anything else and the door will not open.' 'Master,' I whispered, drawing closer. 'What nonsense is this?' 'No, no, listen.' And I had to, even though my stomach was beginning to curdle.
'In the little recess,' Berkeley continued, 'there are valuables: my will, and certain manuscripts. More importantly, there's a velvet pouch containing two keys: one is to the middle door in my cellars. When you open this you'll find nothing there except a steel box with three locks. The second key will open all three but only in sequence. The middle one first, followed by the one on the right, then the lock on the left.' 'Master,' I asked. 'Why trust me?'
'I have to.' Berkeley smiled. 'You may be a villain, Roger, but I've watched you. Since you arrived here, not one piece of silver or gold has disappeared.' 'Master!' I stared in mock anger. 'As if I would!'
'You are a rogue, Shallot,' he quipped back. 'But an honourable one, not a dog that bites the hand that feeds it.' He drummed his fingers on the samite tablecloth. 'On second thoughts,' he declared. 'Stay here.' He walked out of the hall.
A few minutes later he returned, a velvet pouch in his hand, and beckoned me to follow him. We went along the gallery and he opened the door leading down to the cellar. He paused to light a lamp and then I followed him down the steps into the dank, cold passageway. Berkeley stopped again to light other lamps that were placed on hooks against the brick wall. The gloomy passageway flared into light. I noticed three cells or storerooms, The door to each was reinforced with steel bands and metal studs. Berkeley opened the centre door and went in. The room was a perfect square, no windows, no other opening whatsoever, just a stone floor with brick walls.
In the centre of the room stood an oaken table and, on it, the metal chest Berkeley had described. He locked the strong room door behind us and showed me how to open the chest. He lifted the lid and carefully
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