‘What, by Saint Andrew, is this?’ cried McGuffin.
‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ said Rykener. He shook a finger at Crispin. ‘It’s not safe being your friend, is it?’
Crispin shook his head. He felt better. There were two of them now. And he knew John was a good companion in a fight, even though he spent his time as a ‘female’ embroideress … though more often as a whore. Crispin set aside his usual distaste, not only for John’s chosen profession, but at his preferred clientele.
‘I don’t understand …’ McGuffin looked from one to the other and then turned an accusatory glare on Alec.
The man threw his hands up. ‘What?’
‘You canna make certain that the woman you abduct is a sarding woman?’
‘I never had to make certain before!’
Crispin crossed his arms and moved between them. ‘Gentlemen, please. Clearly you have made a grave mistake. See what comes of trying to coerce me? Now. Let us talk plainly about the Stone.’
The men all looked at one another. Besides McGuffin and the disgruntled Alec, there were three more men. None of them had a sword, and Crispin was fairly certain that with his blade he had the advantage of them. And now, with John at his side, he felt the odds were even better.
‘All this fighting over me,’ sighed Rykener. ‘It’s quite flattering.’
‘Hold your sodomite’s tongue,’ sneered Alec.
Rykener postured. Wiry though he was, Crispin knew him to be quick and strong. ‘I certainly will not. I’m the one who was abducted, after all.’ He turned to Crispin. ‘Crispin, are we leaving this place?’
‘In a moment, John.’
‘Oh no you dinna!’ McGuffin blocked their way to the door. The other men moved from their places and slowly approached, surrounding them. ‘There is still the matter of your helping us.’
‘Helping you smuggle the Stone to Scotland? I think you are dreaming, churl.’
‘I tell you it’s no the Stone!’
‘Of course it isn’t. That’s why you have gone to so much trouble to bring me here, to abduct this man.’
‘I thought he was a woman!’ wailed Alec.
Rykener examined his nails. ‘It’s no fault to you, sir. I am good at what I do.’ He raised his face and smiled a lurid grin. ‘Want to see?’
The man fell back, becrossing himself. Rykener laughed.
‘Behave, John,’ said Crispin but wasn’t certain if he meant it.
‘I’m behaving as best I can for a man who was snatched off the streets for evil purposes. That’s a day’s worth of fees I’ve lost, mind you.’
‘He’s lost a day of fees,’ said Crispin to McGuffin. ‘What do you plan to do about it?’
‘Me? Well … naught! You don’t seem to understand the dynamic here, Master Guest.’
‘I understand it perfectly well. You have attempted to coerce me by means of an illegal abduction … of the wrong person …’
Alec stomped his foot. ‘I thought he was a woman!’
Crispin went on, ignoring him. ‘And you held him against his will, thereby causing him to lose the means of his livelihood. I think you owe him recompense.’
McGuffin, mouth agape, suddenly crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I’ll no pay it.’
‘Very well. But don’t be surprised if you are called before a judge and forced to pay it. Then everyone will know how you were fooled.’
McGuffin flustered. ‘Pay his … but he’s a … and you would have me …’
Rykener tapped his lip with a finger. ‘I think I’ve lain with a lawyer recently. I could call upon him. Prepare a suit against you.’
Scrambling at his scrip, McGuffin grumbled his oaths. He withdrew some coins and slammed them on the table. ‘Here’s your devil’s fee, sodomite!’
Rykener sauntered toward the table and scooped them up. He winked at McGuffin. ‘Much obliged, I’m sure. And much thanks to you, Crispin.’
‘The very least I could do, John.’ He bowed. ‘Now let us leave this place.’
‘Hold!’ McGuffin moved back in front of Crispin. ‘We haven’t concluded our business.’
‘Oh yes we have. I have no intention of helping you.’
‘But I tell you again, we no have the Stone!’
Patience brittle and snapping, Crispin withdrew his sword. He aimed it at McGuffin’s chest. ‘God’s blood, sir! You have the Devil’s own gall. I will leave this place and I will not help you. I must find the Stone to help my apprentice. If you haven’t got it, then tell me where it is!’
McGuffin’s face reddened. ‘I wish I knew. For I would surely help the bastards that stole it.’
‘Then we have nothing to discuss.’ He pushed John over the threshold and made to follow.
‘Master Guest!’ McGuffin pleaded. ‘You plotted against your own king!’
Crispin spun, trembling with the force of his emotions. ‘And don’t you think I’ve regretted it every day of my life since then?’ He seethed but drew back. ‘And I have learned my lesson. I suggest you do the same.’
‘I need your help, Master Guest, and it appears that you need mine as well. Can we not come to some agreement?’
‘Do you know ought of the Stone of Destiny or not?’
McGuffin breathed hard, eyes darting from Crispin, to John, to his men, and back to Crispin. ‘All this … for your apprentice?’
Crispin raised his chin. ‘He’s a very good apprentice.’
McGuffin grunted, nodding. ‘You are a strange man, Master Guest.’ They stared at one another for a long while. Too long for Crispin’s liking. He was about to turn away when McGuffin said, ‘You might ask after a man named Deargh. And that’s all I can say. But beware. He’s … dangerous.’
He swept both men with a glare before backing through the doorway and shutting the door tight. Crispin heard the bar being dropped behind it.
John turned to him. ‘You do know the most interesting people.’
‘Don’t I.’ He had to think. Now what? McGuffin might not know where the Stone was but he was involved in some other plot that he wanted Crispin to turn away from. That did not bode well either.
‘Crispin,’ said John gently at his side. Crispin looked at him and scowled. He hated him in his woman’s clothing. ‘What is amiss? Where is Young Jack?’
‘Don’t you have some proper clothing to change back into, John?’
‘I’m far from my lodgings here in Westminster. Come. No one knows who I am in this town.’ He took Crispin’s arm. Crispin wrestled out of it on the pretense of sheathing his sword.
‘Very well … but stop taking my arm!’ He pushed him off a second time.
Rykener laughed. ‘It’s one of the many things I like about you, Crispin. You are so right and proper, yet you befriend thieves and whores and tavern keepers and … embroideresses.’
Crispin shook his head. ‘I’m sorry you got involved, John. They didn’t mistreat you, did they?’
‘No, they were perfect gentlemen. Perfect Scottish gentlemen. And so. What, by God’s grace, is going on?’
They walked slowly, avoiding the muddier puddles where they could. Crispin found himself instinctively helping John over the worst of it simply by virtue of his woman’s clothes, which caused no end of jeering from Rykener. Despite his embarrassment, Crispin explained the disappearance of the Stone.
After a long silence, John studied Crispin’s face. Their eyes met. ‘Bless me, I wouldn’t be in your shoes, Crispin Guest, for all the gold in England. Poor Jack. What on earth are you going to do now?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I suppose it’s best, then, to seek out that other Scottish fellow, that Deargh that McGuffin spoke of, eh?’
‘Yes. I suppose I must.’
‘I’d like to go with you. I promise to be good.’
Crispin squeezed his eyes shut. ‘John …’
‘Truly, Crispin. And you owe me, at any rate. Getting dragged into your folly. I’m only glad I wasn’t Madam Langton, after all. I did spare her that distress.’
‘Well … you have me there.’
‘Then I can go?’ He clapped his hands. ‘I’ve always wanted to see you at work.’
‘It’s not a particularly safe place to be, at my side.’
‘I know that. I did rescue you once.’
‘And, for that, I am grateful.’
Rykener quickly scooped up Crispin’s arm and held it tight, making Crispin unable to free himself without making a scene on the street. ‘And I see you have a shiny new sword now,’ he said close to Crispin’s ear. ‘There’s a story there, I’ll warrant.’
‘John,’ he hissed. ‘I told you to behave.’
‘I am behaving. You should see me when I am not.’
‘I think I’d rather pass.’
They walked on along the Strand at its busiest hours. None had given way to late afternoon. Crispin watched with trepidation as carts came and went. It would be simple taking the Stone out of Westminster. If it was still here. The king should have had all carts and wagons checked, but it was far too late for that now.
He wondered what it was that McGuffin and his men wanted smuggled out of Westminster if not the Stone. He said it was smaller. If smaller, did he truly need Crispin’s help?
He shook the thought loose with a toss of his head. Didn’t matter. Crispin needn’t concern himself over it. He was well and truly out of it, with his own problems to think about.
He and Rykener walked along, with John squeezing a death grip of his arm. ‘Must you clasp so tightly, John?’ he whispered. ‘I fear my arm will be dead by the time we get there.’
‘Oh, sorry. I did not want you to shake me off. And a lady needs an escort in such a dangerous highway.’
‘You are not a lady!’
‘But they don’t know that.’ He gestured toward the men along the road, some of whom did look rather rough.
Crispin sighed for not the first time.
Ahead was an ale stake, leaning into the lane, and beyond it the sign of the keys. Crispin nodded toward it. ‘The alehouse Domhnall spoke of. Might we find this Deargh here?’
John loosened his grip, perhaps realizing that Crispin not only needed his wits about him but his sword arm as well. ‘What will you do?’
With each passing hour, Crispin appreciated Jack Tucker more and more. His quiet and thoughtful scrutiny of how to approach a job, his quick wit and ability to jump at a problem with little prompting, his ability to be silent and not ask so many questions!
‘I will do what I need to and ask for this Deargh. And, when I have him alone, exhort him to hand over the Stone.’
‘That doesn’t sound very exciting.’
‘I’d rather it not be, if truth be told.’
‘I thought you ate, slept, and breathed excitement. There is no end of the tales of the Tracker on the Shambles. I’ve heard quite a few stories. I wonder how many of them are true.’
‘None of them, I’ll warrant.’
‘And I wouldn’t take that wager. I know you, after all.’
Crispin gave John a warning look before he proceeded under the carved keys and through the door.
The room was remarkably warm. And little wonder. It was smaller than the Boar’s Tusk’s hall, and many more people were crowded into it.
The room was filled with noise and the smells of spilled ale and roasted meat. He threaded his way through the tables and toward the fire where it was almost too warm. Raucous men and women played dice in a corner, while others drank their cups together at worn tables.
He felt fingers clasping his cloak and turned to see not Jack Tucker – the Jack Tucker of an earlier day when he was still a young boy and not the fearless and accomplished young man he was now – but an anxious John Rykener.
Crispin wended toward a man who looked to be the tavern keeper, tending a roasted pig over the fire.
‘I beg your pardon, good sir,’ said Crispin with a bow. ‘But might you know of a man named Deargh?’
‘Eh?’ said the man, cupping his hand to his ear. ‘It’s noisesome in here.’
‘Indeed,’ said Crispin a bit louder. ‘Do you know of a man here named Deargh?’
‘Deargh? There’s no Deargh here.’
‘Are you certain?’ The place echoed with brogues. It made sense he’d be here.
The tavern keeper looked at Crispin skeptically. ‘Never heard the name before. But you might ask Fergus. He’s the man playing dice in the corner. The bald one. He knows everyone what comes and goes.’
‘I thank you.’
Crispin backtracked through the clustered bodies and headed toward the corner. A crowd had gathered to watch the dice players, and they were laughing and crying out with jeers and catcalls.
The bald man, Fergus, crouched on the wooden floor, casting the bone dice into the corner. His sleeves were rolled up over brawny and hairy forearms, and his bald head sheened with sweat. A woman nearest the corner was leaning on her thigh, her leg propped up on a bench, revealing a good, plump length of stocking-covered calf. When she laughed, she exposed a mouth of missing teeth.
Crispin watched for a while, getting impatient as the man continued to throw. As long as he kept winning, he kept playing.
‘Master Fergus,’ Crispin called suddenly above the noise.
Startled, Fergus cast badly. The crowd ‘awwed’ at his loss. The man turned angrily toward Crispin. ‘Who said that?’
‘I’m afraid I did. My apologies.’ And he bowed. Everyone fell silent. Clearly Crispin was the outsider and all glared with suspicion on their ruddy faces.
A hand slammed his chest and wadded his coat in a fist, lifting Crispin to his toes. Fergus leaned in and rose to his full height … which proved substantial. ‘You made me lose.’
His onion breath was as powerful as his arm. Crispin blinked at him.
‘I dinna like losing,’ the man growled.
‘Unhand me,’ Crispin warned.
He studied Crispin. ‘Or what?’
‘Or I won’t greet you,’ said John, moving forward. He cocked his head and offered a sultry smile.
Crispin stared at him. What was the man doing? But he well knew what he was doing. He simply didn’t wish to believe it.
Fergus turned his attention to John and clearly liked his small chin and petite mouth. And with his softened voice, Crispin supposed John passed very well for a woman. But it was a dangerous game. If the man grabbed him in the wrong places …
He lowered Crispin and fastened his attention on John. ‘And just who might you be, fair lass?’
‘I’m Eleanor,’ said John, lowering his chin demurely. ‘And this hasty fellow is Crispin Guest. You might have heard of him. He is also called the Tracker. And he wanted so to ask you a question. So much so that his impatience cost you that pot. He does apologize.’
Fergus never looked at Crispin. All of his attention was focused on John. ‘That’s forgotten. I’ve won a fair lot today. Enough to buy a comely maid some ale.’
John giggled and pulled his veil over his cheek. ‘You are a sweet one, aren’t you? Isn’t he a sweet one, Crispin?’
‘Like honey,’ Crispin grunted.
Fergus rolled his eyes and gave Crispin his attention. He seemed to know he would get nowhere with Eleanor if he did not answer Crispin’s fool question. ‘What is it you want?’
‘I am looking for a man by the name of Deargh.’
Fergus crossed his arms over his wide chest. ‘I know every man who comes and goes in this place. Even more so than the tavern keeper. And a wench or two,’ he added, smiling and chucking John’s chin. John obliged him with a girlish titter. ‘But I’ve never heard of this Deargh.’
Crispin glared. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Are you mad? This lovely lady has assuaged me from kicking your arse. You’d think you’d be grateful I answered that much.’
Crispin turned toward John. ‘Oh yes. Very grateful.’ When he looked up, everyone else was staring at him, too. ‘I don’t suppose anyone else has ever heard of a man named Deargh?’
They all shook their heads and slowly returned to their dice-playing. Except for the woman leaning on the bench. She stepped down, straightened her skirts, and walked toward Crispin.
‘Looks like your friend is occupied,’ she said, tilting her head toward John, who had allowed himself to be enfolded in Fergus’s arms. Dear God, be careful, John. ‘Maybe you need a bit of company. Some sport.’ She smiled. She seemed to have only a few teeth in the front of her mouth, both upper and lower, making her resemble a horse.
‘Ah. Yes, well. Since I cannot find the, er, the man I was looking for, perhaps it is best I go now.’
‘Och now. You wouldn’t want to disappoint a maid, now would you?’
He doubted very much she was a maid, but he was certainly wise enough not to say that aloud. He glanced over his shoulder at John, who was slowly being drawn away toward the back of the room. Should he rescue him? John could probably take care of himself, but Crispin didn’t want to chance it.
He bowed to the toothless woman. ‘If you will excuse me.’
He followed the couple to the rear and grabbed hold of John’s arm. ‘Come … er, Eleanor. I think our business here is concluded.’
‘Don’t you know when to make yourself scarce?’ said the man. ‘She disna want to go with you.’
‘Perhaps we should let the lady decide.’
‘Perhaps this,’ said Fergus, drawing back his fist and swinging toward Crispin. Crispin ducked, and Fergus’s fist hit home to the unlucky man standing beside him. Down he went, but he popped back up just as quickly.
‘By the Mass!’ He swung at Fergus and this time John ducked. Fergus’s reflexes weren’t as good, and he hadn’t gotten out of the way at all. The fist hit his jaw but only knocked his head back. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the man by his cotehardie and tossed him backward. The man cascaded into a group just raising their cups to each other. The cups flew, spraying several others with ale, and those men jumped back, glaring at those who had lost their cups and were scrambling over each other on the floor.
One man tipped his cup deliberately over the head of a man below him, who didn’t take kindly to the gesture, and yanked the standing man’s leg so that his feet flew out from under him.
The place collapsed into a melee.
Crispin tightened his hold on John and stumbled away with him toward the entrance.
Men fought one another. Stools sailed overhead. Beakers smashed on the floor. A dog barked and skipped from group to fighting group, nipping at fingers and bums.
John’s wild eyes found Crispin’s. They ducked flying debris and men being pushed over tables, feet high in the air. They side-stepped a particularly nasty engagement where two men had pulled their daggers but fortunately were too drunk to do any serious damage to one another.
Just as they reached the entrance, John was yanked away from Crispin’s grasp. Fergus had returned and dragged John into the midst of the tavern. Rykener looked back at Crispin with widened eyes.
‘Dammit,’ Crispin muttered. He shoved his way through, grabbed Fergus by the shoulder, and spun him. ‘The lady isn’t interested.’
Nose bruised and dripping with blood, Fergus didn’t bother answering. He drew back his fist, but Crispin leaned in, balled his own fist, and punched the man’s belly hard.
Fergus doubled over with an expelled, ‘Oof!’ and John wrenched away from his grip, scrambling behind Crispin and glaring at Fergus over his shoulder.
Crispin turned, but Fergus wasn’t done. He dove forward, shoving his shoulder and head into Crispin, and he and John tumbled backward into a servant with a tray. The tray’s contents scattered and splashed everyone near it.
Crispin shook his head and looked up, finding that same toothless woman blinking down at him. ‘Now you’ve gotten on Fergus’s bad side,’ she said, shaking her head. She glanced up in time to see Fergus barreling down on them and yelped while skittering out of the way, skirts flying and pimpled bum exposed as she went.
Crispin rolled out of the way. Still on his back, he jabbed his feet and shoved them into Fergus’s chest, whose head was down like an ox’s, pushing stubbornly forward. Crispin pushed harder, but Fergus kept coming. Until John broke a jug over his head. Ale spilled around the man’s eyes and cheeks, blending with the blood from a cut on his bald pate.
John wrestled Crispin to his feet and pulled on him. ‘Come on! Let’s away!’ Crispin staggered after him and they made it through the door at last. They stumbled into the lane and looked back, even as more men hurled through the door, still fighting into the street.
Crispin and John exchanged glances. They didn’t have to speak as they both suddenly cut up the road and back to Westminster, away from the fracas.
They finally stopped and leaned against a stone wall, catching their breaths.
Crispin thought John might be hurt, might be crying at first, but the man was laughing instead. ‘That was the stupidest affray I’ve ever had the misfortune to be part of.’
Crispin wiped his face with his hand and looked at his palm. No blood. Just ale. He nodded and stood up straight. ‘I have to agree with you.’
‘Ah, Crispin. It’s never a dull moment with you, is it?’
‘You thought it would be boring.’
‘I must confess.’ He smiled. ‘I shall never underestimate a simple task that involves you ever again.’
‘Hmpf,’ Crispin grunted, straightening his coat.
‘Where to now?’
‘How about you return to London and let me continue with this investigation.’
‘Oh no, Crispin! I’m having a marvelous time. And without Jack, well. Perhaps you need someone seeing after you.’
‘John …’
‘Please, Crispin. You look like you could use a friend.’
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. ‘But with you … looking like that …’
‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’ He felt his coif, which had gone askew, and restored it to the center of his head. After all, he didn’t have long hair like a woman to tuck up into it, and that would surely give the game away. ‘Is my gown all right?’
‘It’s … it’s fine. But I’d rather you were in tunic and stockings.’
‘But this is better. I’m in disguise.’
‘It’s not better!’
‘Hush, Crispin.’ John looked around, but the passersby ignored them. ‘You’ll spoil everything.’
‘God’s blood, John! This is not a game. My … Jack Tucker is in danger.’
‘I know.’ He grew solemn and blessedly silent, merely watching Crispin, waiting for him to decide what next to do.
‘I must go back to the beginning,’ Crispin muttered at last. What had he been about to investigate when he left Westminster Abbey? ‘Explosive powder.’
‘Explosive powder? What is that?’
‘It was used to destroy the fabricated Stone. I was about to investigate where such powder could be obtained.’
‘Explosive powder is generally used for what?’
‘Cannon. Gonnes.’
‘For … gonnes?’
‘Yes.’ Crispin moved toward a shop wall and leaned against it. He felt as if he were running in circles, getting nowhere. He scrubbed his face with callused palms and rested his head back against the plaster. Gray and overcast, the sun made no shadows along the street edges.
‘Hmm,’ said Rykener, resting beside him. ‘I know of a man who is a gonner. He and I … well.’
Crispin kept his eyes fixed on the sky.
‘He will help me if I ask him. Shall we go … but no. I should go alone. I do not think he would like my bringing someone along.’
Crispin pushed away from the wall. A break at last! ‘I need to know where one might easily obtain the powder. Can it be bought? And where?’
He nodded. ‘How shall I find you? Your lodgings on the Shambles?’
‘Yes. I pray to God I shall be safely delivered there soon.’
‘Be careful, Crispin. For Jack’s sake.’
‘I will try.’
Rykener made his way down the rutted road toward London, his skirts disappearing amongst the crowd. He glanced worriedly over his shoulder toward Crispin.
Thoughts of his lodgings sounded good to him, until Crispin thought of how empty they would be without Jack. That boy had truly gotten under his skin. He supposed he was more than an apprentice when it got down to it. He considered Jack something like family. And why not? He was not a lord to bequeath his worldly goods to heirs. He had no heirs and no goods. Save for his sword now, and his family ring. And a certain thorn from a religious relic. Perhaps even more valuable than sword and ring combined, but knowing Jack, he would never part with any of it. No, he could give the boy little else for his years of service … except his life. Yes, now was the time to use all his wiles and find that wretched Stone. ‘I wish I’d never heard of the Stone of Destiny,’ he muttered, stepping out into the street.
He had to clutch at hope. He had to believe that the Stone was still within reach. Still in Westminster or London. And if it was, he would find it. And rub the finding of it in King Richard’s face.