The Assassin King

Anna texted Oliver about a lift. He sent back a pair of happy-faced emojis and a thumbs up. The Scene of Crime team arrived before they could set off, however. Elias begged a few minutes to show them the new sites he needed investigating, so Anna went inside the house. The silver pennies had assured her of a starring role in Oliver’s documentary whether she wanted it or not, and only cowardice was now stopping her from seizing the opportunity. But she’d forgotten so much about the Fens and John’s crown jewels that she needed a refresher.

She took a cardboard box from the pantry through to her uncle’s study. The books she was after were mostly already out on the floor. She chose eight of them, including a copy of her uncle’s own book, then checked through the papers on his desk, quickly becoming absorbed by the articles and maps, as well as by the old excavation reports he had out for places like Byard’s Leap and Temple Bruer.

Intriguingly, she found among them a letter from an address in Swineshead, the small Lincolnshire town in which King John had spent the night after losing his baggage train. And while the abbey he’d stayed at had been torn down centuries ago, a single relic from it had survived in private hands: a statue supposedly of a monk called Brother Simon, accused by some of having laced King John’s cider with poison he’d harvested from the skin of a toad. It was pure folklore, of course. Toad venom produced completely different symptoms, and John had anyway already been sick with the dysentery that killed him before arriving at the abbey. Yet the story had gained enough traction for Caxton to publish it in a pamphlet and for Shakespeare to put it in a play.

Uncle Dun had naturally hankered to see this statue, and so had written twice to its owners many years ago. He’d never even heard back from them, however, and he’d been too proud to ask a third time. Yet, presumably prompted by Oliver’s documentary, he’d given it another shot, and had received a charming reply from the new owner inviting him to drop by whenever he so wished.

Anna looked up. Elias was in the doorway, hands stuffed in pockets. ‘Sure,’ she said. She gathered up her uncle’s papers and added them to her box, then lugged it out to the car.

‘The vault, the bodies,’ said Elias, as they pulled away. ‘It goes no further, right?’

‘I already gave you my word.’

‘I know. I’m just saying. Your mate Oliver has a gift for making people open up. A scoop like this could win him his old job back.’

She turned to gaze at him. ‘What do you mean, win it back? Did he lose it?’

‘You didn’t know? Sorry, I just assumed. It caused a major stink.’

‘Not up in York, it didn’t. What happened?’

‘Okay, so your mate used to front our local consumer rights show. You know the kind of thing, I’m sure. Shoddy extensions, botched surgeries, pensioners cheated of their savings. He’d go confront the baddies on camera, seek justice for the little guy. He pissed off a lot of nasty people that way, but small-fry, you know, not big enough to kick back.’ A farmer was tilling the field beside the lane, the breeze blowing the churned up mud and dirt like bushfire smoke across their path. ‘Then he moved up a couple of leagues, by taking on our county’s most notorious slumlord. His apartments are just soul destroying. Infested with rats and roaches, broken boilers, peeling wallpaper, leaking ceilings, rising damp, every horror you can name. Squeezes his tenants ruthlessly too. And heaven help anyone who tries to challenge him. You wouldn’t believe how many end up in hospital. Or worse.’

‘Christ. Why doesn’t someone do something?’

‘Your mate tried, to be fair. But the man’s too rich and well connected. His father-in-law isn’t just a hereditary peer, he’s also a former government minister who sits on all the boards around here, and is mates with everyone who matters. Word is he gets paid a small fortune to run interference.’

‘And he got Oliver fired?’

‘So I heard. For sure the programme got binned. And your mate was out on his ear shortly afterwards.’

They reached the hotel, pulled into an empty bay. Anna collected her box of books from the back then thanked Elias for the lift, only for him to come inside with her. ‘Forgotten already, have you?’ he asked, amused. ‘Your tip about guests checking out first thing on Monday morning?’

‘Oh hell. Don’t tell them that was me.’

‘You borrowed their metal detector at some ungodly hour. I reckon they’ll work it out.’

She went upstairs to dump her books on her bed, then knocked on Oliver’s door. He was on the phone, discussing plans for some filming he’d arranged for Newark Castle tomorrow morning. He beckoned her in while he finished up. ‘So what did Elias want?’ he asked.

‘Just a question about the barn. You sure you’re okay giving me a lift? I kind of ambushed you.’

‘Of course. A pleasure, a joy, a treat. Oh, and I’ve something fun to show you.’ He went to his desk, revived his laptop. Anna was already on its screen, standing in the pit holding that first silver penny. The light was gloomy, her hair was tousled and she had smuts of dirt on her nose and forehead, yet her face was aglow from the early morning cool and the thrill of discovery. He set the clip playing and she began talking about ancient coinage not just with excitement, but with a confidence and fluency that frankly amazed her.