Flynt did not have the leisure to lounge in the tavern and reminisce further over old times with Gabriel, pleasurable though that may be. Neither could he simply wait for John Duck to come to them, so decided they would go to him. They set off towards Lincoln’s Inn Fields and thence to Chancery Lane and into Little White’s, again the shade providing welcome respite from the glare of the sun, finding the fencing master in his school, crossing foils with a pale, slim youth whose long black hair was tied back with a red ribbon. Their movements were smooth and graceful, the youth being most expert in the cut and thrust of the light weapon. Duck’s style this day differed hugely from the blunt force he had used against Flynt, and presumably the Trasks, for this was showman swordplay. It was polite and delicate, each thrust, each parry, carefully placed, the body suitably positioned for how it looked to the observer. A real sword fight was grim and brutal, with every move designed to put the other man down no matter what. As Flynt had learned the day before, John Duck was proficient in both styles.
‘Very stylish,’ Gabriel remarked.
‘Deft,’ said Flynt.
‘Nice footwork,’ Gabriel said as the young man danced away, then moved back to cross blades once again. ‘Wouldn’t last a minute in a real fight.’
‘I don’t think that young man will ever find himself in such a situation. I believe the closest he will come to it will be harsh words with some servant.’
The lesson ended, the young man thanked John Duck with a nod and walked to the corner of the room where his coat and boots awaited him. He sat down and slipped off the soft, lightweight footwear he wore for the lesson, paying no attention as Flynt and Gabriel approached Duck, who was wiping sweat from his face with a rag lifted from another chair.
‘You received my message then, Mr Flynt?’
‘Where did you leave it?’
‘I sent it to both the Golden Cross and to the Black Lion, as you instructed.’
He must have missed both. ‘You have something for me then?’
Duck held up a finger and glanced at the young man, who had stamped into his boots and was now thrusting his arms into his coat. ‘Thank you, your grace, you will return the same time seven days hence?’
The young man inclined his head in the affirmative and walked to the exit. His tread, even in his boots, was light and airy. Flynt had heard that at the French court it was fashionable for the ladies to appear as if they glided rather than walked and this young noble seemed to do just that. He barely glanced at Flynt and Gabriel, perhaps instinctively recognising them as common and therefore beneath his notice. Even his acknowledgement of his fencing master was haughty, no breath being wasted with an audible response, his head movement the merest hint of a nod requiring the least effort, and then he was gone.
Gabriel smiled. ‘Talkative fellow, is he not?’
The observation seemed to require neither response nor amplification so none was given. Instead Flynt asked, ‘Has Sally told you where Mr Templeton is?’
Duck was apologetic. ‘She did not, I regret to say. I don’t believe she knows.’
Disappointed, Flynt stifled a curse. He had been certain she would have information.
Duck picked up a roll of paper from the chair beside him. ‘She did have this, though. Templeton gave it to her, telling her that should she ever be in serious trouble then she was to bring it to me.’ He handed the parchment to Flynt. ‘To be frank, I know not what to make of it.’
Flynt unravelled the paper to stared at a series of apparently meaningless ink marks. ‘It’s a cipher of some kind.’
Gabriel peered over his shoulder. ‘My God, this Templeton was a cautious fellow, was he not? He even communicated with his lady love in code.’
‘The man is frightened.’
‘Sally said that if it became necessary I would know of someone who could make sense of it,’ Duck explained.
‘And do you?’ Flynt asked.
Duck shrugged. ‘Nobody springs immediate to mind but I have many pupils in the law. Perhaps one of them has a mind sharp enough to handle such a cipher.’
Flynt studied the lines of dashes, obliques and dots. ‘May I keep this?’
Gabriel asked, ‘Do you know of someone with a sharp mind who could decode it, Jonas?’
Flynt grinned. ‘The sharpest mind in England…’
Sir Isaac Newton’s office was filled with books, maps and study materials. A telescope stood in the corner and one wall bore shelves that bowed under the weight of hefty tomes and a variety of ephemera, including a wooden globe, a sextant and piles of parchment. The handsome dark oak desk was covered in papers and quills. Although the window looked out upon Crane Court, there was a sense of otherworldliness in this room, as if it were detached from the reality beyond the glass. This was a place of thought, not deed, where the mysteries of life, theology, science and – Flynt had heard rumoured – alchemy were sifted, probed and solved. The drapes, however, were somewhat incongruous in the setting, for they were a most vivid crimson. An armchair and another more workmanlike chair behind the desk were also upholstered in fabric of a similar flaming hue. Flynt mused that they wouldn’t look out of place in Mother Grady’s apartments.
Newton studied the sheet of paper that John Duck had given them.
‘Can you decipher it, Sir Isaac?’
Newton gave Flynt a forbidding look. ‘Of course I can, do you take me for a simpleton, sir? A child with his letters could solve this puzzle.’
Flynt took no offence at the man’s tone, for he was known to be mercurial of temperament.
‘It is a cipher of the simplest kind,’ the scientist continued as he settled behind his desk and pulled a blank sheet towards him, then dipped a quill into the ink. ‘And you say young Templeton penned it?’
‘That’s what we are told.’
Newton frowned. ‘I would have thought him capable of something more complex than this. This is a fairly simple pigpen cipher, a substitution cryptograph, which replaces letters with symbols, which in turn form part of a grid. It’s an ancient form of communication by subterfuge and I would say this one is based on a code said to have been used by the Knights Templar. It is derived from variations of the shape of a Maltese cross, the symbol of those gentlemen, as you can see.’
Flynt saw nothing of the sort but he kept his silence as Newton began to scribble words on the blank sheet, his eyes darting between the code to his own writing, occasionally crossing out something he believed to be in error and beginning again. It took him only a few minutes before he sat back, placed his quill in the pot, and steepled his fingers before him as he studied first Flynt then Gabriel.
‘Have we met before, sir?’
‘I think not, Sir Isaac,’ Gabriel said, ‘but I am honoured to make the acquaintance of a gentleman of such eminence.’
Newton grunted but obviously enjoyed the compliment. ‘I feel I know your features.’
Gabriel’s smile was easy. ‘I have that sort of face.’
Newton deliberated upon this for a moment then inclined his arched fingers towards the document. ‘Young Templeton was most afeared, it seems. Did he have good reason?’
‘I believe he did,’ Flynt said.
Newton stared at the words before him then handed the sheet to Flynt. ‘Then you must read this for yourself.’
Gabriel edged closer in order to see the message. Newton’s handwriting was somewhat spidery but legible, the various scores and alterations he had made in no way detracting from the sense of the missive.
My dear Sally,
If you read these words then it means you have been discovered and for that I am heartily sorry. I am wracked with guilt, not just over the sin most grievous that I have committed but also the position in which I have now placed you. You know I have felt remorse concerning my occupation and it was necessary for me to take myself away in order to restore the balance of my mind. I have explained to you why I could not allow you to accompany me. It is best to be as distant from me as possible until this situation be resolved, and resolve it I shall.
If your dear brother is the man I believe he is, he will have you in his keeping. Should events now make it necessary for you to be spirited from town, then there is one I trust implicitly who will assist you.
Flynt read the name and sighed.
‘Do you know the individual he names?’ Newton asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Flynt replied, ‘I do indeed.’