Dark Fire

I gripped the sides of the boat as the great bridge, crowded with houses, loomed up, but the wherryman steered us deftly through and we floated on downriver past Billingsgate, where the big seagoing ships lay docked, past the looming mass of the Tower of London. Then we passed the new naval docks at Deptford, and I stared in wonder at the king's great warship Mary Rose, in for repair, her enormous masts and rigging soaring high as steeples above the surrounding buildings.

Beyond Deptford signs of habitation ended and the river broadened, the far bank growing distant to the view. Wastes of marsh and reeds crowded to the water's edge. The occasional wharves we passed were mostly abandoned, for shipworking was concentrated upriver now.

'That's it,' Barak said at length, leaning over the side. A little way off I saw a crumbling jetty rising on wooden piers. Behind, a space of weed-strewn earth cleared from the surrounding reed beds fronted a large, tumbledown wooden shed.

'I expected something larger,' I said.

'My master chose it because it was out of the way.'

The wherryman guided the little boat to the jetty, grasping at a ladder fixed to the end. Barak climbed nimbly up. I followed more carefully.

'Come back for us in an hour,' Barak told the boatman, passing him his fare. He nodded and cast off, leaving us alone. I looked round. Everything was silent and still, the surrounding reeds whispering in the light breeze, richly coloured butterflies flitting among them.

'I'll just check the shed,' Barak said, 'in case some vagabond has made a home there.'

As he went to peer through the warped boards of the shed, something dangling from a ring in an iron bollard caught my eye. A thick, knotted hemp rope, such as might be used to tie up a boat, hung over the end of the jetty. I drew it up. There were only about two feet of rope; the end was charred. It had been burnt right through.

Barak rejoined me. 'All clear.' He passed me a leathern bottle. 'A drink?'

'Thank you.' I unstoppered it and took a draught of small beer. Barak nodded at the rope which I still held. 'That's all that's left of the boat I tied up there.'

'Tell me,' I said quietly.

He led me into a patch of shade cast by the shed. He looked out over the river for a moment, then took another draught of beer and began his tale. He told the story with more fluency than I would have expected, a sense of wonder overcoming his usual brashness.

'Back in March my master told me to buy an old crayer, in my own name, and have it brought down here. I found one, a big thirty-foot tub, and had it rowed down and moored here.'

'I travelled from Sussex to London in a crayer once.'

'You know what they're like then. Long, heavy barges. This one was a big solid thing, with sail and oars, that used to carry coal down the coast from Newcastle. Bonaventure, she was called.' He shook his head. 'She was to have an adventure all right.

'Like I said, my master chose this place because it was out of the way. He asked me to be here at first light on a March morning, when hopefully there wouldn't be any river traffic, and wait for him. He told me I might see something strange. "More likely, though," he said, "you won't."

'Anyway, I rode down here before dawn, and damned difficult it was, following the trackways through these marshes in the dark. The old crayer was where I'd moored her, for she wasn't worth anyone stealing. I tied Sukey up and walked about, stamping my feet to keep warm as the sun came up. The strange noises those river birds make as the day starts, they made me jump a few times.

'Then I heard horses' hooves, and a creaking sound, and through the reeds I saw my master approaching on horse-back. It was strange seeing him out there. He had a lowering look on him, kept glaring at the two men accompanying him. They were on horseback and one of the horses was pulling a cart with something heavy hidden under a pile of sacking.

'They got to the wharf at last and dismounted. I got a good look at the Gristwoods for the first time. I thought them poor folk, God rest them.'

I nodded. 'Michael was an unqualified attorney. The sort who deals with small cases, pushes business for the barristers.'

'Ay, I know that sort,' Barak said with a sudden sharpness that made me glance at him. 'They were both small, skinny men, kept glancing at my master with apprehensive looks. I could see he thought all this beneath his dignity; I thought if they didn't satisfy him they'd smart for it. One of the brothers wore a skullcap and a long alchemist's robe, the complete paraphernalia, for all that it was spattered with mud from his trip through the marshes. My master had on a simple black cloak, as he does when he travels alone. He introduced me to the Gristwoods and the pair doffed their caps and scraped to me like I was an earl.' He laughed. 'I thought they were the crookedest-looking pair of arseholes I'd ever seen.