Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Or go with you. Yes, I agree that Bruges or Antwerp wouldn’t help you none. Since The Staple is in the dark, I’d like to talk with some of the smaller merchants.”

Jorge seemed relieved. Just the presence of Sir John was comforting, but having him take part was downright encouraging. “Here’s a list of the hosts where we put up the merchants who don’t own homes. We have three of the small merchants with Clark Torney.”

He seemed about to go through the whole list, but Sir John broke in, “That sounds fine. If there’s room at Clark Torney’s I’d like to stay there and get to know the three who lodge there.”

Jorge was delighted, poured Sir John some more beer, and gave him directions for reaching Clark Torney’s house.

Sir John went first to see the governor of Calais, Sir Peter Courtenay, Knight of the Garter and a gallant but impetuous fighter. He welcomed Sir John and promised to see justice done if the culprits were caught, but he made it clear that the royal troops were for military action and The Staple would have to do its own police work. They talked for some time and made some plans.

That evening Sir John dined at the high table with his host and was glad to see that the three small merchants staying there had not been relegated to side tables but were beside him. They were young men, earnest and intent, but somewhat lacking in assurance. Richard Buckley of Broadway had made three trips to Calais and knew his way around. Elward Philpot and Bill Stace, both of Northleach, had made their first crossing. All three were in awe of the great traveler who had journeyed through Cathay on camel-back, had walked the Land of Promissin, and had talked with Saracen, Turk, and paynim in their own tongues.

“Do any of you have ’prentices?” Sir John asked.

They laughed. “That’s too high for us,” Bill Stace replied. “Ned and I have a man watching our fells with a musket and Dick here hired a local man to keep an eye on his until all is sold, but we do the business ourselves. Frederick Elthan has two ’prentices working for him, big louts but crafty. And Charles Swynford has three, but they didn’t save him from having six fells stole and a bale of wool burnt.”

This was the sort of thing Sir John wanted. “When did all this start?” he asked.

“It’s been going on for a couple of weeks, since two days after we landed. Lewis Tyburn had five sarplers cut into and the seals broke. Canvas where the wool was packed was slashed and bales throwed into the water. So most of us took precautions, but soon fire was set to the shed where Robert Picard had his wool stored. He’s a big merchant and he’d’ve lost all he had if his man hadn’t smelled sump-tin and raised a crew to put it out. Since then, every night it’s been sumptin and the customs officer was beat, too. Now there’s talk about moving The Staple out of Calais.”

“Who’s been hurt the most?”

“So far it’s been Tyburn and Picard that’s suffered the most loss.”

“And who hasn’t been hit yet?”

“None of the small merchants has been hurt. A couple of them is sleeping on their wool all night to protect it. Among the important merchants, Frederick Elthan of Lambeton hasn’t been bothered, but he’s worried. I seen him today and I can tell you, he’s worried.”

Before Sir John could continue the conversation, the meal arrived and Clark Torney himself pronounced the blessing. Sir John was delighted to see that it was English fare with nothing of Lent about it. There were puddings, an enormous goose, pastries, and plain beans of several sorts. The meal was served by two elderly male servants whom Sir John supposed to be French, though they never said a word.

They were commanded by Dame Torney, a large woman who sat at her husband’s right, spoke only to the servants but never looked at them, and whose eyes missed nothing. She was the only person at the table who seemed unimpressed by Sir John, and he mistrusted her greatly.

The great traveler was expected to entertain the feast with one of his marvelous stories, and some quirk of perversity led him to tell of the isles of Colcos and Lango whose lord, Yporcas, had a daughter who looked remarkably like an enormous dragon and lived in an old castle in a cave from which she emerged only twice or thrice a year. If any man were to have the courage to kiss her on the mouth, she would become fair and comely and he would become lord of the kingdom. So far as Sir John knew, several had died in the attempt, and none had succeeded.

The men of the company enjoyed the tale, but Dame Torney received it coldly.

As usual, they drank sparingly of the wine, but after the meal the men remained for ginger cakes and beer. Sir John intended to secure the help of the three young wool merchants to put an end to the menace to The Staple, but first he needed to take the measure of his potential allies and to learn more about circumstances. He approached his task with admirable indirection.

“Have any of you heard of Engelbert of Admont?”

None had.