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

“He was a writer and thinker of a generation or so before yours. He held that sufficiency, tranquility, and security are the necessary conditions for a prosperous state. I think there is much to be said for his position.”

The men agreed. Torney called for more beer and the young men waited for Sir John to continue. He waited for the beer, dealt with it, and resumed.

“Now the wool trade is providing sufficiency for England, and the strength of The Staple has provided a certain amount of tranquility and security as well. The recent Treaty of Bretigny bids fair to give us the sort of peace which may continue the prosperity of the state. But if The Staple is destroyed, or seriously damaged, all of this will be undone. Much as you small merchants dislike or envy The Staple, you know that the bulk of revenue for governing England comes from Staple customs payments on wool, leather, and tin. We cannot do without it.”

Clark Torney voiced his hearty agreement. Even the young men, who as small wool merchants were not part of The Staple and who tended to resent its power, were swayed by Sir John’s logic. Buckley suggested that Spaniards were behind the attack on The Staple. No one agreed with him.

“Spanish wool and English wool don’t compete,” Philpot said. “Theirs is next-best wool and can’t be used alone by any of the weavers of Ghent or Michlin. Except it be mixed with English wool, it is useless. So without English wool, Spanish wool would have no market for its product.”

Sir John thought it time to come to the point. “Are you planning to check on your wool tonight?” he asked.

“Yes. We usually go an hour or two after supper, but it ain’t easy getting around a strange town in the dark.”

“Do you go armed?”

“Each of us has a musket.”

Sir John frowned. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I don’t like firearms,” Sir John said. “There’s no telling who’s going to get shot. I thought I might come with you tonight, but not if you are using muskets.”

Eager to have Sir John’s help, Bill Stace said, “We wouldn’t need to take them if you didn’t want.” He looked at his fellow merchants, who nodded agreement.

“Good,” said Sir John. “Arm yourself with daggers or clubs. I have my sword. We’ll set out at your usual time, and when you’ve secured your property, we’ll go after the vandals at a place where I think we can find them.”

The ginger cakes were gone, so they drank a final round of beer and then set off for their rooms to prepare for the night’s adventure.

Sir John came down dressed for the work of the night. He found the young merchants dressed as if they were going to a fair. They all wore their best boots, so tightly laced as to make walking elegant and running impossible. Buckley actually wore a Flemish beaver hat. Philpot and Stace also wore fresh clothes which looked as if they had been newly bought from some booth at a Flemish fair. All three wore gloves, and Buckley had lace on his cuffs.

“Do you realize,” Sir John asked, “that it’s so damned dark out there that no one will be able to see you?”

They missed the point entirely and Philpot replied, “Of course. The moon has been dying for four days past half moon and there’s a beastly fog from the sea, but we can find our way. Don’t worry.”

Sir John shrugged. It was clear that any walk through a strange town was an occasion for these young men and they dressed for it regardless. He hoped they did not underestimate the seriousness of their undertaking. Ruffians who attack storehouses, steal bales of wool, set fire to buildings, and assault customs officers were not likely to respect the persons of honest wool merchants met in dark and deserted streets at night.

Clark Torney saw them off and promised that his servant would be on hand to readmit them when they returned. “This reminds me,” he reminisced, “of the days when King Edward brought his army to Calais. Another writer stayed with me then, a young poet named Geoff Chaucer, who was in the service of Prince Lionel. He used to slip through Calais at night and go across the Channel and back with secret dispatches. The French caught him and Prince Lionel had to pay his ransom. I showed him a copy of your Travels and he was much impressed.”

Sir John paused going out the door and said, “That’s the first you’ve mentioned it. You must tell me more when we have time. For now there is dire business ahead and I must deal with it promptly.”

And so he left the candlelit house of Clark Torney and plunged into the Stygian blackness of a fog-wrapped Calais.