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

“Mine will have a fat ear tomorrow,” Stace replied.

“And mine a knot on his noggin,” Philpot added.

“Good,” said Sir John. “Let us remember that. Now I think we can return to our lodging.”

Doubtless his words stirred some curiosity in the three wool merchants, but he gave them no opportunity to question him, for he talked all the way back.

On rising at noon the next day, Sir John found that the story of the night’s encounter had spread throughout the house and beyond. Without being at all modest about their own exploits, his companions had made him the hero even though he hadn’t struck a blow. Partly this was because of the magical effect his sword had on the enemy, but mostly it was because he had been their general. They recognized him as the brains of the affair. The household greeted him with a cheer.

“Sir Peter has summoned all the wool merchants into his presence,” Torney told him. “Since you are a member of the Fellowship of The Staple, I guess you’d better go too.”

“And so I shall. It was largely at my insistence that the gathering was called. Sir Peter Courtenay and I plan to solve the mystery of who is behind this attempt to undermine The Staple.”

“For all your traveling, you are still English,” Torney commented. “The Irish create mysteries. The Germans wallow in mysteries. And the Danes hate mysteries. But only the English insist on solving mysteries. Well, good luck to you.”

The wool merchants were assembled in the governor’s hall with Sir Peter himself presiding. The Fellowship of The Staple was foremost, with a crowd of smaller merchants crowded at the rear.

Sir Peter, an impetuous man at all times, moved things along at a fast pace and soon had complete reports from all the merchants who had sustained damage. Then he called on Buckley, Philpot, and Stace to tell what had happened the night before.

“Did you get a good look at the vandals?” he asked each of them. They had, but they did not know who they were. They were dismissed and worked their way back among their fellow small merchants.

Sir Peter turned abruptly and said, “Well, Sir John?”

Sir John was beside the governor and now moved forward. “I saw them, too, and I had never seen them before. But I have seen them recently. They are in this hall!”

There was a commotion and the governor’s men seized three persons who tried to flee. The three ’prentices of Charles Swynford were dragged forward. One had a swollen and badly damaged ear. Another had a bandage about his head. The third had one hand bandaged.

Sir John explained. “Charles Swynford was among the first to report losses, but he suffered little. He claimed six fells stolen. I think they may turn up when you inspect his goods. And he had a bale of wool burnt. One bale of wool! Why would vandals burn one bale of wool when they could have burned the warehouse down? He burned it himself, of course, to throw off suspicion. And he probably has all the wool stolen from the others. He meant to drive up the price by destroying his competitors, and he might have succeeded if you hadn’t acted promptly.”

“I’ve a mind to treat Charles Swynford as King Edward wanted to treat the six burghers of Calais!” an enraged Sir Peter roared.

“His head wouldn’t be worth much to you,” Sir John replied. “But his goods would. Why not declare all his goods forfeit to the Crown and send him back to England a beggar. That would be the worst penalty you could give a greedy merchant.”

“Done!”

The governor invited Sir John to dine that evening, but knowing that Sir Peter was a man to go to extremes, the great traveler begged off until after Lent.

“I wish to find out more from my host Clark Torney about a certain poet he met during negotiations for the Treaty,” he explained.

Prey Don’t Tell by Jere Hoar

Department of First Stories

Jere Hoar has worn many hats in his working life: editor, reporter, part-time lawyer, and teacher. The events of 1994 entitle him to wear one more: fiction writer. It was shortly after Mr. Hoar’s unpublished novel was named a finalist in the 1994 Hemingway First Novel Contest that he received the news that EQMM had accepted “Prey Don’t Tell.” We welcome the author, who hails from Oxford, Mississippi, to the ranks of EQMM firsts...

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