Revelation

'It was brave of you to go out on London Wall yesterday,' I said. 'I feared young Kite might turn on us, throw us down to the street.'

'That is not the sort of madness he has.'

'Who knows what mad folks may do?'

I looked at him. 'He was there, you know, our killer. I caught a glimpse of him, turning into the crowd, when you were in the gatehouse.'

'What did you see?'

'A glimpse of a brown doublet. He was tall, I think.'

'Might just have been someone in the crowd leaving.'

'I don't think so. I — I felt it. I feel he has me marked.'

Barak was silent for a moment. Then he asked, 'D'you think he's pretending to be a sectary somewhere, mixing with the radicals?'

'Ay, and garnering names of people to kill. The sectaries probably spend half their time cursing and criticizing backsliders.'

I spent the morning at court, and then we rode down into Westminster, moving slowly through the busy, narrow streets. A beggar came right up to me and I flinched away. 'On your way!' Barak shouted. 'It's all right,' he said, 'I had him marked.'

'Now I must look out for beggars, instead of avoiding their eyes all the time. An ironic justice.' I laughed bitterly.

We passed into the hive of activity that was the southern precinct. Barak looked round the buildings. 'The record said he lived on the same street as the White Oak Inn. See, it's over there.' He pointed to a small, two-storey house. It was in poor repair, the paint flaking from the frontage. On the other side of the house was a large double-door, locked and padlocked. 'Adrian Cantrell, Carpenter' was painted above it in faded letters. We looked at it. 'I thought all the ex-monks were offered church livings as well as their pensions,' he said. 'Yet neither of these two, Cantrell and Lockley, seems to have taken them.'

'Lockley was only a lay brother, he wouldn't have been offered a benefice. But Cantrell would. Quite a few did not take up the offer, though.'

'Maybe he got himself a wife.'

We crossed the muddy road.

I knocked on the door. There was no answer, and I was about to knock again when I heard shuffling footsteps from within. The door opened to reveal a gaunt young man in his late-twenties. He wore a scuffed leather jerkin over a shirt that was in sore need of a wash. His face was thin, framed by a shock of straw-coloured hair, and he wore wood-framed spectacles, the glass so thick his eyes were like blue watery pools.

'Are you Charles Cantrell?' I asked.

'Ay—'

I smiled to try and put him at ease. 'I have come on behalf of the King's assistant coroner. We hoped you might be able to help us with some questions. May we come in?'

'If you like.' The young man led us into the house, which had a sour, unwashed smell, up a dim corridor and into a parlour with only a table of rough planks and some hard stools for furniture. Through a dusty window we saw a yard, containing a small vegetable garden run to weeds, and a storage shed which must have been used by his father. I noticed Cantrell kept a couple of fingers against the wall as he walked, as though guiding himself. He waved us to the stools, sat down on one himself and faced us. His posture was slumped, dejected.

'I understand you were an assistant in the monks' infirmary at Westminster,' I said. 'Before the Dissolution. We are seeking information on your master, Dr Goddard.'

He screwed up his face in distaste. 'Is he dead?' he asked. For the first time, he seemed interested.

'No. But he needs to be traced, there are some enquiries to be made. We wondered if you might know where he was.'

Cantrell gave a short, bitter laugh. 'As though he'd keep in touch with me. He treated me like a louse. I didn't want to stop being a monk when they closed us down three years ago, but I was glad I'd never see him again.' He paused. 'Has he killed a patient? It wouldn't be the first time.'

'What?' I stared at him. 'What do you mean?'

Cantrell shrugged. 'There were one or two he sent to their rest before their time through bad treatment.' He paused. 'Goddard was a shit.'

'You know this for sure?' I asked.

He shrugged. 'There was nothing I could do, Abbot Benson wouldn't have listened to me. Besides — you didn't cross Goddard.'

'You were frightened of him?' Barak asked.

'You didn't cross him.' The boy swallowed, causing the prominent Adam's apple Dean Benson had mentioned to jerk up and down. He licked his lips nervously, and I caught a glimpse of grey teeth.

'We have spoken to Abbot Benson,' I said. 'He told us Goddard got you some glasses. You have problems in seeing?'

'Yes. He got me the glasses because I was useful.' I caught a bitter note in Cantrell's voice, though I could not read his expression properly; those swimming blue pools behind his lenses were disconcerting. 'He didn't want the trouble of training someone else up,' the young man continued. 'Not when the abbey was soon to go down.'

'How long were you a monk?'