The Hand of Justice

He left the conclave and went to the storeroom where he kept his medicines. Michael followed, intrigued to know what he planned to do. In the bedchamber next door, Quenhyth and Redmeadow were studying. Redmeadow was none the worse for his skirmish the previous evening, although he had expressed a reluctance to leave the College that day.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, when both students came to see why their teacher and Michael were crammed into the small room.

‘I am going to test this phial, to see whether it contains poison,’ explained Bartholomew.

‘Why?’ asked Quenhyth. ‘The label says it is Water of Snails. Used sometimes for coughs,’ he added triumphantly, pleased to show he had remembered his lessons.

‘It was the only thing Warde drank that his colleagues did not on the night of his death,’ said Michael. ‘So, we need to determine what is in it.’

‘It is a good idea to test it,’ said Quenhyth approvingly. ‘It came from Rougham, and we all know what kind of man he is. He may well have murdered Warde with “medicine” that he claimed would make him better.’ His eyes gleamed, and Bartholomew saw he was delighted with the notion that the hated Rougham might be unveiled as a villain. ‘I will assess it for you. It will not take a moment.’

‘How?’ asked Bartholomew curiously, wanting to know why he seemed so confident of success in so short a time.

‘I will feed it to the College cat. If the cat dies, then we shall know Rougham fed Warde poison. If the cat lives, then Rougham is innocent.’

‘And what about the cat?’ asked Bartholomew, who was fond of the burly tabby that prowled the kitchens in search of rats. ‘What has it done to deserve being used in such a manner?’

‘Its life is unimportant in the advancement of science,’ declared Quenhyth grandly. ‘But you seem to believe that Rougham is guilty, or you would not be worried about it.’

‘I do not think any such thing,’ said Bartholomew, afraid Quenhyth might start another dangerous rumour. ‘But leave the cat alone. If I find out you have harmed it, I shall see you are expelled.’

‘And I will run you through with Deynman’s sword,’ added Redmeadow. His voice was hard and cold, and Bartholomew was certain he meant what he said.

Quenhyth ignored him. ‘I am only offering to do what you have taught me: experiment and explore the evidence with an open mind. And besides, it is only a cat.’

‘I like cats,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘Especially that one. So keep your hands off it.’

‘Very well,’ said Quenhyth sulkily. ‘But how else will you prove Rougham is a killer?’

‘I am not trying to prove Rougham is a killer,’ said Bartholomew, becoming exasperated. ‘I am trying to determine whether this Water of Snails contains an ingredient that might have hastened Warde’s demise. That is a different thing altogether.’ He did not explain that finding poison in the Water of Snails would not leave Rougham as the sole suspect for murder: there was Paxtone, too.

‘Rougham is a killer, though,’ said Quenhyth matter-of-factly. ‘And he is stupid. He told Redmeadow he believes in the existence of the secretum secretorum. Can you credit such nonsense?’

‘A secretum secretorum would come in very useful,’ said Redmeadow, who clearly did not share his room-mate’s scepticism about the fabled cure-all. ‘I would like to own one myself, but not nearly as much as Rougham would. He is desperate for one.’

‘Then he will remain desperate,’ said Bartholomew shortly. ‘Because such a thing does not exist.’

‘It does!’ objected Redmeadow. ‘Bacon says so. I read it myself.’

‘You cannot believe all you read in books, Redmeadow,’ said Michael tartly. ‘Not even Bacon’s.’

‘Did you notice signs of poisoning as Warde died, sir?’ asked Quenhyth, changing the subject. ‘I do not think you did, or you would have denounced Rougham immediately — or he would have used the opportunity to denounce you.’

‘Not all poisons have obvious symptoms,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That is why they are popular with killers who want to conceal a murder.’

Bartholomew stood on a bench to retrieve a piece of equipment from the top shelf in his medicines room. It was a small metal stand with a shallow dish on top, and there was room underneath it to light a candle. He made sure the dish was clean by wiping it on his sleeve, then poured half the phial’s remaining liquid into it. His first task was to strengthen the solution by evaporation. Then he would use the concentrate to test for specific ingredients.

Because the candle provided a very gentle heat, it would be some time before the excess liquid boiled away, and Bartholomew accepted Quenhyth’s offer to monitor its progress. He and Michael went to wait in his bedchamber, where Redmeadow started to read aloud from the new copy of Bacon’s De erroribus medicorum.