Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery John Pilkington (story reading .TXT) 📖

Now, there was no more to be said. I watched the gloomy trow-master step away to speak briefly to his men. Then he was walking the gangplank on to his vessel, to disappear from sight. And a short while later, when the constable came puffing on to the quayside, I took farewell of the crew of the Last Hope, who delivered the prisoner into his hands and followed their captain back on board.

By now a small crowd had gathered, staring at the oddly-dressed captive who was seated on the wet ground with eyes lowered. Mercifully, the rain was easing off. The constable, meanwhile, having checked the prisoner’s bonds, drew close and addressed me.

‘Will you tell me what’s occurred, sir?’ He was a heavy-built man of middle years, perspiring heavily. ‘And do you have a warrant against this man?’

Indeed I did, I told him, producing the scrap of paper I had managed to scrawl out aboard the Last Hope, with an old quill loaned by Darrett. As I handed it over I made my explanation in brief, prompting a frown from the officer.

‘The charge is attempted murder?’ He looked up from the paper and eyed the prisoner. ‘Who is he?’

I told him what little I knew.

‘Then I must convey him to the castle, into the hands of Master Gwynne. Will you come too, and tell him what you’ve told me?’

‘I will,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Then I’ll get out of these sodden clothes. I intend to seek out Thomas March – I assume he is still Justice here?’

‘He is, sir,’ the other answered. ‘Do you know him?’

I nodded, impatient to be moving. Sensing my humour, the constable drew a truncheon from his belt and stepped towards Yakup, who tensed visibly. His gaze flew about, and for a moment I feared he would try and make some attempt at escape. But it was impossible: from all sides people regarded him with suspicion, if not hostility. The next moment he was hauled to his feet, stumbling as he stood up. And the silver charm at his belt swayed with him: the hand of Fatima, which was supposed to bring good luck to the wearer.

But Yakup’s luck, seemingly, had run out.

***

The old castle at Gloucester, long fallen into disrepair, is now used solely as a prison. It is close to the riverside, which meant that our walk was short. The prisoner was marched up to the gate, where a turnkey admitted us. Then we were entering the stone keep and tramping a dark passage until our charge was placed in a cell along with other men: there was no other choice, I learned. With no small relief to be rid of him, I then followed the constable to the keeper’s chamber, where a low fire burned despite the mild weather.

Here I made myself known to Master Daniel Gwynne. I was facing a cold, sallow-faced man, who somehow put me in mind of a lizard. Yet he was a gentleman of sorts, in passable clothes and a small if ill-fitting ruff about his long neck, who greeted me formally before gesturing me to a stool. As I sat down, I realised how long it was since I had set my rump on anything padded… that at least, was some comfort.

‘Belstrang?’ The keeper peered at me across his table. ‘I seem to recall the name, sir… will you enlighten me?’

I gave my former station at Worcester, and mentioned my acquaintance with Justice March, which produced a curt nod. Still in my damp clothes, I then provided the man with a concise account of events since my leaving Lydney, precisely a week before. Having ended the tale with Yakup’s attempt on my life, I awaited his response.

‘A Turk, you say?’ Gwynne was frowning. ‘Sent by the Sultan, to oversee a secret shipment of cannons. I confess I find that hard to believe.’

‘So did I,’ I answered. ‘And there’s a deal more to say about it, too.’ I was thinking of the Dutch merchantman in Bristol and what the wharfman had told me, about the vessel being bound for Hamburg. In my weariness I allowed these thoughts to distract me, before realising that the keeper was now regarding me suspiciously.

‘Yet such trade is not against the law, is it?’ He enquired. ‘With Constantinople, I mean. As far as I’m aware, we are not at war with the Grand Turk.’

I reminded him that the Mountford Foundries were in the service of the King, and as far as I knew, all their ordnance was supposed to be sent to the Royal Armouries at the Tower. I was on the point of telling him about the Waarheid’s destination too, but for some reason I did not.

‘Well, it’s a weighty business,’ the keeper allowed. ‘But you may count on me. I’ll question your Turk, and then decide on my best course.’

‘I would like to attend the interrogation,’ I said. ‘I want to know why – or rather, on whose orders – the man tried to kill me.’

But the other was displeased by that. ‘It’s my place, sir,’ he murmured, his reptilian eyes fixed on mine. ‘I have my means, which are private.’

At that, I stiffened. ‘Do you mean you’ll put him to hard question? I would remind you that torture is illegal in this country, without license from the King.’

‘Thank you, Master Belstrang,’ came the sardonic reply. ‘I believe I too know the law.’

With that, he sat back and waited; the meeting was over, and I was expected to withdraw. And yet, with true Belstrang stubbornness, I remained seated.

‘I insist on being present when the prisoner is questioned,’ I said. ‘I need to get to the nub of this matter, for the sake of Sir Richard