Ian Morson [William Falconer Mystery 05] Falconer and the Great Beast (pdf)

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trembling, and his heart fluttered in his chest.
By the power and virtue of God and the Lord Jesus
Christ, King of Kings, know I am the greatest monarch
under the Heavens. Seventy-two longs are under my rule,
and my empire extends to the three Indias, including
Farther India, where lies the body of Saint Thomas. In my
dominions are the unclean nations whom Alexander
Magnus walled up amongst the mountains of the North,
and who will come forth in latter days. There are giant ants
that dig for gold, the Fountain of Youth, pebbles that give
out light, a Sea of Sand and Rivers of Stone. When I go to
war I will be followed by ten thousand knights, and one
hundred thousand foot. Twelve archbishops sit at my right
hand, and twenty bishops at my left. I have now conceived
a desire to visit the Holy Sepulchre, and fight the enemies
of the Cross. Prepare for my coming.
But this is & De Beaujeu was not sure he dared say the name,
so the Grand Master said it for him.
Prester John.
De Beaujeu felt a chill run up his spine that had nothing to do
with the coldness of the room in which the two men sat.
Falconer was surprised that the normally circumspect de Beaujeu
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appeared distracted, almost careless, when he emerged from the
cheap tavern in Torold s Lane. He had prepared himself for a
long, dull, fruitless night hidden in the empty dwelling almost
opposite the tavern. The ramshackle house, roofless and without
any boards on the beams of the upper floor, was a fortuitous
hiding place, and Falconer had settled down close to the narrow
window looking out on to the lane. The shutters hung on broken
hinges, but prevented the casual passer-by from seeing him. De
Beaujeu was no casual observer, however, and Falconer was
worried that following him unseen would be like trying to hide an
elephant on the flat plain of Port Meadow.
Soon, his limbs felt stiff, and his back began to ache, but he
dared not leave his post at the window for fear of missing de
Beaujeu. The tavern was ill-frequented, with only the poorest
forced to drink its badly brewed and often stale ale. So there was
little happening in the lane to divert the bored and hungry
Falconer. He watched a ragged individual enter, a hole in his
breech-clout displaying his arse to the world. And then, after
what seemed an eternity, he watched the same man leave, wiping
his lips and spitting on the hard-packed earth of the lane as if
trying to get the taste of the ale out of his mouth. There was no
sound of revelry from inside the tavern Falconer imagined the
ale was not conducive to being cheerful. He was about to give in
to hunger pangs and get the fatty pork parcel out of his purse
when he saw another man emerge from the tavern. His clothes
were patched and worn, but they hung from a well-built frame.
As the man walked casually down the lane towards the teaching
schools, Falconer could see he was a confident, self-assured
individual entirely unlike anyone else he had seen in this quarter.
His hair was long, dark and well-cut. It was de Beaujeu, and he
was being unusually careless about blending in with his
environment. Stuffing the soggy bread and pork back into his
purse, Falconer eased some life into his aching limbs and followed
the Templar.
The western end of Torold s Lane gave on to the street that ran
along the inner edge of the north walls. A few yards to the left
was Smith Gate, and it was here that de Beaujeu was heading.
Falconer hung back at the end of Torold s Lane to see what the
Templar was up to. The area round the gate was lit by the flames
from the watchman s torch, and de Beaujeu strode confidently
into the circle of light. He bent over the watchman where he sat
at his post, but no conversation ensued. All Falconer heard was
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a soft jangle of keys, and then he saw de Beaujeu stepping over
to the gate. In a moment he had inserted the heavy key, turned
it and had left the city unobserved. Or so he assumed. Falconer
hurried over to the watchman, expecting to find him dead. But
when he got close enough for his weak eyes to see clearly, it was
obvious the old fool was merely fast asleep, his misshapen bald
head bobbing on his chest. Falconer tried the little wicket door
set in the larger Smith Gate through which the Templar had gone,
but it was locked. De Beaujeu had secured it from the outside.
Falconer had to think quickly. The way the Templar had
approached the watchman suggested he knew the man would
be asleep. If that was the case, it was likely he had used this
means of sneaking out of the city before possibly even on the
night before Chimbai was killed. And if he still intended his
activity to be a secret, he would return the same way before the
old man ended his watch at dawn. Falconer could wait for him,
but in the mean time, what was he doing? Was he carrying out
another murder? Was Guchuluk to be his victim this time? He
would check with Peter Bullock to see if the Tartar was still in
his tent. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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