The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) (21 page)

For once, Silas was not on sentry duty, so he did not have to undergo an inquisition. At the door to his room, he reached into his pocket for the key. It was not there. He tried the other pocket. Not there either. ‘Damnation,’ he said out loud, ‘it’s in that shit-filled drain. And it’ll have to stay there.’

He returned to find Silas back at his post. Having offered a feeble lie for his condition and for the loss of the key, he was grudgingly given a replacement. ‘I keep
three keys for each lock, sir. One for the gentleman, one for me and one spare. Now you’ve lost yours, I’ve got no spare until I can get another made, and only the good Lord knows when that will be. The forges are all busy sharpening swords and shoeing horses.’

Inside his room at last, Thomas stripped off his foul clothes, washed himself down with water from the jug and tried to examine his shoulder. It hurt, but he could see no signs of a wound. Tomorrow he would be fine.

At dawn, the vague idea stirred again. In a longer text, there would be more than one letter sequence repeated. If he took the letter measurements between all repeated sequences of the same letters, he should find a common factor, suggesting the length of the keyword. To test this theory, he started by counting the number of different repeated sequences in the text, ignoring those of less than three letters. He found ten of them, including three repetitions of IFS. He could not be entirely sure that he had not missed any, but ten should be enough for a test. He drew a line under the repeated sequences and counted the letters separating each repetition of each sequence.

U
RF U
BD HE XQB TF KGA OEMD R
RFU
O TLC WMG LRB
WHT
R XHGORKZ IO KPW769 WA M
QFV
BVMF HPL ZFTD
RVV
57 4SEWMFREJ VGL SVKMGE 852 GTSC
WZTD
QE TIJG IVL GJT RA KDOE IK EOJAAQLV GGJR MQU IOIGSI GRQF HBFZG JGY
ALG EE OLWEEA GJR Y
IFS
1 82AEL2 64SGE SC
AAD
ZVY JP KP WXR JB JTN XBZ77 5XN
W WJ
BS LA LWAK371 EAIH TP
A
AD
RVV
BAP TWPVV AGDN
WWJ
URR VUT IW E
W HT
I QCT WY QDT37 1IE852 769UMHT RKC CONT WSGV WMG IEN DJEE KW IHV ZW PNU EAIH371 ZV GJR Y
IFS
S NQ DA BV NGGCVL LD SVMC IRLKW DN KMJ BS WINDU IITAE KW42177 5OX LCIVK IJM LXMV
IFS
PCI UT FFZ SEPI MZTNJQGCOW3 71E ZD
WZTD
QE SZGJ GYB LD 574SK
IFS
RVIV N GFL OX LC
QFV
WV AZPLCJJX NX IF TNU BG IHZA OP RJWGC

The results he wrote on a table, with the sequences in the left column, the letter distances he found for each in the second column, and the numbers three to ten across the top row, working on the assumption that the keyword would be more than two and less than eleven letters long.

Only the number five divided into all ten separations. The keyword must have five letters.

So delighted was he at the first hint of progress that Thomas almost forgot to hide his papers before hurrying to tell Abraham. He prised up the floorboard, put the papers in the space below it and replaced the pisspot on top. Then he picked up the pot and filled it up. Oddly, it reminded him of the king’s musketeers pissing down the barrels of their muskets to cool them down. That should keep prying eyes at bay. He locked his door and went to give Abraham the good news.

Expecting to be summoned straight in, he knocked loudly on Abraham’s door. When there was no response, he knocked again. Still no response. He tried the door, which was locked. Odd. Perhaps Silas would know where he was. He found Silas at his post. ‘Silas, Master Fletcher’s door is locked and he appears to be out. Do you know where he is?’

‘No, sir. Master Fletcher never goes out unaccompanied, and I haven’t seen him today. Perhaps he’s asleep.’

‘Have you a spare key to his rooms?’

‘I have, sir,’ replied Silas suspiciously, ‘but I’d prefer not to lose it. If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you and unlock the door myself.’ He took a large bunch of keys from a drawer and followed Thomas to the room.
They knocked again, but there was still no response. Silas found the right key and unlocked the door. Thomas entered first, and gasped. The room had been ransacked. Every one of Abraham’s books had been torn from its spine and thrown on the floor. His chair and table were in pieces, and his few clothes and other possessions were strewn about everywhere. Thomas went cold. What in the name of God had happened here?

He called out. ‘Abraham? Where are you?’ There was no reply. They went cautiously in, and tried the door to the small chamber where Abraham slept. It was unlocked. Thomas entered. On his blood-soaked bed lay the naked body of the old man. His face and chest bore the signs of torture, his eyes had been gouged out and his throat cut. Thomas’s stomach heaved. He put his hand to his mouth and closed his eyes. Silas looked past him into the chamber, and vomited. For several minutes, neither man could speak. Both stood with hands on knees, trying to breathe. Thomas was the first to recover. ‘What manner of human filth could have done this? And why?’

Silas, too, was recovering. ‘I’ll fetch the coroner, sir. You’d best stay here.’

‘Be quick, Silas. The coroner must see this at once.’

When Silas had gone, Thomas sat on the floor by the door. His old friend, a gentle man who had never
harmed a soul and had helped many, foully murdered in this monstrous, sickening, obscene way. His tears flowed and he howled in anguish. God in heaven, how could any man commit such an act? What could drive a man to inflict such suffering on another? Why take the eyes of a man who could not see?

For an hour, Thomas barely moved. The strength had gone from his legs and his mind was numb. He sat staring at the room and thought of nothing but Abraham’s premonition. Somehow the old man had known. God forbid that he had known it would be like this.

He was still on the floor when Silas returned with the coroner, a fussy-looking little man with a red-veined face and a pair of pince-nez perched on his nose. Thomas took a deep breath and rose to meet him. ‘Henry Pearson, sir, coroner. It is my duty to investigate all unnatural deaths in the city and in cases of murder to identify and bring to trial the murderer.’

‘Thomas Hill, sir. An old student of Master Fletcher, and an old friend.’

‘Did you find the body?’

‘I did. Master Merkin was behind me.’

‘Have you left everything as you found it?’ The coroner was brusque.

‘I’ve touched nothing. The body is in the
bedchamber.’ Pearson bustled past him and into the chamber. When he emerged, he was ashen.

‘Master Fletcher suffered greatly before he died. Judging by the state of rigor mortis, I would say he has been dead for a good seven hours.’

‘So he was murdered in the night?’

‘That is my opinion. Have you any idea why anyone would do this?’

Thomas had no intention of disclosing Abraham’s position, or his own, to Henry Pearson, coroner or not. ‘None, sir. Abraham was a quiet, scholarly man. I can conceive of no reason for this barbarity.’

‘Have you seen anything suspicious?’ he asked Silas.

‘No, sir,’ replied Silas firmly. ‘Both college gates are locked from midnight to six in the morning. Anyone wishing to enter must ring the bell. I only let them in if I know who they are.’

‘Then the murderer was already in the college before you locked the gates. Either he’s still here or he must have slipped out again this morning. Have you been at your post all the time?’

‘Yes, sir, except when I came to unlock the door for Master Hill.’

‘Then if he left, that was when. He would have been watching, knowing that sooner or later the door would
be found locked. Alternatively, he is living here.’ Pearson changed direction. ‘You say the door was locked. Could the murderer have had a key?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Silas firmly. ‘Master Fletcher had his key. I have the other two.’

‘Could one have been stolen, and later returned?’

‘No, sir. I’d have noticed. I check all the keys every morning.’

‘Then either Master Fletcher opened the door to his murderer, or the door was unlocked. The murderer took his key and locked the door when he left. Master Fletcher probably knew the man.’

‘Not necessarily, Master Pearson,’ pointed out Thomas. ‘Abraham Fletcher was blind. He could have opened the door to a stranger without knowing it.’

‘In that case, he would have been an easy victim and the murderer’s motive will be more difficult to establish. Had he any relatives in Oxford?’

‘Not as far as I know, sir,’ replied Silas. ‘He never mentioned any.’

‘A pity. You’d be surprised how many murderers turn out to be wives, husbands and sons. Did he have any enemies?’

‘I can think of none.’

‘Alas, Master Hill, it seems he had at least one. One
who was searching for something. What could that have been?’

‘I doubt it was money. Abraham was not a wealthy man.’

‘It looks more like a document or information of some kind. The murderer must have hoped to find it in a book. What subjects did Master Fletcher teach?’

‘Mathematics, philosophy and a little divinity.’

‘What might be secret about those?’

‘Very little. He was just an elderly scholar who loved books and learning.’ Thomas was getting angry. He was feeling the strain of answering the coroner’s questions, and of having to lie. He did not know who the murderer was, but he was quite sure about the motive. It was about ciphers, and, most probably, the one under Thomas’s floorboards. But he could not risk telling the coroner that.

‘And why would he have been tortured?’ The little man was persistent, as coroners usually were.

‘Master Pearson, I really have no idea,’ said Thomas. ‘Abraham Fletcher was my friend. This has been a terrible shock, and I would like to go now.’

‘Before you do, sir, someone will have to come to my house formally to identify the deceased. I will have the body taken there as soon as I have inspected the room.’

‘I will come tomorrow,’ said Thomas. ‘May I go now?’

‘You may, sir. I know where you are if I need you.’

In the courtyard outside, Thomas was horrified to find a curious crowd of soldiers. The coroner must have been recognized, and word spread around the college. Soon it would be around Oxford. He wondered if that was the murderer’s intention. Ignoring the stares and whispers, he hurried past the soldiers and across the yard, hoping not to be accosted again by Fayne.

He opened the door to his room, and stood staring. In the time he had been in Abraham’s room, someone, and it was not hard to guess who, had been there. The bed had been stripped of blankets, papers were strewn across the floor and his clothes had been dumped in a corner. Fayne. The cowardly oaf had taken his revenge in this petty way. Then Thomas looked around. It was subtly different to the last time. Not only had the lock been opened with a key, rather than broken, but this time he had the impression that the room had been searched. The papers on the floor had been placed rather than thrown there, as if the intruder had gone through them. Thomas pushed aside the bed, moved the pot and pulled up the loose floorboard. The message and his workings were still there. He replaced the board and sat on his chair. He wrinkled his nose – there
was the faintest trace of a sweet smell he did not recognize. He put the notion aside and looked about. The room reminded him of the bookshop after the soldiers had wrecked it. For some time he sat and thought. Erasmus Pole and Abraham Fletcher cruelly murdered, a message encrypted with the Vigenère cipher, an unseemly fight and his room ransacked. What in God’s name had induced him to come to Oxford? He went to fetch Silas.

Silas too was horrified. ‘Master Fletcher and now you, sir,’ he said. ‘As well you weren’t here, or …’ He stopped himself just in time.

‘Did you have a spare key made, Silas?’

‘No, sir. It was only yesterday you lost it.’

‘And you’ve had yours on your ring at all times?’

‘I have, sir.’

Had his key not disappeared down that stinking drain after all? And if it had not, who now had it? Certainly not three small boys, who had no idea which door it opened. He thought about it, and about all the other things that had happened, and it hit him. Surely not. ‘Silas, please send a boy for Father de Pointz at Merton. Ask him to come at once.’

‘At once, sir.’

‘And, Silas, tell no one about this. It would only complicate matters.’

If Silas was surprised, he did not show it. ‘As you wish, Master Hill.’

When Silas had left, Thomas made no effort to put the room back together. He wanted Simon to see it.

Simon arrived within the hour. ‘What’s been happening, Thomas?’ he asked. ‘We hear there has been a murder. Is this connected to it?’

‘It is. And it’s Abraham who’s been murdered. Murdered and tortured. Simon, his eyes were cut out. How could any man do such a thing?’

Simon crossed himself. ‘Someone who wanted something badly enough, and thought Abraham had it. Poor Abraham. He was a good man. I grieve that he suffered. I shall pray for his soul.’ He paused and crossed himself again. ‘When did it happen?’