‘Captain Arnold? ’

  The man’s head jerked round. ‘Yes? I’m Captain Arnold.’

  Francis bowed from the neck. ‘Permit me to introduce myself, Captain. Brother Francis, envoy privatus to my Lord Archbishop Constant of York.’

  ‘Cardinal Constant?’

  Francis’ eye flickered in momentary astonishment. Then he nodded.

  ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. Will you step into my office? Forgive this undress. Everything’s got a bit out of step today.’

  Francis made a little, open-handed gesture indicative of sympathy and understanding, and followed the Captain into a surprisingly comfortable room. A wide mullioned window looked out across the harbor and a log fire was burning brightly in the grate. Hanging on the back of an inner door was something which looked remarkably like a woman’s petticoat.

  ‘A glass of wine, sir?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Francis. ‘That is very kind of you.’

  The Captain produced two glass goblets and a green bottle. ‘Bojerlay,’ he said with a smirk of pride. ‘I trust it’s to your liking?’

  Francis nodded and smiled. ‘You have an excellent cellar, Captain. Your health.’

  ‘And yours, sir. Now, how can I be of service to you?’

  Francis sipped his wine and prayed desperately for inspiration. ‘I am here on a matter of some considerable delicacy, Captain Arnold. However’ (here he glanced about him), ‘I am convinced that I can count upon your absolute discretion. My Lord the Archbishop – that is to say Cardinal Constant …’

  Captain Arnold nodded and tapped his forefinger against the side of his nose.

  ‘Cardinal Constant has entrusted me with a confidential mission concerning a man who passes under the alias of Thomas of Norwich, a member of—’

  The Captain’s glass had paused on its way to his lips. His mouth had opened. He was staring. ‘Who did you say?’

  ‘Thomas of Norwich. Needless to say that it is not his real name. He is, in fact, a member of my Lord’s private intelligence service who was infiltrated privily into the Kinsman’s sect several years ago. For reasons which, unfortunately, I am not at liberty to divulge – much as I would like to – it is imperative that this man should not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Gray Brotherhood.’

  ‘Go on, sir.’

  Francis hesitated just long enough to recall the muttered imprecations of the gatekeeper. He took a wild chance. ‘My Lord the Cardinal considers that the Brotherhood has exceeded both its terms of license and its secular authority. These wanton excesses are bringing the whole of our Secular Arm into disrepute, throughout the Kingdoms. We are soldiers of Christ, Captain Arnold, not butchers! ’

  The Captain nodded. ‘Ah, true, sir, true,’ he murmured. ‘The Grays do indeed exceed all license.’

  ‘So, Captain, if you should by any chance happen to learn the whereabouts of this man, my Lord Cardinal would certainly consider it an act worthy of the highest esteem – of secular promotion, indeed – if you could do your utmost to see that no harm befalls him. The man is to be transferred direct to York under my personal supervision.’

  Captain Arnold moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. ‘And what would you say, sir, if I were to tell you that a man answering to the description of this very Kinsman had been brought in here as a prisoner not above a quarter of an hour ago?’

  Francis acted out a delicate little pantomime of utter astonishment, concluding with: ‘Alas, you see fit to jest with me, Captain.’

  ‘Not I, sir, upon my faith! Two of the Grays winkled him out down by the harbor yonder along with a couple of his companions – a Quantock wench and a local peddler. We have all three locked up in a cell against the arrival of Bishop Simon’s chief inquisitor.’

  ‘Brother Andrew?’

  ‘Aye, that’s the chap. Do you know him?’

  ‘We have met,’ said Francis. ‘And you say he’s coming here?’

  The Captain nodded. ‘One of his own men has just ridden off to Dunkeswell to fetch him. I gave orders that none of the prisoners was to be interfered with in any way until he arrived.’

  ‘You have acted both wisely and humanely, Captain. My Lord Cardinal shall certainly hear of it from my own lips. Now perhaps the best and simplest course would be for me to sit down and write you out the official receptum which will relieve you of all further responsibility. But first my credentials.’ He produced his letter of authority and held it out.

  The Captain gave it a perfunctory glance and nodded. ‘It all seems perfectly in order,’ he said. ‘But hadn’t you better make sure he’s the right fellow first?’

  ‘Yes, of course. A word with him in private will suffice. It should not take me more than a moment.’

  The Captain drained off his glass, banged it down and strutted briskly to the door. ‘If you’ll be good enough to follow me, sir,’ he said, ‘I shall be glad to conduct you to him personally.’

  FOURTEEN

  Four Gray Falcons were sprawled around an oak table throwing dice from a leather cup. A stone flagon of ale was warming in the embers on a raised hearth and bread and cheese were scattered on a bench beside it. As the door opened and Captain Arnold strode in followed by Brother Francis the troopers glanced up then continued with their game.

  The Captain’s face turned puce with rage. ‘On your feet, you insubordinate dogs!’ he roared.

  Slowly, with calculated indifference, the lounging soldiers heaved themselves up and stood eyeing the two men insolently.

  ‘The key.’

  The Falcons glanced at one another and the man who had been responsible for capturing Thomas said: ‘They’re our prisoners, Captain. Not yours.’

  Captain Arnold did not argue. He was a full head shorter than the trooper but he skipped two rapid paces toward him and smashed the man stunningly across the mouth with his fist. ‘The key, you dog!’ he snarled.

  The Falcon licked his split lip then slowly reached inside his tunic and produced an iron key. He held it out to the Captain.

  ‘Open it!’

  The man walked over to the inner door, thrust the key into the lock and twisted it. Then he raised a booted foot and kicked the door open with such violence that it crashed thunderously against the stone wall of the cell.

  Captain Arnold chose to ignore this. He gestured to Francis. ‘They are down below, sir,’ he said. ‘Have a care for the steps.’

  Francis nodded, squeezed his way past the trooper and stepped down into the dimly lit cell. He peered about him. ‘Which of you is Thomas of Norwich?’ he whispered. Then, as his eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom he saw that they all had strips of rag bound across their mouths.

  ‘They are gagged and bound, Captain,’ he called. ‘I cannot question them like this.’

  ‘I gave no such order,’ said the Captain. ‘You have my permission to release them.’

  Francis unknotted the cloth from the girl’s mouth and then moved to the first of the two men. ‘I am Kin,’ he whispered urgently. ‘I am come to save you. Which of you is Thomas of Norwich?’

  The Kinsman opened his freed mouth and flicked apart the two halves of his strange tongue. He did not say anything.

  Francis bent over him. ‘My name is Francis,’ he murmured. ‘I come from Gyre. I have persuaded the Captain that you are a secret agent of Cardinal Constant’s. Once I have positively identified you he is prepared to release you all into my custody.’

  ‘From Gyre, you say?’

  ‘Aye, Thomas. I watched him die on Black Isle four days ago.’

  ‘What proof have you?’

  ‘The pipes. The Boy’s own pipes. Gyre gave them to me in trust for you. I have them here with me.’

  ‘Can’st free my hands, Francis?’

  ‘I have no knife.’

  The Magpie shuffled close and as Francis tugged off his gag he whispered: ‘In my left boot. Quick man!’

  ‘Well?’ called the Captain. ‘Are you satisfied, sir?’

  ‘One moment, Captain.’ Francis seized the knife, sawed desperately at the Kinsman’s bonds and felt the ropes begin to part.

  Thomas jerked his wrists free. ‘The pipes, man!’ he hissed. ‘Give me those pipes! And if you hear me play stop up your ears.’

  Francis thrust the knife into Thomas’s hand and wrestled with the latch of his satchel. ‘I have to go and sign an official receptum for you,’ he whispered. ‘I shall be back anon.’

  ‘The pipes!’

  ‘Aye, they’re here.’ He dragged free the tooled leather case, dropped it into the Kinsman’s shadowed lap and scrambled to his feet. ‘This is certainly the man, Captain,’ he called. ‘We can proceed.’

  ‘Very well, sir. Will you come with me?’

  Francis climbed the steps to the cell door and pulled it shut behind him.

  The Captain turned the key in the lock then removed it and placed it in his own breeches pocket. As the two men left the guardroom they heard the Falcons muttering among themselves. ‘Mutinous dogs,’ growled the Captain. ‘If I had them in my own troop they’d soon be yelping to a different tune.’

  While Captain Arnold poured them each another glass of wine Francis dipped a quill and scrawled: ‘I , Brother Francis, envoy PRIVATUS to his Lordship Cardinal Constant of York, do hereby undertake full charge and responsibility for – he paused and recharged his quill – Brother Roger known as “Kinsman Thomas of Norwich” and the two prisoners taken into custody with him.’ He dated it, signed it with a flourish, sprinkled sand over it and shook it dry. Then he lifted his glass to the Captain and tossed it off in a single gulp. ‘I shall make it my business to see that you receive due recognition for your service, Captain Arnold. Remember, I have the Cardinal’s ear.’

  The Captain started to grin then changed it into a sober frown. ‘I try to do my loyal duty, sir. But I confess that I have always striven to temper justice with mercy. ’

  ‘I can well believe it, Captain.’ Francis briskly rolled up the receipt and handed it over with a smile. ‘Consummation est,’ he said. ‘Now shall we conclude the formalities? I am certain you must have far more pressing duties to attend to.’

  He picked up his satchel, slung it over his shoulder and followed the Captain back into the guardroom.

  The first thing Francis noticed on entering was that the troopers were no longer at their dice. Two were stationed beside the outer door, while the man with the bruised and swollen lip was standing alongside a companion and had his back to the hearth. Both men were nursing crossbows.

  If Captain Arnold was aware of the change he gave no sign. He marched up to the cell door and thrust the key into the lock. As he was about to turn it the ringleader said: ‘What are ye up to, man?’

  The Captain pivoted slowly on his booted heel. ‘Man?’ he whispered. ‘Did you call me “man”?’

  ‘Aye,’ replied the Falcon sullenly. ‘And ye’ll not filch my prisoners though I hang for it.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll hang all right,’ the Captain assured him. ‘Though I have to rope your neck myself, you’ll hang.’ So saying he wrenched the key round in the lock, thrust open the cell door and cried: ‘Come out here, you three!’

  ‘The first one who sets foot in the doorway dies!’ shouted the trooper. ‘I know my orders.’

  ‘This is mutiny.’ Captain Arnold spoke the words very slowly and deliberately but with an undertone of quiet savagery which was truly impressive. ‘You realize that all four of you can swing for it. This holy priest is Cardinal Constant’s personal envoy. Take good note of that, you treacherous dogs!’

  ‘Let it be, Jan,’ muttered one of the Falcons. ‘Us’ll all be crucified, man.’

  ‘We’ll not be crucified, boy, nor hanged neither. Old Stone Lugs’ll see to that. He’ll be here directly. Shut that door, lads. We’ll all stand fast and sweat it out till he comes.’

  As the outer door banged shut there came drifting up from within the shadowy throat of the cell a sound so ineffably sweet and pure that at first Francis could only suppose that he must be imagining it: a single, sustained, trilling note of an insufferably exquisite, crystalline clarity. Another followed, and another, each as pellucid as a diamond drop, till his whole head seemed to vibrate in maddening, trembling sympathy. At the same moment he became aware that something extraordinary was happening to the light in the room. Each tiny pinpoint of fireglow or reflection had begun to branch and sparkle like a filigree of rainbow frost on a winter windowpane; leaping outwards in slim, twinkling spearshafts of subtle scintillation till every person and every object in the room was clothed in a shimmering web of bejewelled brilliance. As the intensity of the illumination increased, so the agony in his head multiplied until it had crossed the threshold of measurable pain and become transmuted into an ecstatic anguish, a sensation so purely elemental that he knew he was about to disintegrate and become one with the air and the fragile tissue of the light and the very stones of the walls. No longer consciously hearing or seeing anything he yet heard and saw everything. Untethered his entranced soul soared up like a hawk, swinging outwards in wider and ever widening circles, ranging further and further abroad until, incredibly, he found himself back once again upon Black Isle watching the flickering fingers of the dying Gyre beckoning him forward along the path of the Song of Songs toward the paradise of Eternal Kinship where there was no more fear.

  Francis recovered consciousness to find the girl bending over him and shaking him. He seemed to float up toward her as though from some unimaginable depth and then, unable to prevent it, continued insanely on until he had drifted right into the calm gray ocean of her own eyes. There she held him for a moment, quietly suspended, before she gently released him. ‘ ’Tis all as he said, Thomas,’ she called. ‘Will he be able to walk?’

  Hands grasped Francis by the upper arms and he became aware that he was being dragged up into a sitting position. Though he was barely conscious of any physical sensation he knew that his back must be resting against the rough stone wall of the guard-room.

  ‘Can you stand, man?’ inquired a brusque male voice.

  By an immense effort of will, Francis succeeded in lifting himself an inch or two off the stone flagged floor and then sank back.

  ‘Again, man,’ urged the Magpie. ‘Try again. Up! Up!’

  The grip on his arms tightened, his feet scrabbled vaguely at the floor and somehow he was standing, rocking drunkenly and gaping about him in dazed astonishment. The two Falcons who had been stationed before the hearth were still standing there, but gazing upwards with vacant, idiot eyes at the raftered ceiling. Captain Arnold was stretched out, apparently asleep, upon the floor beside the cell.

  ‘Try to walk, Francis,’ urged the girl. ‘We’ll help you. Come.’

  Francis willed his wooden legs to move him forward, managed a single, lurching step and would certainly have pitched on to his face had not Jane and the Magpie steadied him.

  ‘Again.’

  He essayed a second step, and then a third.

  ‘Good. Good,’ she encouraged him. ‘It’s coming back to you.’

  With a tongue that felt like a swollen bladder he contrived to ask what had happened.

  ‘Why did you not stop up your ears like Thomas told you?’ she said. ‘Had you not heard Gyre play you would surely be as they are now. ’

  Their shuffling progress brought them up to the two Falcons by the door. Francis peered at them and saw that their eyes were focused on some distant point that only they could see. ‘Will … they? … Are … they?’ he forced out.

  ‘We do not know,’ she said. ‘Thomas has only done this to animals before. He thinks they will recover by and by.’

  In the distance a door banged, followed by the harsh clatter of steel-shod boots on stone. The girl jerked round and all but lost her grip on Francis’ arm. ‘Thomas!’ she called. ‘They’re coming!’

  ‘Fear not, love,’ replied the Kinsman. ‘Look you to him.’

  FIFTEEN

  Dr Richards arrived at the I.C. Unit with Rachel and Mrs Huddlestone to discover that news of what was happening had leaked out and that at least half a dozen unfamiliar, young, white-jacketed figures had crowded into the side ward and were clustered around the E-V. Converter. ‘What is this?’ he protested. ‘Who gave you people permission to come in here?’

  Sheepishly they shuffled back, still with their eyes fixed on the screen, and one said: ‘Is it a fact that this is a genuine O.O.B.E., sir?’

  ‘We don’t know what it is,’ said George, ‘and unless you ladies and gentlemen clear out and let us get on with our work we’re not likely to find out, are we? So, with your kind permission …’

  ‘Couldn’t we just stand in at the back, sir?’ pleaded one. ‘I promise no one will know we’re here. After all it isn’t every day we get a chance to see medical history in the making.’

  ‘Out!’ growled George, and held the door open until they had all trooped through it. Then he called the spokesman back. ‘Go and find me a “Strictly No Admittance” notice for this door,’ he said. ‘If you’re back with it inside two minutes I’ll allow you inside. But only if and only you. Understand?’

  As the young intern scuttled off down the corridor, George said: ‘Have there been any new developments, Peter?’

  ‘The three of them were picked up by some soldiers down on the quay,’ said Klorner. ‘They’ve been brought in to a sort of fort and locked up in a cell. The light’s very dim.’

  ‘Mrs Huddlestone won’t be able to help us much either,’ said Ian. ‘They’ve all been gagged.’

  ‘Good Lord! Really?’ George peered into the screen. ‘Still no sign of any R.E.M. from Mike, I suppose? ’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘How about aberration?’

  ‘Just that same trace on the girl.’

  Dr Richards nodded. ‘I’m going to try out something which occurred to me last night,’ he said. ‘Rachel, I want you to go through and touch Mike – take hold of his hand or something. Careful you don’t dislodge the drip.’