'Come on,' Barak said. 'If you tell Lord Cromwell all, you may be spared the rack, eh?'
Then Wright jumped away from the steeple; not at me but away from us both, further out on the roof. The move took us by surprise. Barak jumped after him and I followed, helping him edge the big man towards the parapet to trap him again. Wright looked over his shoulder at the dizzying drop. He ran his tongue over his lips, swallowed, then spoke again, his voice suddenly high-pitched with fear.
'I always vowed I'd never hang! I vowed it again when I saw that man in the yard.'
'What?' Barak paused, his sword held in mid-air. I guessed what Wright meant before Barak and made a grab for his arm but he had already leapt onto the parapet. I believe he would have jumped anyway, but in glancing round at me he lost his balance and fell over. He vanished into the great void without even a cry. We ran to the parapet, but by then Wright had already hit the ground. He lay there a hundred feet below, his face a white blob, blood from his smashed body spreading slowly out across the yard.
Chapter Forty-three
BARAK PULLED ME FROM the roof and hustled me down the stairs. At the cathedral entrance a number of people who had already run down were talking excitedly to some cathedral officials; as we neared the door a woman ran in screaming that a man was fallen from the roof. The officials raised their hands and bade them speak quietly, concerned above all with not interrupting the archbishop's sermon. We slipped out unnoticed.
Barak led me at a half-run into the maze of alleys round Foster Lane. He stopped at last near the Goldsmiths' Hall, leaning against the wall of a candlemaker's shop where a moon-faced apprentice stood in the doorway calling out, 'Tallow candles, farthing a dozen!' over and again. I collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.
'Take off your robe,' Barak said. 'They'll be looking for a man in lawyer's garb.'
I pulled it off, bundling it under my arm. Barak straightened his doublet and looked around. The apprentice ignored us, calling his master's wares and occasionally pushing a lock of sweat-soaked hair back from his face.
'Come on,' Barak said. 'There'll be a hue and cry out soon. Bishop Bonner will be furious, a sword fight in the cathedral while the archbishop himself was preaching.'
'It'll be a murder hunt. And I'll be identified – a hunchback lawyer will be easily remembered. They'll be looking for a bald young man too. Here.' I gave him my cap – his own had fallen off during the struggle in the cathedral. He put it on.
'Thanks. I have the earl's seal, but we haven't time to argue with thick-headed constables.'
I wiped my brow. Over the roofs I could see the upper storeys of the Guildhall. Was it really only a fortnight since I had stood there as a respected barrister? Before Joseph came and set me on this dreadful, frantic journey?
'What now?' I asked wearily. 'The warehouse?'
'Ay, we should do it now.' He looked at me. 'God's nails, you're sweating.'
'I'm not used to fighting for my life, Barak. And it is so close.' I looked at the sky. The cloud had covered it completely and was thickening, darkening.
'We'll go by the back ways. Come on.'
I followed him through the lanes, jostling people and animals, squelching through the stinking channels. To reach the river we had to cross Cheapside, and as we crossed to the southern side someone called my name. I spun round, fearing to see a constable, but it was only Jephson, an alderman I knew, striding towards us with an attendant in tow. I bowed hastily.
'Master Shardlake, good morning. I must speak with you.' The expression on his round, clean-shaven face was serious. I cursed inwardly. If he had heard the news from St Paul's he might call the constable or even order passing citizens to arrest us. I did not relish a melee in the street. Already Barak's hand was slipping to his sword.
'I must tell you, sir. The Common Council wishes to thank you-'
'What?'
'For ordering those old stones from Ludgate to be brought to our attention. The Hebrew shows they were indeed from an ancient synagogue. Why, we have no other such examples of Hebrew writing in all London.'
My heart lurched with relief. I swallowed. 'I am glad I have been of service, sir. Now, urgent business awaits-'
'We shall arrange for the stones to be displayed at the Guildhall. The Jews are only a memory, but still these stones are a part of our City's history and should be preserved.'
'Thank you, Master Jephson. But now, you must excuse me-' I bowed quickly and turned into the lanes before he could say more.
'Arsehole,' Barak said as soon as we were out of earshot. 'I'd've liked to knock him down, just to prove I'm no memory.'
'I'm glad you didn't.'
He pointed to where a man was selling small ale from a barrel. 'I'm thirsty.'
I needed a drink too and we each bought a half-pint, quaffing it down from the man's wooden cups. As we drank I looked down the lane leading to the river; I felt for a moment someone was watching, but I could identify no one among the sweating, bustling crowds.
SALT WHARF WAS a wide triangular inlet which had been carved into the river bank to allow small boats to unload. There was a street of warehouses running along one side of Queenhithe dock. We walked round the dock, where two sea-going ships were unloading oranges, and began to look for Pelican Warehouse.
It was the last of the buildings, hard by the river and solidly constructed of brick, four storeys high. A faded sign showing a bird with a huge beak hung outside. The windows were well shuttered and barred against thieves and the door was secured with a big padlock. Although people were working in the adjacent buildings, Pelican Warehouse seemed deserted.
We walked to the far end of the building, where its south end dropped directly into the river. I looked down at the brown water. The tide was low, revealing green slime on the bottom of the wall. Peering up, I saw an open hatchway at the first-storey level, with a winch to draw goods from boats below projecting from it. A rope hung from the winch, swinging lightly in the cool breeze from the river.
'No sign of life,' Barak said at my elbow. 'I've knocked but there's no reply. There's a hollow echoing sound, like nothing's stored here. Shall I try and break in?'
I nodded and he produced his little metal tool and bent to pick the lock as he had at the Wentworths' well. I looked uneasily across the dock at the men unloading the boat, but they paid us no attention.
'I hope the bastards haven't gone,' he muttered. 'They might move the stuff regularly to avoid being found.'
'There may only be Toky left.' Even alone, I thought, he would be a dangerous adversary.
There was a click and the padlock fell open. 'There!' Barak said. 'Let's see what's inside.'
The door opened smoothly on well-greased hinges. Barak shoved it back against the wall lest anyone was concealed there. It made a hollow, echoing bang. A dark interior was revealed, lit only by one glassed window high up. The warehouse was as wide as the nave of a church and, I saw, quite empty. There was a musty smell of cloth and the stone floor was Uttered with tiny pieces of wool fibre. Drawing his sword, Barak stepped in. I followed.
'Empty as an old nun's womb,' he said.
I looked up at the end of the warehouse. A flight of wooden steps led up to an upper floor, which was merely a wooden platform running round the wall except for a room next to the stairs, its door closed.
'That must be the office,' I said.
'Shall we go up?'
I nodded, my heart beating fast. We climbed the rickety wooden staircase carefully. I looked at the door, afraid that it might open and that Toky might fly out at us. Barak held his drawn sword in front of him and I clutched the
