was all about cloth in one way or another.
Crispin looked up and measured the sky. Noon. And a rendezvous with Philippa was long overdue. He had to risk her anger and make one more stop.
13
Crispin waited across the street from the Dog and Bone. He leaned against a wall under an eave and out of the stinging damp of an icy rain. He withdrew his knife and cleaned his nails.
Two familiar figures lumbered out of the distance and stood at the corner, a wide-shouldered man and his shorter companion.
Crispin let them stand a moment in the rain before he sheathed his knife and pushed off from the wall.
“Gentlemen,” he said, striding toward them.
They flinched. “We did not expect to see you so soon,
“I am here to answer your master about his generous offer.”
“And? What is your answer?”
“I know where the Mandyllon is.”
“Then you will get it for us?”
“Not so fast. There’s a little something that needs cleaning up first.”
“And what is that?”
“I know that Bernabo Visconti is behind this scheme.”
The two fell silent. Two-Fingers mumbled something in Italian to his companion and touched his knife. Sclavo silenced him with a gesture of his hand. He looked up at Crispin and smiled. “A very interesting supposition. I wonder how you came by it.”
“I haven’t always lived at the Shambles, Master Sclavo. I have met your master before.”
“I did not say his grace the duke was my master.”
“You didn’t have to. I want to meet with him.”
Sclavo laughed. His wide square teeth were visible in his open mouth, like horse’s teeth. “Oh
“I have seen the Thames up close, gentlemen.”
“You are like the cat with nine lives,” said Two-Fingers. His teeth bit down on each word, snapping them like a rat snaps at a flea. “But even a cat has only so many.”
“Well? Do I meet with him? It is only directly to him that I will hand over the Mandyllon for my exorbitant fee.”
Sclavo kept his smile. “Our master does not bargain with peasants.”
The last word dug a blade into Crispin’s gut. He resisted the urge to pull his dagger and gritted his teeth not quite into a smile. “Then I would speak to your head man in England.”
Sclavo darted a glance at Two-Fingers. “How did you know there is a man in England?”
“Because you just answered it. Well?”
Sclavo frowned. It pleased Crispin to finally cut through the Italian’s armored facade. “That might be possible,” said Sclavo. “Give us a day to arrange a meeting.”
“A few hours. I’m not a patient man.” He bowed to the silent men and left them on the street. It was good to feel in charge again, if only to a few henchmen. He lifted his leather hood over his head and hurried through the rain to the Boar’s Tusk. Crispin turned the corner of Gutter Lane and spied the tavern. Jack stood outside patting his arms to keep warm. His shabby hood only partially covered his curls of ginger hair.
Crispin frowned. “Jack! Why aren’t you inside safeguarding Mistress Walcote?”
“I wanted to keep my eyes skinned for you. Besides, she don’t want that kind of fussing. She told me so herself.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need it.” Crispin pushed through the door and stood on the threshold, craning his neck to see. His gaze skimmed over the heads of the patrons—mostly men and travelers who chatted and laughed noisily over the clatter of cups and music from a man playing a bagpipe and a boy keeping the beat with a drum.
Jack pointed. “She’s there, sir. Right where I left her.”
Crispin saw her. She tried to be the dainty lady, but her nature would not allow it. She leaned over her beaker of ale with her elbow on the table like any kitchen wench. Her fist propped up her chin, and her other hand beat the rhythm of the piper’s music. Her shoulders followed suit, and if the table hadn’t been in her way, Crispin was certain she would be dancing.
The leering man beside her, eyeing her fine clothes, did not seem to concern her, but he troubled Crispin.
“Go along back to our lodgings, Jack. By the way, you did not move those books I had on the table, did you?”
“No, Master.”
“Very well. Go on back to the Shambles, then.”
He heard Jack mumble something about “not so much as a ‘thank you,’” but he was too distracted to pay the boy much mind.
Crispin strode forward and stood behind her. The man beside her on the bench leaned toward her, no doubt close to offering an inappropriate remark when he spied Crispin glowering down at him, hand on hilt. The man flinched and stealthily slid away, leaving a space on the bench for Crispin to fill.
Philippa turned and her merry expression soured. “Christ’s toes! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting here for two hours!”
Crispin said nothing and sat.
“You think because you are this
“Sit down.”
“I will not.”
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her down to the bench. Her rump met the seat with a smack. “I’ve experienced quite a lot this morning, and I’ve no time for your ill humor. I need facts, not tantrums.”
“Very well,” she said grudgingly and settled herself. “What happened at the sheriff’s that took so long? Why did he summon you? Has it to do with the cloth?”
Crispin smiled without the flecks of humor. “Jack talks too much,” he grumbled. “But since you asked, I will be plain with you if you will do the same for me.”
She blinked, and her expression fell into practiced indifference. “I will be as plain as I can.”
Crispin leaned in conspiratorially and she did likewise. Her scent of spiced perfume reached out for him, wrapped sinuous arms of aroma about his senses, and drew him even closer.
She detected his subtle gesture and angled her face upward toward his. He felt her breath against his face and even on his own parted lips. If he moved two inches more, their lips would touch. The thought flushed his face, and he cursed his pounding heart. He tried to remind himself brusquely who she was, but it only made him tick off the obvious: a widow, a rich merchant, a sensuous woman. The adulteress and the chambermaid now seemed distant.
He used his own words to splash cold water on his thoughts. “I met with your acquaintance Abid Assad Mahmoud.”
He waited for a reaction from her, but she didn’t so much as flick an eyelash.
“He admitted to me,” he said, his voice growing quieter, “that he extorted certain services from you.”
Still she said nothing.
