Serpent in the Thorns

the bald-pated thief Lenny.

“What will you do now, Master Crispin?”

Crispin rubbed his chin. He needed a shave but it might be many a day before he got one. “I was thinking that very thing, Lenny. Right now the most important thing is to recover a certain lost item before my friends suffer further.”

“Ain’t the most important thing to unmask the real assassin?”

Crispin looked up. “You don’t believe I did it.”

“ ’Course not. You ain’t that addle pated.”

“Unfortunately, I was caught with the weapon in my hand.”

Lenny tried unsuccessfully to hide his chuckle behind his hand. “Oh my. That don’t go down well.”

“Indeed.”

Lenny sidled up to him and sat on the floor. “What is this lost item you’d be looking for? I’m good at finding things. Almost as good as you are.”

Crispin dropped his face in his hands and rubbed his brow, his eyes, his nose. “Does it matter? Gilbert and Eleanor will be in danger from the sheriff if I do not recover it soon.”

“Master and Mistress Langton? Oh that’s a shame, that is. Getting your friends into trouble. You shouldn’t aught to do that, Master Crispin. You should be more careful.”

Lenny’s oozing tone reminded Crispin with whom he spoke. Lenny could only be trusted so far. If at all.

Crispin stood. “I can’t do anything about it lying low in this rat hole—” Crispin showed his teeth in a mordant smile. “Begging your pardon, Lenny.”

Lenny smiled back. His uneven teeth were long and slightly protruding. “Aye. You’d have to go disguised, now wouldn’t you. Can’t walk about in that cotehardie. Don’t everyone know it by now?”

Crispin ran his hand over the coat’s breast, feeling where the weave had worn away. The material was very thin now, patched and repaired numerous times, its buttons chipped and cracked. “Disguised?”

Lenny fussed over the fire, prodding the peat, which only offered a meager flame and smaller heat. “ ’Course if you’re caught, it’s over for sure. King Richard has no love for you. There might be no trial. After all, you ain’t no lord no more—beggin’ your pardon.”

Crispin paced the small room again. “A disguise is a good idea, Lenny. I might even be able to get into court.”

“Oh Master Crispin. You are mad. You’d never make it past the guards. My, my. You’ve got bollocks, to be sure. Who’s the guilty bastard, anyway? Some lord?”

“This isn’t the toughest task I’ve ever had.” But Crispin knew that wasn’t quite the truth. His life had been in danger before, but never like this. “If I can prove this once and for all, I might be able to clear my name completely. Maybe the king will not distrust me anymore.”

“You fancy you’ll go back to court?”

“I’ve got no other choice, Lenny. It’s this or leave London for good.”

“What’s so good about London?” Lenny grumbled. “I’d leave in a tick if I could.”

“And how would you make your living?”

Lenny’s scowl widened into a grin. “Aye, you got me there, Master Crispin. A wily one, you are. Where would old Lenny go, eh? Straight to the Devil!”

“Lenny, I need another favor from you.”

“Another favor from old Lenny?” Lenny turned to the fire and crouched before it. His rags hung about him like a great fur cloak. “Giving you shelter, feeding you. That’s more than I done for anyone, Master Crispin, and that’s a fact. And only because I know you well. Even if most of our association comes from your arresting me.”

“Of course I’ve no right asking anything more of you.”

“That’s the truth. I done more than a Christian should. Charity, it is.”

Crispin nodded and reached into his pouch for a coin. A sharp pinprick. He yanked his hand out. A bead of blood formed on his finger. Gingerly, he reached inside again and pulled out the thorn.

“What’s that, Master Crispin?”

Crispin stared at its black, sleek surface, turned it over in his hand. “Madness. Foolery.” He reached into his pouch with the other hand and grasped a coin. He held it out for Lenny. “For your kindness, Lenny. And for the favor.”

“Well now. Ain’t that generous of you.” Lenny snatched it. The coin disappeared somewhere on his person. “What favor?”

“I’d like you to find Jack Tucker. I need his help. I know the fool didn’t leave London as I told him to do. But he should be nearby. Tell him to meet me at Westminster Abbey.”

Crispin rubbed his fingers over the thorn. He didn’t want to believe it, but his hand tingled where the thorn stuck him and he felt the growing sensation of confidence in his chest.

Crispin squinted at the man. “And Lenny. I also need to borrow your coat.”

22

THE SUN SENT A puss-yellow glow into a wash of clouds, dissipating the morning shadows and leaving London to awaken into another dismal and overcast morning. Crispin trotted along the edges of the houses and shops, not looking up, but keeping his gaze concentrated on the street or on the feet of horses and passersby. Lenny’s coat of rags, now resting on Crispin’s shoulders, stank of sweat, mold, and decay, as if something had died within its folds.

Crispin suspected that this was entirely possible.

The last he saw of his own rust-colored cotehardie was over Lenny’s hunched body. This better be worth the sacrifice. He didn’t mind holding his breath all the way to Westminster as long as he could get there undetected.

The king’s men were everywhere. They trotted down the lanes two by two. The closer Crispin got to Westminster, the more numerous they became. He forced himself to move slowly, even limp, and always, he kept his head shaded by his leather hood.

He hobbled to the alms door at Westminster Abbey and pulled the bell rope. After a few minutes, a monk appeared at the barred window. “There are no alms today, friend. Come back tomorrow.”

Crispin raised his head and winked when Brother Eric’s eyes widened in recognition. “The only charity I need, Brother, is to talk with the abbot.”

Brother Eric took a moment to compose himself. He stretched his neck looking past the barred window before he put his key to the lock and opened the door. “Master Crispin,” he said in a husky whisper. “What by blessed Jesu are you doing here? Do you seek sanctuary?”

“Not yet, Brother. I merely need to speak with the abbot.”

“He is at Prime with the others.”

“May I wait for him in his quarters?”

Crispin’s aromatic coat must have finally reached Eric’s senses. The monk wrinkled his nose and ran his gaze over the offending garment.

“I promise to leave the coat outside.”

Eric hesitated a heartbeat longer and finally nodded. He opened the door and Crispin stepped through. He stood in the cold porch while the monk closed the door and turned the key in the lock. Crispin shrugged out of Lenny’s coat, let it fall to the stone floor, and kicked it aside. A cold draught slithered along the colonnade and whirled around Crispin. He shivered and rubbed his hands up his arms. He was cold, but much relieved to be rid of that putrid coat.