‘Oh – yes, sir.’ Brinkley reached under his counter and produced the package the young man had handed over when I arrived.
Paget tucked it under his arm without offering payment. ‘Is that your money there, Bruno?’ he said, gesturing to the coins I had thrown on the counter. ‘Buying some of Master Brinkley’s fine books?’
‘I changed my mind,’ I muttered, scooping up the coins as the printer followed them with his angry gaze.
‘Not to worry – you can buy me a drink instead. Good day, Brinkley. Let me know if you come across anything you think I would enjoy reading.’ He cocked an eyebrow at the printer, replaced his hat on his head and swept out, holding the door for me to follow. I could feel Brinkley’s stare burning into my back even after I left the shop.
Paget strode away from the Palais without looking at me, though he clearly expected me to accompany him. After a few paces he turned, his face pinched with anger. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain what in God’s name you hoped to achieve by frightening Brinkley with that pamphlet.’
‘I owe you no explanation,’ I said. As soon as the words were out I regretted my choice of them.
‘No? Would you like to talk about what you do owe me, Bruno? An explanation would be the very least of it. I hope you enjoyed your dinner at the Swan today, by the way. You’re welcome. But if you were hoping Joseph de Chartres was going to turn up and walk into your arms, I shall be disappointed in you – I was led to believe you were an intelligent man.’
‘What makes you think I was looking for Joseph?’ I said, falling into step beside him. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of thanking him for a debt I never asked him to repay.
He glanced at me from the tail of his eye. ‘You were caught stealing from his cell last night. He is still missing. I deduced that you found those papers and reasoned he might have intended them for a printer.’
I guessed Stafford must have told him about the pamphlets, and about Brinkley.
‘So you knew Brinkley was printing propaganda for the League?’
‘I make it my business to know everything that goes on through the English presses here.’ He lengthened his stride deliberately so that I had to half-run every few steps to keep up; a subtle humiliation. ‘This will do,’ he added, indicating a dim tavern leaning crookedly on the corner of the Boulevard de Paris.
Paget’s clothes and air of entitlement drew sharp glances and whispers from the other drinkers, mostly the lower ranks of clerks from the Palais, to judge by their dress, though he appeared not to notice as he pushed through the tap-room without apology and eased himself behind a table by the window, calling for a jug of hot wine.
‘How could you be so certain that Joseph would not come to the printer’s today, if you knew about their arrangement?’ I asked, sliding in beside him.
‘Because he is not an idiot. Though I fear you may be.’ He leaned in, his face close to mine, hissing through his teeth. ‘What did you think you would get from Brinkley, showing him those papers?’ He reached out and gripped my arm hard; it was meant to hurt, but I did not flinch. He had bought me, for now, and this display was a reminder. Besides, for all his studied elegance, I suspected he would prove more than competent in a fight, even without a sword. His eyes never left mine.
I said nothing, though I pulled my face back from his hot breath. I was embarrassed to admit that I had panicked; I had hoped to frighten the printer into giving something away and instead I had only succeeded in destroying the evidence. We glared at one another for a long moment, eyes locked – I determined not to look away first – until eventually he made a noise of contempt and let me go.
‘All you have achieved is to put Brinkley and all his associates on their guard,’ he said, pouring the wine. ‘They will go to ground now, or find another meeting-place. That hardly serves us well. Any of us.’
‘You will forgive me if I express some doubts about who exactly you mean by us,’ I said. ‘I find it hard to believe we are working to the same ends.’
He leaned his head back against the wooden panelling, took a sip of his wine and laughed softly. He was a handsome man, I could not help noting, with a pinch of envy; chestnut hair swept back and barely touched with grey, a strong jaw framed by a neat beard and curling moustaches, lively brown eyes implying an impish spirit that belied his years. A most dangerous instrument, Walsingham had said. I must remind myself of that.
‘Well, you are right to question my feelings towards you, Bruno,’ he said, stretching out along the bench, a half-smile still playing around his lips. ‘A number of my closest comrades have suffered greatly as a result of your actions. Two of them cruelly executed. Others jailed, lost everything. Years of planning turned to dust in our hands. Men I counted on fled into hiding, scattered through France and Spain, including my own brother. I freely confess there was a time I would gladly have disembowelled you myself.’ He raised his tankard to me.
‘Where is your proof that any of this was my doing?’
‘Oh, come now – we’re beyond such delicate pretence, surely? Guise had his spies in the French embassy too, you know. Nothing you did there was as secret as you thought.’ He took another drink, watching me over the rim. ‘I heard you tried to seduce the ambassador’s wife.’
‘She tried to seduce me, in fact.’ I lifted my cup and put it down again, untouched; better to keep a clear head around Paget.
‘I’m sure she did. You can
