The House of Crows

Men, nets those from the river.’
    ‘What do you want, Cranston?’
    ‘Brother Athelstan has a parishioner, a young soldier called Perline Brasenose, a member of the Tower garrison. He has disappeared.’ Cranston turned to Athelstan. ‘Give him a description.’
    Athelstan obliged and the Harrower of the Dead, chin resting in the palm of his gloved hand, listened attentively.
    ‘I have discovered no corpse fitting your description, Brother, but...’
    ‘But what?’Cranston asked.
    ‘Sir John, I am your guest. You have offered me neither food nor drink.’
    Cranston apologised and called across the taproom but the ale-wife, standing near the casks and tuns, just shook her head: her eyes were rounded in fright as she stared at the Harrower of the Dead.
    ‘Now you know why I didn’t offer you anything to eat or drink,’ Cranston grated. Heaving his bulk out of the windowseat, the coroner walked across to the ale-wife, then returned with a Pewter goblet brimming with claret. ‘She’ll boil the cup after you have left,’ Cranston added.
    The Harrower of the Dead sipped delicately at the wine. Athelstan realised there must be something wrong with his lower lip, for the man made a strange sipping noise; eyes closed momentarily in pleasure, the Harrower breathed a sigh of satisfaction.
    ‘When did the young soldier disappear?’ he asked.
    ‘About three nights ago.’
    The Harrower rocked himself gently to and fro, his eyes never leaving those of Cranston. ‘I’m a busy man, Sir John. I spend my time with you whilst the dead wait for me.’
    Cranston slid a coin across the table. The Harrower deftly plucked it up.
    ‘On Monday night last,’ he replied. ‘I was down near the steel yard where the Hanse berth their ships. There had been a tavern brawl. A sailor from a Lübeck ship had been killed and his corpse stripped. Now usually I don’t go so near the river.’ He smiled beneath his mask. ‘The Fisher of Men is most sensitive about his territory, but the corpse was mine. Now I was tired and drew my cart into the shadows.’ He tapped the bottle beneath his cloak. ‘Like you, Sir John, I need my refreshment. A skiff came to the river steps. A soldier — I recognised him as such because of his livery — came up, accompanied by a small, well-dressed man.’ The Harrower paused to sip from his cup. ‘For a while the two stood there, unaware of me in the shadows. The short, well-dressed man called the soldier “Brasenose”; he in turn called his companion “Sir Francis”.’
    ‘Sir Francis Harnett!’ Athelstan exclaimed.
    The Harrower shrugged. ‘God knows, Brother, but the two were locked in argument. Sir Francis, drumming his fingers on his sword-hilt, accused Brasenose of robbing him.’
    ‘And Perline?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘He seemed subdued, wary, retreating before the other’s accusations. The discussion ended. The one you call Perline turned on his heels and strode away down towards London Bridge. Harnett shouted after him to come back, that he was a thief, but the young man walked on. After a while Harnett went down the river steps and into a waiting skiff.’ The Harrower sipped from the goblet in his eerie manner. ‘That’s all I know, Sir John, but, if you wish, I shall ask my comrade the Fisher of Men. The river may have the soldier’s corpse.’
    ‘I’d be grateful,’ Cranston replied. ‘And you know nothing else?’'
    The Harrower shook his head and drained his cup. He was about to rise when Cranston leaned across and seized him by the wrist.
    ‘You walk the street,’ the coroner said. ‘I have a little mystery of my own. You have heard, no doubt, of the cats which are disappearing?’
    The Harrower chuckled. ‘Sir John, what are you saying? Are you asking for my help or making an allegation?’
    ‘I am asking a question,’ Cranston declared.
    ‘I know nothing about your cats, Sir John, except that their disappearance is making my work all the more difficult. The rats and mice have increased four-fold. Yet I have something to tell you.’
    Cranston passed a coin across the table. This time the Harrower dug into a small leather bag slung beneath his cloak. He laid two black leather muzzles on the table.
    ‘Down near Thames Street,’ he declared, ‘I found the corpse of a cat, scarred and wounded, beneath a midden-heap. This muzzle was tight about its jaw. What I suspect is that someone Placed the muzzle over its mouth to keep it silent: the animal must have