The House of Crows

specially for himself; the scribe had written the text in beautiful, broad black sweeps of the quill, and decorated the margins with miniature paintings of a variety of animals. A red-coated, black-eyed dragon thrust out its green flickering tongue; a wyvern of reddish-gold extended its great scaly wings; a silver greyhound pursued a hare, its coat a rich, deep brown.
    ‘Harnett did love animals!’ Athelstan exclaimed.
    He particularly admired the phoenix at the top of a page. A mystical bird which consumed itself, and so was often used to represent Christ. Curious, Athelstan leafed over the pages. There were elephants, panthers, foxes, wolves of every hue, apes and peacocks. Then, at the beginning of the Office of Night, one picture caught Athelstan’s attention. He sat, fascinated, before going across to sit under one of the windows so as to study the painting more carefully.
    ‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed. ‘It can’t be!’
    Athelstan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Suddenly the door swung open and Cranston swept in.
    ‘Athelstan, we have got permission, we might as well start now.’ He looked at the friar curiously. ‘Brother, are you well?’ Athelstan recalled Benedicta’s description of Simplicatas busy in the marketplace.
    ‘Come on, Sir John.’ Athelstan sprang to his feet. ‘Never mind the archives! We are going to Southwark!’
    ‘Oh, Brother, we can’t!’
    ‘Oh, Brother, we can!’ Athelstan replied.
    ‘Why?’ Cranston hurried behind him as Athelstan left the chapel, almost running down the steps to the vestibule. The soldiers on guard watched him curiously. At the bottom Cranston abruptly sat down and crossed his arms like a big baby.
    ‘I’ll stay here until you tell me,’ he shouted.
    Athelstan hid his impatience and came back.
    ‘Sir John, I have just been through Harnett’s Book of Hours: I know where Perline is and what he’s been up to. Now, you can either sit and sulk until I come back-’ he tweaked Sir John’s bristling moustache — ‘or you can come and help me.’
    Within the hour, Athelstan and Cranston disembarked in Southwark just near London Bridge. By now Cranston was all agog, and kept crowing with delight as Athelstan, in hushed whispers, described a possible solution to the mystery. They strode through the alleyways and runnels of the stews. Cranston didn’t know whether Athelstan was in a temper, or just eager to put his theories to the test. Half-way down one alleyway, Athelstan abruptly stopped before a house and knocked furiously on the door. A window opened, high above them, and Simplicatas poked her pretty blonde head out.
    ‘Oh, good afternoon, Father.’ She forced a smile. ‘I can’t come down,’ she apologised, giggling behind her hand. ‘I have to change my dress and—’
    ‘ Simplicatas! ’ Athelstan roared with a vigour which even surprised Cranston. ‘You will come down and let me into this house. And you’re not by yourself. You can tell that scapegrace husband of yours that I know he is hiding there.’ Athelstan glowered up at the young woman. ‘Now,’ he threatened, ‘are you going to open the door, or do I ask Sir John to remove it?’
    The window closed hastily, there was a sound of running footsteps, the door opened, and a pale-faced Simplicatas invited them in. Athelstan brushed by her and walked down the passageway. The house was small and dingy, with wooden stairs stretching up into the darkness.
    ‘Perline Brasenose!’ Athelstan shouted. ‘I and others have had enough of your games to last a lifetime.’ He looked at Simplicatas. ‘And you, my good woman, must decide whether you are going to continue this mummery or go and fetch your scapegrace husband, whether he’s hiding in the garret or the cellar.’ Athelstan glowered at Cranston, who was standing behind Simplicatas. ‘Sir Jack Cranston,’ Athelstan continued, raising his voice so it rang through the house, ‘is a terrible man with the devil’s own temper. Perline, are you going to show yourself, or skulk like a coward for the rest of your days?’
    A figure appeared in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
    ‘I am sorry, Father. I didn’t mean any harm,’ a voice pleaded.
    ‘People like you never do!’ Athelstan shouted back. ‘For heaven’s sake, come downstairs! By St Erconwald’s and all that is holy!’ Athelstan pointed a finger at Simplicatas. ‘You and your husband have made fools of my entire parish.’ Cranston opened his