The Relic Murders

wants me to be here.' I caught the German intonation. Cornelius gestured at me.
    'You have your agents, my Lord Cardinal: the Emperor has his.'
    And this was certainly true. Old Charles, locked away in a monastery watching his clocks, whilst his Noctales, the Men of the Night, watched his subjects. Brown-coated gnats, the Noctales swarmed over the empire listening at keyholes, collecting scraps of information. That pious fool Philip II inherited them: not a donkey farts in Spain that they don't know about. Later in my life, I had the pleasure of meeting the Noctales in the dungeons of the Escorial palace. They had an original way of making you talk; not for them the clumsy, red-hot pincers of the Inquisition. How would you like to spend a night in a pitch-black room, knowing that, somewhere in the darkness, two poisonous snakes waited to pounce?
    'Now, now.' Kempe walked towards Wolsey. 'My Lord Cardinal.'
    I caught a hint of arrogance in Kempe's voice and, from that moment, I knew his Satanic eminence was beginning to slip down the greasy pole of preferment.
    'My Lord Cardinal.' Kempe declared. 'Matters have now moved apace. Lord Egremont wishes to talk about the transfer of the Orb of Charlemagne and view once more Malevel Manor.'
    'Agreed, agreed,' Wolsey murmured, fingering the silver pectoral cross. 'Lord Egremont, my nephew Master Benjamin Daunbey and his servant Roger Shallot will accompany you. They are my personal guarantee, as well as the King's, that the Orb will be transferred safely into your hands.'
    'In which case,' Egremont replied icily, 'I shall remember that. On your lives -' he pointed at Benjamin and me '- lies the security of my master's precious relic' 'Aye,' Benjamin replied. 'And on yours too, Lord Egremont.'

Chapter 5
    Ah well, on that pleasant note we all left Eltham: Egremont, Kempe, the Noctales, Doctor Agrippa and his lovely group of cutthroats who served as guards and outriders. We forded the Thames and made our way across the fields past the Priory of St John of Jerusalem. We kept well away from the crowds, though we had to stop at a crossroads near Leather Lane, where they were burying two suicides beneath the gibbet, small stakes having been driven through their hearts. Because of the carts, wheelbarrows and crowds thronging about, we had to wait a while and entertained ourselves by watching the mummers, fire-eaters and sword-swallowers: all those golden boys and girls from the twilight of the city who used such occasions to earn a pretty penny as well as pick a purse. Uneasy, still wracked by anger over what had happened to me in Newgate, I was alarmed at Henry's implied threats, not to mention that bloody riddle. I sat fidgeting. Now and again I would look at the faces around me and it was then I glimpsed him. Someone was stalking us through the crowd! A man dressed like a tinker, with a leather apron about his waist and a battered hat pulled well over his face. He turned and I glimpsed the dog-like features of Cerberus, Lord Charon's henchman. My hand dropped to my dagger but the crowd swirled and, when I looked again, the villain had vanished. We rode on. Cornelius pushed his horse alongside mine. 'You seem lost in thought, Master Shallot?' Despite his appearance the tone was friendly. 'I've been set a riddle by the King,' I retorted, glaring over my shoulder at Agrippa. 'And I have to resolve it!' 'What riddle?' Cornelius asked.
    I told him about the bloody fox, the damn chicken and the pathetic bowl of grain, not to mention getting them across the sodding Thames.
    'I am a student from Innsbruck,' Cornelius offered. 'In my days as a clerk I was a master riddler.' He scratched his chin.
    'Thank you for your offer of help,' I replied, glancing maliciously at Agrippa.
    ‘I cannot help you, Master Shallot,' the good Doctor declared. 'Oh, and before I forget, the King left a message: you are to have resolved the riddle before we return to Eltham.'
    If I hadn't had my feet firmly in the stirrups, I would have fallen off my horse. Benjamin leaned over, his long face creased in concern.
    'I'm trying to help as well, Roger,' he declared. 'It's really a mathematical problem. There's a very easy solution but, for the life of me, I can't think of it.'
    With such supportive words ringing in my ears, we left the highway and followed a rutted track leading to the manor of Malevel. Oh, it was a glorious day! The harvesters were busy working under a warm sun, blue skies and fleecy clouds. It