The Assassin's Riddle by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page B

she was a woman who had spent her life as an embroiderer or seamstress. Cranston still gazed beatifically down at her until the young woman, rather disconcerted, blinked and turned to Athelstan for help.
    ‘Sir John Cranston, mistress,’ Athelstan explained. ‘Coroner of the city. We are here to investigate the murders of Luke Peslep and Edwin Chapler.’
    ‘Good!’ the woman exclaimed, her face becoming hard. She rose, grasped Cranston’s hand and, before he could stop her, kissed it. ‘I am Edwin’s sister, Alison Chapler. I have just heard the news, Sir John. I demand vengeance and justice for my brother’s murder.’

CHAPTER 3
    Sir John released the young woman’s hand.
    ‘Sit down, mistress,’ he said softly, walking backwards.
    Athelstan closed his eyes at the muffled giggles from the clerks. Cranston, the rich claret now making its full effect felt, gazed round benevolently.
    ‘All of you, sirs, sit down at the table here.’ He placed himself at the top, snapping his fingers for Athelstan to take the stool beside him. ‘Now,’ Cranston began, once the clerks were sat on either side of him. ‘Now, now, a pretty mess, two royal clerks horribly murdered.’ He wagged a stubby finger. ‘And you know what they’re going to say, don’t you?’
    ‘Are you a prophet as well as a coroner?’ Elflain blurted out, grinning at his companions for support.
    ‘No, sir, I am the King’s officer,’ Cranston snapped, all weariness disappearing from his face and voice. ‘The murder of a royal clerk is treason. The punishment for that is to be half-hanged, disembowelled, cut down and the body sliced into quarters.’
    The clerks became more attentive.
    ‘Good,’ Cranston purred. ‘Now we have your attention, let us begin. Mistress Alison, you live in London?’
    ‘No, Sir John, I do not. I came this morning from Epping, a village on the old Roman road through Essex.’
    Aye, I know it,’ Cranston replied. ‘Mistress Alison, I must apologise, but I have ordered your brother’s corpse to be taken to St Erconwald’s. Brother Athelstan kindly agreed to have it interred there.’
    Alison smiled so dazzlingly at Athelstan that his heart gave a slight skip. It had been a long time since a comely young woman smiled at him like that. He blushed and lowered his head.
    ‘Do you wish to take it back, mistress?’ Cranston continued, glancing sideways at Athelstan, enjoying his secretarius’s discomfort.
    ‘No, Sir John, I do not. Brother Athelstan, it was most kind of you. St Erconwald’s is in Southwark, is it not?’
    ‘Yes, mistress.’ Athelstan didn’t even lift his head.
    ‘I thank you, Brother.’
    ‘What are you doing in London now?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘I came to see my brother,’ Alison replied. ‘Ten days ago a journeyman brought me a letter, a short note: Edwin said he felt unwell. I could see he was worried about something. I have it here.’
    She picked up the battered leather saddlebag lying next to her chair, undid the clasp and rummaged amongst the contents. The letter was passed along. Athelstan took it and undid the crisp, square piece of parchment. The writing inside it was beautifully formed:
From Edwin Chapler to his sweet and beloved sister Alison.
The letter went on to describe that he felt unwell, burdened by certain troubles; that if he was free he would go to visit her but could she not come and see him?
    Athelstan noted it was written ten days earlier; he smiled his thanks and passed it back.
    ‘I arrived this morning,’ Alison continued. ‘My brother had lodgings in St Martin’s Lane near Aldersgate: a mere garret overlooking the city ditch. A rather foulsome place, especially in summer.’
    ‘Quite, quite.’ Cranston nodded understandingly. And so you came here, mistress, and found your brother had been killed?’
    ‘Yes she did.’ Alcest spoke up. ‘We told her, sir, what Havant had told us, that her brother’s corpse had been plucked from the Thames.’
    And now