The Devil's Acolyte (2002) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

ingots of tin. Some were
well-formed, neat rectangles of metal, but many were rougher, marked by their moorstone moulds’ irregularities. These heavy blocks of one or two hundredweight were placed on the scales and
the true weight was shouted out and noted by the three clerks to the officials. Each ingot had the mark of the owner stamped upon it, and the name was called out at the same time, checked with the
register held by the Receiver.
    Simon knew of him. He was called Joce Blakemoor, a local Burgess, and Simon had never liked him. He seemed too smooth for the Bailiff’s taste.
    The Assay-master, a slim, wiry man with the dark hair and features of a local, was chiselling chips from the first of the ingots and seeing that the metal was of the right quality. In front of
him was a grim-faced miner with a filthy leather jerkin over a patched linen shirt, so heavily stained that it looked like worn leather. His lower face was hidden entirely by a thick, grey-speckled
beard, and his head was covered by a hood, which gave him the appearance of peering out shortsightedly, rather like a suspicious snail. He watched the Assay-master with a keenness that told Simon
he must be the owner of the tin, hoping against hope that his coinage wouldn’t be too expensive. Simon knew the man. It was old Hal Raddych.
    There were many witnesses, from miners, to locals, to several strangers who Simon thought must be pewterers and agents. People from all over the country wanted tin.
    One in particular caught his eye – a tall, well-made man with oddly-cut clothes. He was no local, Simon was sure. When a red-headed youth in a Benedictine novice’s garb bumped into
him, he swore, but not in English or French. The youngster was profusely apologetic, and the man smiled and nodded.
    Simon was leaning against a pillar and viewing things, his servant scowling ferociously at all about, for Hugh detested crowds, daring any cut-purse to try his luck, when the messenger reached
them; it was to the noise of the stamps hammering the King’s arms into the ingot that Simon received his summons.
    ‘I must go to the Abbot
now
?’ he repeated, bellowing over the din, and as he spoke the noise suddenly stopped. By coincidence, the assaying of one ingot was complete, and
the bill of weight charged against Hal Raddych was being scrawled on the bill sheet. Once the tax was paid, the tinner could sell his metal, so there was a short period of expectation while the
interested merchants and pewterers’ agents witnessed the bill being signed, and it was into this void that Simon’s voice roared.
    Every head in the place was turned to him. Ashamed, he wanted to scurry away like a rat, but he didn’t wish everyone there to see how upset he was at having to pay a fine, for he was sure
that was the reason for the summons. The Abbot had decided to fine him for his incompetence and stupidity in forgetting the hammer, even though he had brought it here in good time. When he glanced
about him, he saw that Hal Raddych was staring at him. Behind him, Joce Blakemoor too was watching him keenly.
    Seeing him only made Simon irritable. ‘Damn the man’s eyes,’ he muttered, squaring his shoulders. ‘I hope he gets blinded by a chip from an ingot!’
    It was only much later that he came to wonder whether the expression he had seen in Blakemoor’s eyes was less amusement at Simon’s plight, more fear for himself.
    Joce Blakemoor’s expression hadn’t been missed by Walwynus, either. Wally was watching as the tin was gathered up and weighed, the metal gleaming in the sun where
the Assay-master had chiselled off a corner.
    A few yards away was the slightly gaunt figure of the Abbot’s Steward, Augerus. Wally nodded to him and tilted his head, and Augerus nodded. Wally didn’t like the man, but he was
useful, he thought as he made his way to a table outside a tavern. There he held up a penny for the host, and when Augerus arrived, the landlord had already