The Wicked and the Just by J. Anderson Coats Read Free Book Online

the boat from Flanders.”
    I must have this wool.
    â€œNicholas, what do you have of value?”
    â€œSorry, Cesspile, all I’ve got is gold plate,” my wretch cousin snipes in a most flippant way.
    I must have this wool.
    The merchant holds the bolt close to his heart like an only son. Nicholas folds his arms and leans on the window frame as if this is boring somehow.
    I swallow hard. “How about an altar cloth? All stitched in gold thread? It has two dozen saints. Took a whole year to make.”
    The merchant shrugs. “I’d have to see it.”
    â€œNicholas, my dearest cousin, the kindest and most selfless Christian ever to—”
    â€œYes, yes, I’ll go fetch it,” Nicholas grumbles. “Where is it?”
    â€œFolded in the coffer in my chamber. Nicholas, you are simply the most—”
    But he’s striding up the street like his cloak is afire. One little favor and he’s worked himself into a lather.
    In less than two Credos, Nicholas is back with a familiar packet that he slaps hard into my belly. I ignore him and unfurl the altar cloth like a grand banner. The merchant makes an approving little noise and puts out a hand.
    I hesitate.
    The linen is soft as a mare’s flank. The saints are peaceful all in a line. Alice and Agnes would never speak to me again if they knew.
    I push it into his hands all at once. “Take care with it. It’s dear to me.”
    The merchant folds the altar cloth into a tidy square. “This’ll be enough to hold the wool. You’ll get it back when I’ve been paid in full. Your father will return on the morrow to pay?”
    â€œOh, indeed, my lord,” I reply. “Mayhap even today. The sooner, the better.”
    But as the merchant begins to unfurl the wool for measuring, a tall cock of a man slides up to the market counter and smiles all teeth at Nicholas.
    â€œYou are a foreigner,” the cock-man says to my cousin.
    Nicholas frowns. “What do you mean?”
    â€œAnd trading on a Wednesday. Amerced a penny.” The cock-man holds out his palm.
    Nicholas squares up. “I made no trade.”
    The merchant draws back, clutching his bolt of finespun. “I knew not, Pluver. I swear I didn’t.”
    â€œI made the trade.” I step before Nicholas and glare a brace of daggers at this wretch Pluver. “My father is Robert d’Edgeley, and I will see you cartwhipped for your baseless threat against my kinsman, you filthy swine.”
    â€œRobert d’Edgeley.” Pluver squints thoughtfully. “Newly of Shire Hall Street. Not yet admitted to the privileges and still a foreigner. That makes you a foreigner, too.” He holds out his hand. “A penny.”
    â€œI’ve no idea what you mean,” I reply through my teeth, “but I’ll not give you a single blasted thing merely at your word.”
    The merchant has withdrawn and stored the bolt of finespun out of sight.
    â€œYou are a foreigner trading on a day that is not Saturday, the recognized market day in Caernarvon,” Pluver explains, as if I’m a halfwit. “You are amerced a penny for this trespass. In my hand, or it’ll be Court Baron before the bailiff.”
    I sneer. “I’m not a foreigner. I market every day with Mistress Tipley and she said we owe no market tolls. She said only the Welsh must pay tolls.”
    Pluver seizes my wrist and it stings like sin. Nicholas starts toward Pluver, but the brute says, “One hand on me and I’ll haul you in for assault, lad, and then you’re waiting on his Grace the king’s itinerant justice. Six months at best.”
    The filthy swine drags me through alleys and greenways. My hem is a mess and my wrist afire. If anyone ought to be hauled before Court Baron, it’s Pluver. We go up and over and up to a tall timber building in the shadow of the castle. It’s the Justice Court and no more than ten