Read Online 3 A Surfeit of Guns: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery by P. F. Chisholm - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: P. F. Chisholm
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a stealthy sound to his left and he turned to look.
Two men crept out of the Queen Mary Tower, one tall and leggy, the other short and squat. The tall one was carrying a dark lantern, fully shuttered so only occasional sparkles of light escaped. His face made a patch of white against darkness as he looked up at Solomon, who lifted his shortened upper arm and nodded.
Carey hadn’t felt it necessary to explain why he had paid Solomon to keep watch, but it was no surprise that he and his short henchman padded quietly to the Armoury door. Carey was trying a key in the lock, but it seemingly no longer fitted. He stepped aside and the smaller man took something in his hand and jiggled it into the keyhole. Shortly afterwards there was a stealthy sequence of clicks and the door opened.
There was a sound from the barracks. The taller man tensed, touched his companion on the shoulder. Out of the barracks door came the unmistakable slouching rangy form of Sergeant Dodd. He padded across the courtyard, there was a low conversation and then they all disappeared inside the armoury.
Solomon nodded to himself. He had served under the new Deputy’s father, Lord Hunsdon, during the revolt of the Northern Earls, and he remembered Carey as a boy of about nine, perpetually in trouble, normally hanging about the stables and kennels while his tutor searched for him. The boy was father to the man there, no doubt about it. He grinned reminiscently. On a famous occasion, the young Robin had decided to try reiving for himself, along with his half-brother Daniel. The thing had ended unhappily, with Lord Hunsdon having to pay for the beast and the boys eating their dinners standing up for days afterwards.
Down in the armoury, Carey carefully unshuttered the horn-paned lantern and looked about at the racks.
“Well, they’re here at least,” he said to Dodd softly, as dull greased metal gleamed back at him from all around.
“Ay, sir,” whispered Dodd. “Shall we go now?”
“Not yet, Sergeant.”
Carey nodded at Barnabus who carefully took down the nearest caliver and handed it to him. “We’re going to mark them, carve a cross at the base of the stocks.”
“All of them, sir?”
“That’s right.”
“But it’ll take a’ night…”
“Not if we get started now.”
“Ay, sir,” said Dodd with a sigh.
There was quiet for a while, with the occasional clatter of a dropped weapon and a curse when somebody’s hand slipped. At the end of an hour and a half, Dodd put his knife away.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Hm? Yes, I think so. Barnabus, did you bring those calivers I gave you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give them here then.”
Carey took two guns at random from the middle of the rack and replaced them with Barnabus’s weapons. He held up the lantern and although the replacements had darker-coloured stocks, they would likely not be noticed by someone who was simply counting weapons.
From outside came a low significant sound of an owl hooting. Carey shuttered the lantern immediately, put his fingers to his lips. Feet crunched past the armoury in the yard, someone yawned loudly outside. They stood like statues.
There was the sound of muttered conversation, a scraping and clattering of firewood bundles and then the heavier, laden footsteps walking away again. Moments later came another owl hoot.
“The baker, of course,” said Carey to himself and yawned. “We’re finished here, gentlemen.” Dodd surreptitiously mopped some sweat off his forehead while Carey slipped the lantern shutters closed and went to the door, peered out cautiously. A cat was sitting in the middle of the empty yard, watching something invisible. It too yawned and trotted away as the three men slipped out of the armoury.
“I’ll meet you an hour before dawn, then, Sergeant.”
“Ay, sir,” said Dodd on another martyred sigh.
Solomon was turning the heel of his sock when he heard the lock snick shut, and then one set of soft footsteps
Two men crept out of the Queen Mary Tower, one tall and leggy, the other short and squat. The tall one was carrying a dark lantern, fully shuttered so only occasional sparkles of light escaped. His face made a patch of white against darkness as he looked up at Solomon, who lifted his shortened upper arm and nodded.
Carey hadn’t felt it necessary to explain why he had paid Solomon to keep watch, but it was no surprise that he and his short henchman padded quietly to the Armoury door. Carey was trying a key in the lock, but it seemingly no longer fitted. He stepped aside and the smaller man took something in his hand and jiggled it into the keyhole. Shortly afterwards there was a stealthy sequence of clicks and the door opened.
There was a sound from the barracks. The taller man tensed, touched his companion on the shoulder. Out of the barracks door came the unmistakable slouching rangy form of Sergeant Dodd. He padded across the courtyard, there was a low conversation and then they all disappeared inside the armoury.
Solomon nodded to himself. He had served under the new Deputy’s father, Lord Hunsdon, during the revolt of the Northern Earls, and he remembered Carey as a boy of about nine, perpetually in trouble, normally hanging about the stables and kennels while his tutor searched for him. The boy was father to the man there, no doubt about it. He grinned reminiscently. On a famous occasion, the young Robin had decided to try reiving for himself, along with his half-brother Daniel. The thing had ended unhappily, with Lord Hunsdon having to pay for the beast and the boys eating their dinners standing up for days afterwards.
Down in the armoury, Carey carefully unshuttered the horn-paned lantern and looked about at the racks.
“Well, they’re here at least,” he said to Dodd softly, as dull greased metal gleamed back at him from all around.
“Ay, sir,” whispered Dodd. “Shall we go now?”
“Not yet, Sergeant.”
Carey nodded at Barnabus who carefully took down the nearest caliver and handed it to him. “We’re going to mark them, carve a cross at the base of the stocks.”
“All of them, sir?”
“That’s right.”
“But it’ll take a’ night…”
“Not if we get started now.”
“Ay, sir,” said Dodd with a sigh.
There was quiet for a while, with the occasional clatter of a dropped weapon and a curse when somebody’s hand slipped. At the end of an hour and a half, Dodd put his knife away.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Hm? Yes, I think so. Barnabus, did you bring those calivers I gave you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give them here then.”
Carey took two guns at random from the middle of the rack and replaced them with Barnabus’s weapons. He held up the lantern and although the replacements had darker-coloured stocks, they would likely not be noticed by someone who was simply counting weapons.
From outside came a low significant sound of an owl hooting. Carey shuttered the lantern immediately, put his fingers to his lips. Feet crunched past the armoury in the yard, someone yawned loudly outside. They stood like statues.
There was the sound of muttered conversation, a scraping and clattering of firewood bundles and then the heavier, laden footsteps walking away again. Moments later came another owl hoot.
“The baker, of course,” said Carey to himself and yawned. “We’re finished here, gentlemen.” Dodd surreptitiously mopped some sweat off his forehead while Carey slipped the lantern shutters closed and went to the door, peered out cautiously. A cat was sitting in the middle of the empty yard, watching something invisible. It too yawned and trotted away as the three men slipped out of the armoury.
“I’ll meet you an hour before dawn, then, Sergeant.”
“Ay, sir,” said Dodd on another martyred sigh.
Solomon was turning the heel of his sock when he heard the lock snick shut, and then one set of soft footsteps
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