Read Online The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson - Free Book Online Page A

feeding one of the apples to the roan horse. He turned at the footsteps.
    ‘John.’ A look of concern came into his eyes. ‘How are you? Should you be up yet?’
    ‘I’m better, praise God,’ he answered, knowing how unlikely that sounded with a bandage wrapped around his skull. And he could feel the tiredness rising from the soles of his feet.
    ‘When Katherine sent word, we were fearful for your life.’
    ‘No need to worry, Brother, I’m not going to die that easily. And your master didn’t seem concerned about my health this morning.’
    ‘You picked a bad time to see him,’ the monk said with a frown. ‘The physician was here earlier. His wife is growing worse.’
    ‘I didn’t know.’ It explained the ill temper; John felt guilty for his resentment.
    ‘The child grows stronger, his mother grows weaker.’ He sighed. ‘The doctor says she might die.’ He crossed himself. ‘Pray for her, John. You too, Walter.’
    ‘We will. He told me you have the name of Edward’s companion.’
    ‘He didn’t remember?’ Robert shook his head. ‘Too much on his mind. It’s Gilbert. He works for Edmund the Shoemaker on Soutergate.’
    Of course. The man smelt of leather. He looked out through the gate.
    ‘What do you think, Brother? Are they still here?’
    The monk smile wanly.
    ‘I don’t know. Any wise man would run.’ He paused a moment. ‘But a truly wise man wouldn’t have killed in the first place.’
    ‘He wants us to find them if they’re still here.’
    ‘You know what he’s like. Forgive him. He’s not himself at the moment.’
    ‘He doesn’t make it easy. It’s like he’s filled with vinegar.’
    ‘Some men thrive on conflict, John. He’s always been that way, even when he was young.’
    ‘So it would be a blessing if I helped him by finding Edward and Gilbert?’
    The monk nodded. ‘He won’t show it but he’d be grateful.’ He reached out a bony hand and grasped John’s wrist. ‘If you can.’
    ‘I’ll try,’ he agreed.
    ‘May God give you help.’
    • • •
    ‘What are we going to do, John?’ Walter asked as they crossed the empty market square, walking towards Low Pavement. People were already at their work, the shutters coming down to display their wares, the tempting smell of food from the cookshops.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go and see the shoemaker and find out where Gilbert lives?’
    ‘Gilbert won’t be there, will he?’ the lad asked nervously.
    ‘No, he’s gone. I’m sure of that. I’ll be in the alehouse.’
    He watched the boy run off on eager legs. Inside the building, with the smell of ale and old rushes on the floor, he took a coin from his purse and sat with a mug. He wanted time to think, but he was weary. He simply needed to sit for a while.
    The battering he’d taken on Saturday night had drained more from him than he cared to admit. A few minutes’ rest and he’d be fine. He had to be now, with killers to seek.
    He’d be willing to wager that Gilbert lived in the Shambles; maybe even lodged with Edward the Butcher. Wherever it was, he’d need to go there. They’d be gone, somewhere, but he might find some indication of where.
    It wasn’t a task he relished. Instinctively he touched the handle of his knife, just to check it was there. A small comfort for the Shambles.
    He leaned back on the bench, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. He needed some rest.
    Someone was shaking his arm. He opened his eyes, dragged away from a beautiful dream that vanished into the light.
    ‘I’ve found out where Gilbert lives, John.’ Walter sat down, beaming.
    ‘Is it in the Shambles?’ He drank some of the ale to wet his dusty throat. The lad looked disappointed.
    ‘On Packers’ Row. How did you know?’
    ‘It was just a guess.’ He smiled. ‘Good work.’ Slowly, he drained the cup, relishing the earthy taste. ‘We’d better take a look at his room.’
    The Shambles was made up of pinched little streets – Fisher