The Dance of Death by Kate Sedley Page B

worse.’
    Timothy’s irritation was written large on his face. He was under great strain, and suddenly it showed. ‘That’s enough of that sort of talk.’ The corner of his right eye had developed a twitch. ‘Now listen to me carefully. Make sure that no one is watching you when you enter Culpepper’s house and be certain it’s him when he answers the door. He’s a widower. Lives alone. An old man, over sixty, as you’d expect. Grey hair, thickset. None too keen on using the communal pump.’
    â€˜You mean he stinks more than normal?’
    â€˜We-ell . . . yes. But it’s another way of identifying him. Here, take this token.’ The spymaster pushed a bone disc, with the emblem of the White Boar carved on one side, towards me. ‘If he jibs at letting you in, show him this. But not unless you have to. Then ask him for a description of Robin Gaunt. That’s all you want. Nothing more. Don’t enter into conversation with him.’
    â€˜And if he can’t remember this Robin Gaunt, or perhaps won’t say unless I tell him why I wish to know?’
    Timothy sighed, the lines of weariness about his eyes seeming to increase. ‘Then I’ll have to have him brought in for questioning. Frighten him a bit. But I don’t want to do that unless it’s necessary. His neighbours are bound to get wind of it, and the last thing I want is to draw any attention to him.’
    â€˜But isn’t he going to discuss my visit with the neighbours anyway?’
    â€˜The man who’s been keeping an eye on him these past few days reports that Culpepper doesn’t like company and speaks to very few people. Other people tend to avoid him.’
    â€˜The smell must be worse than we thought,’ I commented with a grin, then wished I hadn’t. Timothy looked for a moment as though he might burst into tears.
    â€˜I’ve warned you, Roger, that this is a serious matter. Don’t make a jest of it.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I shall expect you back here after dinner, when Mistress Gray will join us. Now, off you go, and for God’s sake, take care. Make sure you’re not being followed. If anything – anything at all – arouses your suspicions, come back and try again tomorrow.’
    Half an hour later, I crossed West Cheap, strolled through the goldsmiths’ quarter and bore right into the Shambles.
    I had been able to smell it from some way off, the stench assaulting my nose from the second I entered Old Change. Up close, it was even more pungent, the cobbles slippery with blood and the central drain piled high with discarded animal bones and offal. Mind you, there was less waste here than in many other parts of London. There wasn’t much of any beast that couldn’t be used; eyes were a great delicacy, as also were brains, very tasty, like the innards, stewed with an onion, and some meat could even be scraped off the ears. A whole sheep or cow’s head could make several meals and feed a family quite cheaply, as I well knew. Adela was nothing if not a thrifty housewife. I had often enjoyed a pig’s cheek, although I have to admit to a certain queasiness about eating eyes.
    Stinking Lane more than lived up to its name, the houses on either side being extremely close together and the smell from the Shambles getting trapped between them. There were other aromas, too; poor drainage meant that urine and faeces were mixed with rotting vegetables and the other detritus of daily life. (Urine and faeces? I’m becoming too nice in my old age. ‘Pee’ and ‘shit’ were words that would have served me well enough once.) Twice the soles of my boots slipped on the slime of the cobbles as I counted three cottages up on the left-hand side. I took a step back and surveyed the frontage.
    There was only one window, located on the ground floor, and that was shuttered. The door, too, was inhospitably