{"id":73,"date":"2016-06-29T16:52:54","date_gmt":"2016-06-29T16:52:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/?p=73"},"modified":"2016-06-29T16:52:54","modified_gmt":"2016-06-29T16:52:54","slug":"broken-instrument-chapter-4-poley-moody-in-the-tower","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/a-broken-instrument\/broken-instrument-chapter-4-poley-moody-in-the-tower\/","title":{"rendered":"(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 4: POLEY: MOODY IN THE TOWER"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"The<\/a>
The Tower Of London<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

This Tower is a citadel to defend or command the city, a royal palace for assemblies or treaties, a prison of state for the most dangerous offenders, the only place of coinage for all England at this time, the armoury for warlike provision, the treasury of the ornaments and jewels of the crown, and general conserver of the most records of the king’s courts of justice at Westminster.<\/i><\/p>\n

A Survey of London<\/i><\/p>\n

John Stow <\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That false faced piece of shit. <\/i><\/p>\n

Michael fucking Moody.<\/i><\/p>\n

It\u2019s a true sign of what a colossal cock-up this all is, that I\u2019m coming cap in hand to such a treacherous bastard.<\/i><\/p>\n

The sour stench of the moat mirrored the sourness of his thoughts as Poley approached the walled mass of buildings that was the London Tower. The Tower itself was an ancient fort, the foundations of which had been laid down by various kings many centuries past. The walls surrounding the fort were reinforced by several towers built at various times. The Liberty of the Tower comprised not only the fort but the land and buildings surrounding it. The Liberty was its own demesne, the writ of the city of London ran there not at all. He made his way across the bridge over the wet sludge from the Lion Tower through the Bayward Gate of the London Tower. He glanced to his right, towards the Thames and the Queen\u2019s Stairs and saw that there was no flag indicating that Her Majesty was visiting the Tower on business. Even so, the way along the Outer Ward was crowded with a variety of people coming and going on. Lawyers, wives and children, Tower guards, messengers, a wagon of wood, another loaded high with beer barrels; Poley moved around them all, heading towards the Bloody Tower Gate. He stood aside and doffed his hat as the Gentleman Porter moved past, talking intently to the two lawyers flanking him. Affairs must be tense between the Liberty of the Tower and the City. <\/i>Light flashed from the Porter\u2019s rings as he gestured emphatically to accompany the point he was making. The two black gowned lawyers nodded like Tower ravens.<\/p>\n

Ahead, at the Gate, which was the entrance to the Inner Ward, there was the usual gaggle of visitors, come to gawp at the sights within the Tower walls, listening to a Yeoman Warder in his bright red uniform spin his practiced tales about the wonders of the Tower. Poley remembered such visitors well from his time inside after the Babington Plot, like geese or ducks, trundling hither and yon, sticking their necks out, looking at everything, gabbling in a variety of accents and languages. Still, enough of them were soft touches when regaled with a sad story of a poor unfortunate who, through no fault of his own and due to bad companions, had become an innocent victim of the Queen\u2019s justice. And even, once or twice, alerted by a certain gleam in the eye of a woman visitor, Poley had spun his story of how he was a desperate villain, ruthless and cunning, betrayed to his enemies and brought here after a most bloody exchange of arms. Such a tale and dissembling could produce a most energetic tumble.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd sometimes the ghosts of the child princes can be seen wandering the rooms of the very tower above!\u201d The Yeoman Warder wrapped up his tale and waved the visitors through the gate, under the portcullis. Poley recognized him, Mick Rathley, and the regard was mutual.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaster Poley. It\u2019s been some time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeoman Rathley. Your memory is as keen as ever. It\u2019s been several years since I was clapped inside. I would have thought that with all the traffic in and out, I would just be one among many.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot so. My training in the ars memoria<\/i> is why the Lieutenant Warder keeps me on the gate. Each face takes its place in the Hall of Portraits of my Memory Palace.\u201d Rathley looked smug and self-important.<\/p>\n

Poley\u2019s business was pressing him hard; his network in the Low Countries had been blown truly to hell and there was a completely untrustworthy dogfucker inside the Tower that he had to put into play; but this provocation was too much.<\/p>\n

\u201cArs memoria<\/i>? Memory Palace? Mick, you\u2019re from the dregs of the Southwark stews and lucked into this position. Hell, even the dregs look down on you. So how by the Virgin Mary\u2019s bloody monthlies do you know about such things, let alone the Latin?\u201d<\/p>\n

But none of the words breached the air. Years of experience in keeping his thoughts to himself in front of self important high borns and low borns allowed him to keep his face composed and his words inside. He smiled pleasantly.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds very fine, Yeoman Rathley. You are to be commended on your diligence to your duty as well as your growing erudition. Now, my duty presses and I must have words with one inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood day then, Master Poley.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood day, Master Rathley.\u201d Poley touched his hat, but Rathley had already turned to answer the questions of another group of tourists, from York by their accents, and didn\u2019t acknowledge Poley\u2019s salute.<\/p>\n

The Bloody Tower stretched three stories above his head as he went through the gate, under the looming portcullis. The dark history of the place affected his mood not at all, for it was dark enough already. And, besides, his previous lengthy visit inside these very walls had cured him of any such wasteful thoughts.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know exactly where Moody was being held in the Tower but he was reasonably certain that he wasn\u2019t being held in the Bloody Tower above his head. Moody was guilty of numerous sins and offenses but none of them were so great that he would be held in such close confinement as was offered by the cells in the Bloody. No, he was undoubtedly being held elsewhere on the grounds. It shouldn\u2019t be too great of a task to find him. He would start by searching the open grounds of the Inner Ward.<\/p>\n

Poley emerged from the shadows of the passageway into the sunlight and stood blinking in the light for a minute, catching his bearings. A group of Yeomen Warders stood guard, watching all who entered and left.<\/p>\n

To his right were a row of houses used to hold some of the better off prisoners. Not great residences – low one story buildings – but comfortable nonetheless and better than the cells within the towers. Looming above the houses were the buildings of the Royal Palace, where the Queen stayed on her visits on state occasions.<\/p>\n

There was a small orchard off to his left, enclosed by a low hedge. Beyond the orchard and nestled against the wall that Poley had just come through were the Lieutenant\u2019s Lodgings. Those buildings were not just where the foremost official of the Tower, the Queen\u2019s representative, lived, but also where much of the Tower\u2019s business was transacted.<\/p>\n

There was a small room in those buildings that Poley had become heartily sick of during his imprisonment in the Tower. It was in that small room, just barely big enough for a long table with several chairs behind it and a small stool in front of it where he fought for his life in front of stone-faced judges. It was there, in that room, for long hours, while the air grew close with the smell of sweat and wax tapers, that he went over, time and time again, each detail of his efforts in the operation to bring Arthur Babington and his circle to justice for the crime of plotting to kill the Queen. Time and time again, he stated that he was under orders when he pronounced treason against Her Majesty; that all of the plans that he laid before Babington and the secret priest were to entrap them; that at all times he had been a loyal pursuivant in the service of Sir Francis Walsingham. He remembered the fear he felt then, thick yet sharp in his stomach; the impotent fury that all of his service should be doubted and cast back in his face. He shook his head sharply, driving away the bad memories, and headed towards the Lieutenant\u2019s Quarters. He knew full well that what he felt mattered not. If he wanted to get Moody in play, he\u2019d not only have to ignore the treacherous pull of the past, but pull off an outrageous bluff at the same time.<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert Poley to see Undersecretary Barnstable. Privy Council business.\u201d Poley addressed his words to the Yeoman Warder at the building\u2019s entrance.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs he expecting you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. And that\u2019s why it\u2019s Privy Council business. It\u2019s important and it\u2019s just come up and I\u2019ve just shot the Bridge getting here fastest from Whitehall, so go tell the Undersecretary that I\u2019m here and need to see him.\u201d Poley gave himself the air of man holding onto his temper with his fingertips. He felt the old familiar feeling wash over him; an actor going onto stage; the role becoming real. The Bob Poley with no employer and no money and networks gone bad in Flanders faded into the background. Robert Poley from the Privy Council with important business moved to the fore.<\/p>\n

Within a few minutes, the Yeoman returned. \u201cHe said he\u2019ll see you now. You know the way?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I do! I\u2019ve been here many times for the Court.\u201d Poley swept past the Yeoman and into the building.<\/p>\n

A gaggle of clerks clogged the antechamber and Poley moved purposefully through them with only the most perfunctory apologies. He took the stairs without even breaking stride and went down the hallway until he reached Barnstable\u2019s office.<\/p>\n

It was a small office, but it had a window overlooking the green. Barnstable had positioned his desk to make the most of the light coming through the thick glass. He looked up as Poley came through the door, blinking his watery eyes, the sunlight making his bald pate gleam.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck me, Bob Poley.\u201d Barnstable\u2019s \u00a0accent was pure Yorkshire, another bright lad come to the Smoke to seek his fortune and finding it among the pen pushers. \u201cI thought Yeoman Bell had been in the grog again when he announced who was seeking my attention.\u201d He got up from behind his desk and approached Poley. His gown was a faded black, almost grey, stained with ink along the right sleeve and cuff.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, it hasn\u2019t been that many years, has it?\u201d They clasped hands. Barnstable\u2019s grip was as strong as Poley remembered. He might look a clerk, but Barnstable packed a wealth of stringy muscle beneath his robe.<\/p>\n

They\u2019d met a few years back, when Poley had been looking into a possible route for Catholic libels and books being smuggled in from the Continent. His investigation had led him to a low dive in the Tower Liberty, just off the Thames bank. Unfortunately, the sailors had thought he was looking for a shagging and had taken offense. In the ensuing brawl, Barnstable had come to Poley\u2019s aid. When Poley learned of Barnstable\u2019s position in the Tower bureaucracy, he made sure to cultivate him as a useful instrument. It helped that Barnstable was of a friendly disposition. Poley almost thought of him as a friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere, take a seat.\u201d Barnstable waved to a bench cluttered with parchment rolls and folios shoved against a wall. \u201cJust pile that shit anywhere.\u201d He went back behind his desk and rummaged through a basket piled high with more paper. He came up with a leather bottle and two small cups. \u00a0\u201cHere, I\u2019ve got a bottle of passable sack. Care for a taste?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to ask twice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what brings you to these offices, Bob? Your old job?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe job I never left, really. There\u2019s a man in here that I need.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable\u2019s eyebrows went up in mock surprise. \u201cBob! Really! I never would have taken you for one of those types.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHa. I\u2019m serious. And when I say that I need this man, you understand that it\u2019s not me asking, it\u2019s the Privy Council.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable\u2019s face became serious and Poley knew that the game had started. Barnstable set his cup down on his desk and folded his hands atop the paper he had been writing on when Poley entered. \u201cAnd if it\u2019s the Privy Council asking, do you have the appropriate letter from the Council?\u201d As Poley opened his mouth to reply, Barnstable interrupted. \u00a0\u201cWait. First, let\u2019s establish that the man you want is indeed inside the Tower walls. What\u2019s his name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m all but certain that the name he\u2019s using for his stay here is Michael Moody.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable raised his eyebrows at that. \u201cOh, it\u2019s like that, is it? One of yours, I shouldn\u2019t be surprised.\u201d He got up and walked around his desk towards Poley. He rummaged through the stack of papers that Poley had set aside when he had sat on the bench. Barnstable unearthed a large ledger and opened it on his desk. \u201cMoody, Moody.\u201d Turned several pages while muttering under his breath. \u201cYes.\u201d He looked up at Poley. \u201cWe have a man here who goes by that name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. Does it say where he\u2019s being kept?\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable closed the book and remained standing, tapping his fingers lightly on its cover. \u201cAnd now we return to the matter of your authority to remove him from the Tower, Bob. I\u2019m going to need to see something from the Council, from Westminster at the very least, stating that you do the Council\u2019s work in removing this prisoner.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley kept his voice matter of fact. \u201cThere wasn\u2019t time. I\u2019ve come upon something in my work for the Council, a matter touching on the heart of the realm. I need this man Moody to help me. With Sir Francis so recently dead, all of the old ways of doing things have been upended and there\u2019s no one to sign for so basic a matter as me gaining this man to my service.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely there are clerks in Westminster who could help you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley rose from the bench and approached Barnstable, but not threateningly close. He kept his voice low and urgent. \u201cI tell you again, there simply wasn\u2019t time. I am on the track of someone who is moving swiftly and I must move quicker than he.\u201d He took a breath and looked Barnstable squarely in the eye. \u201cYou know that I am a loyal servant to the Crown and have been for many years. I have always followed the rules and the ways of doing things. But I cannot afford to wait to have all the papers signed and sealed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I cannot afford to be clapped in the cells with the other prisoners. You know what you are asking, Bob. You know that if I let you just stroll out of here with this Moody fellow, I\u2019ll be placing my neck on the block! And that\u2019s no idle fancy, either! I will be betraying the sacred trust placed in me by her Majesty. And they call that treason. And I\u2019ll end up out on Tower Hill with the headsman.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow what\u2019s all this that you talk? Treason? I keep on telling you, I am working for the Crown, William. Am I a fucking priest in disguise come to rescue some recusant? No. Am I some plotting noble come to pull one of his own out of gaol? No. I am a pursuivant in the employ of her Majesty and am this very moment in hot pursuit. It\u2019s more treason to not help me than to help me. Merely because I have placed my duty over the rules, placed the safety of this very Realm over the mewling admonishments of those who have never been out in the field, you decide to call me traitor?\u201d Poley moved in closer and placed one hand on Barnstable\u2019s shoulder. \u201cThat is a cold deed, Bill, very cold indeed. I thought you knew me. I thought we were friends.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable backed away, out from underneath Poley\u2019s hand, and retreated back behind his desk. \u201cWe are, Bob, we are. And you are right to remind me that you do the Crown\u2019s business. But you must also see my side of it. They are most strict here, they have to be, tracking the prisoners, tracking the reports and authorizations. I cannot just release this man on your say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf that\u2019s your only worry, then it is quickly solved.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d Barnstable looked up, hope replacing the uneasiness in his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou write out Moody\u2019s release. State that he\u2019s being released in my custody. I sign it, writing that it is all done with my authority and by order of the Privy Council. There. Done and dusted. You have your paperwork and all blame lands on me.\u201d Poley dropped his voice a bit. \u201cAnd, after all\u2019s said and done, you\u2019re the Undersecretary, are you not? Should be no trouble for you to temporarily lose that piece of paper.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow wait a minute here! That suggestion calms my mind not one whit! What are you on about? First, you want me to release a prisoner to your custody without even a scrap of paper to back you and now you want me to hide all trace of your endeavours? What the fuck, Bob? What the entire sloppy fuck are you up to?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCalm down, Bill. Calm yourself right the fuck down.\u201d Poley reached across the desk, Barnstable flinched back, and Poley grabbed the leather bottle of sack. \u201cHere. Have yourself another drink and gain some courage.\u201d He poured.<\/p>\n

Barnstable gripped the cup tight, knuckles whitening. \u201cFuck you, Bob Poley. I think a bit of caution and some questions don\u2019t exactly make me lily-livered.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA fair point. But listen close because this is where the matter becomes sticky and your caution is indeed warranted. I need you to obscure the fact that I have Moody because there is a spy moving around somewhere out there in London. I cannot have him know that Moody is out and working for me. And so I\u2019ve come to you. Because I trust you. And that places you on a damn short list in all this. I trust you to do the job, to keep quiet about it, and to not betray me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have that right, Bob. I\u2019m no traitor. There\u2019s no one more loyal than I.\u201d The wine was starting to get to Barnstable. \u201cI\u2019m no traitor but that cuts both ways. I wouldn\u2019t betray you in your work for the Queen but I also wouldn\u2019t betray my duty as Undersecretary in the Tower. That\u2019s why I cannot help you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The fish was almost landed and Poley kept the pressure on, slow but steady, so as to not snap the line. \u201cI am not asking you to betray your duty as the Undersecretary, Bill. Not at all. I\u2019m not asking you to destroy records or lie. I\u2019m just asking you to delay for a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDelay for how long?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs long as you think is safe. If anyone comes looking, then find the papers and blame it all on me. Take nothing on yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2018tis easier said than done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I know it. I know full well what I\u2019m asking of you. Believe me I\u2019m not asking lightly. But my need is great and pressing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt must be, given that you are pressing me so hard.\u201d Barnstable kept the whine out his voice. Barely. But Poley\u2019s trained ear caught the tremors nonetheless.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that I am. I would not if I had no other choice but I am being pressed as well. And you know what presses me the most, Bill?\u201d He pointed a finger straight at Barnstable. \u201cDuty. Duty to Her Majesty. Duty to this glorious kingdom that we live in. Oh, aye, you talk of your duty and your fear of being called a traitor but you are merely afraid of misfiling some documents. Me, I am afraid of much worse things.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barnstable\u2019s face grew steadily red. \u201cYou have a really fucking strange way of asking for help, Bob Poley. You come here, to my shop, ask me for help, and then call me a coward. Most strange.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley leaned back a bit, bothered not a whit by the other man\u2019s blustering vehemence. \u201cSo you\u2019re not afraid? Then prove it and help me.\u201d Inwardly, he winced. Such a brazen ploy. But these were the extremities he was pushed to, leaving no weapon unused until his arsenal was well and truly empty.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo fuck yourself, you southern cocksucker.\u201d Barnstable dashed off the last of his cup and then fell to brooding. \u201cCan\u2019t a man have some peace and quiet in his own damn office? I do this for you, we\u2019re quits, you understand? No more favors from me, you forget I fucking exist.\u201d<\/p>\n

Expressionless, Poley nodded. His sigh of relief never passed his lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen it\u2019s all said and done, it\u2019s just a piece of paper, isn\u2019t it?\u201d By this time, Barnstable was, in the main, talking to himself. \u201cSign it, and I\u2019ll have my office back to myself.\u201d He unearthed a clean sheet of paper, dipped his quill, and scrawled a few lines. Signed it with what looked like an entirely extravagant signature. \u201cThere.\u201d He picked it up and waved it in Poley\u2019s direction. \u201cTake it be damned to you. I\u2019m no fucking coward.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley arose from the bench, took his time to drain the last of the sack from his cup, then reached across the desk and took the paper from Barnstable. \u201cYou\u2019re doing the right thing, Bill. Not just me but for Queen and country.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, aye. Now get the fuck out of my office and leave me in peace.\u201d Barnstable waved a dismissive hand and, with the other, was reaching again for the bottle of sack.<\/p>\n

Poley was just at the door when Barnstable raised his voice at his back. \u201cWait, you whoreson! What about some coin for my trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n

Unseen by Barnstable, Poley bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. He replied without pausing on his way out the door. \u201cWhen I get some, you will be the first to feel my generosity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat! You piece of shit!\u201d Barnstable\u2019s voice was still echoing behind him as Poley went down the stairs and out of the building. The looming walls behind him cast chill shadows but the gloom and cold did nothing to sap his spirits. Despite his lack of resources, he had triumphed. And now to find Moody. Damn. I forgot to ask Barnstable where he is being held.<\/i><\/p>\n

He kept moving away from Lieutenant\u2019s Quarters and the Bloody Tower Gate, keeping it at his back, walking across the Tower Green. There were groups of Warders patrolling the grounds. Two of them were posted at all the entrances of the Jewel House, also called the White Tower, the large structure in the center of the keep, which loomed on his right. He headed across the green and towards the far wall with its towers: Brick, Bowyer, Flint, and Devereaux.<\/p>\n

Built up at the foot of that wall were the meaner cells; for those with less coin or importance. It was there that he hoped to find Michael Moody. And for the first time in the last few weeks, luck was with him. His quarry was sitting on a bench in front of one of the buildings. He was leaning back against the building\u2019s wall and his head was tilted back to enjoy the sun.<\/p>\n

Poley paused a moment to compose his face, his thoughts, collect all parts of his plans and lies together in his mind.<\/p>\n

\u201cMichael Moody!\u201d He made his tone hearty and half-joking. \u201cCome now, this is no time to be a napping slug-a-bed!\u201d<\/p>\n

Moody\u2019s eyes popped open and Poley could see the merest instance of panic flash across his face before he recognized the voice \u201cMaster Poley!\u201d Moody leapt to his feet. His smile was welcoming and friendly but his eyes were wary and calculating. His black hair hung greasy from underneath his cap. Even with an acquaintance with this man for many years, including times when they were clapped together in a cell, Poley would be hard pressed to describe Moody once he took his eyes off him. There was something about his features, the arrangement of them, which made him an average man, instantly forgettable. That is what made him a perfect pursuivant, a most excellent spy. And the nest of worms behind his eyes and the emptiness where his soul should be were what made him the perfect traitor, a most untrustworthy piece of shit bastard. Moody\u2019s clothes were dirty and stained but he must have had some money kept by, as he was not clapped in a cell but enjoying the afternoon sun and breeze.<\/p>\n

\u201cMichael.\u201d Poley clasped the proffered hand. \u201cI\u2019m glad to see that you are well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo much difference between us now. I hardly know how to address you. Why, I remember when we were both cozening poor witless Catholics in hope to come to Walsingham\u2019s attention. And now look at me and look at you.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was Michael Moody all over, inveigling on many fronts simultaneously. The appeal to old friendships. The obsequious fawning in hope of a favor. The hint of shared secrets that might be betrayed.<\/p>\n

He continued in the same vein. \u201cStuck here in the Tower and after all the services that I\u2019ve done for his Lordship.\u201d His voice took on an aggrieved tone. \u201cI had not expected such ill treatment from so noble a man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley made his voice reassuring and friendly. \u201cCome, let us walk and discuss how you might gain your freedom from this place through some small service.\u201d<\/p>\n

Moody gestured in acquiescence and they began to stroll around the green. \u201cWho would I be performing this service for? Even behind these walls, I heard that the Moor is dead. So who pays you now?\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley gazed at the murder of ravens perched on the White Tower. \u201cI will be paying you, Michael, and I am well equipped with coin. That is all that needs concern you.\u201d<\/p>\n

I pray to God that Phellipes answers my message. What the fuck is taking him so long? I know that he\u2019s gone into Essex\u2019s service. There has to be room in that House for me.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re fucked if Burghley\u2019s your patron now, you know that, do you not? For he\u2019s tight with the purse and altogether very disapproving of the sort of work that we do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt would be best if you put your mind to concerns more immediate, Michael. I have the money. I am paying you. And it is I who you\u2019ll be reporting to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs you say, as you say. It seems that you\u2019ve been quite successful in the years since you and I were both imprisoned together behind these very walls. Your star is clearly in the ascendant and I would be a fool to deny that. And there\u2019s none who would call Michael Moody a fool.\u201d He briskly rubbed his hands together. \u201cSo, what\u2019s the piece of work that you would have me do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley changed the course of their walk and headed out to the center of the Tower Green. There, they were safe for the moment from any eavesdroppers. \u201cHere\u2019s how things stand. I had a man close to Hugh Owen in Brussels. He goes by the name Nick Crossby, a Catholic smuggler fled to the Continent after a spell in Marshalsea.\u201d<\/p>\n

Moody lifted his eyebrows and smirked at Poley. \u201cStill using that old dodge? Clap someone in prison with the task to cozen jailhouse secrets from such scared dupes as might trust a new found friend behind bars? The trusting nature of men is a constant surprise to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOur meat and drink. But I\u2019m beginning to wonder if that dodge has much more life in it. Owen and his ilk are smart, they must know by now that a stay in prison for being a Papist is no proof of loyalty to the cause of Rome.\u201d Poley brought himself to the matter at hand. \u201cI\u2019ve just received \u00a0word that Crossby\u2019s fled Brussels, likely headed to Antwerp. I need you to find him. Do not contact him, but only observe him. I need to know who he meets with, where he\u2019s going, and who\u2019s hunting him. Send me back intelligence as you find it to Rutkin the Jeweller.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how am I to pay for all these travels? If I am to act as your pursuivant, well, then, I will need monies, as my time here in the Tower has left me entirely without. And this talk of men hunting this Crossby cove, well, I am reluctant to place myself in harm\u2019s way.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley held up an impatient hand to stop the wheedling flow. \u201cEnough. I have funds sufficient to send you on your way and to pay for your search. So you will do this for me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Moody scratched at his unshaven jaw, miming consideration. \u201cWell, I am sore pressed with social engagements these days; my time is hardly my own. But to help a dear friend and provide some service to a noble patron, I can set all other things aside and give your task my full attention.\u201d<\/p>\n

The minute he finds out I\u2019ve got no patron right now, he\u2019ll scarper.<\/i><\/p>\n

Without revealing his inner disquiet, Poley took Moody\u2019s arm and they moved off the green. \u201cCome. Let\u2019s get you out of here and on your way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSince I\u2019ve been clapped in here for some time, I\u2019ve lost my knowledge of things. Are Grandier and his wife still buying up confiscated Catholic goods and selling them on the Continent?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe so, yes. The last I heard, at any rate. Why? Planning on using them to take you across the Channel?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMight do. They owe me favors that will make a passport needless.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot a bad idea. I was told that they tend to tie up at a quay on the Southwark side. They should be easy enough to find.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This Tower is a citadel to defend or command the city, a royal palace for assemblies or treaties, a prison of state for the most dangerous offenders, the only place of coinage for all England at this time, the armoury for warlike provision, the treasury of the ornaments and jewels of the crown, and general […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[5],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/73"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=73"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/73\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":75,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/73\/revisions\/75"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=73"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=73"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=73"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}