Read 31 - City of Fiends for Free Online

little business, and start to earn his fortune. And over time, when luck allowed, he would meet a woman to marry, and he would raise his own family. And when he did, he would remain loyal
to his wife.
    But he had not done any of those things, and while he got on well enough with the other apprentices, there was none he could call an especial friend. Most, he suspected, looked down on him.
    Of course, they all knew about Henry Paffard’s nocturnal visits to Alice in her chamber, the trysts they held when they thought no one else was listening. Henry should not have insulted
his poor wife by taking a maidservant as a lover. And when Claricia remonstrated with him, Henry had beaten her! That was not Christian. But nor was Alice’s behaviour, and the couple’s
flagrant adultery brought disgrace to all in the house.
    Henry Paffard’s unseemly behaviour meant that Benjamin would be forever remembered as the apprentice who lived with the reprobate – and not as the skilled artist of pewter
which he hoped to become. His reputation was ruined before he could carve it out for himself.
    For some weeks now, the pleasure he had once gained from working metal, the joy he had experienced at the sight of a perfectly rendered decoration cut into the metal, was lost to him. His
disappointment gave him a bleak view of the future: he now was convinced he would never find a woman, never have children with her, never know the joy of a professional career.
    In this bitter mood, he went to the buttery to fetch himself a strong ale, but the small cask there was low. He dared not empty it. Perhaps he could fetch a pot of ale from one of the barrels in
John’s locked storage room at the rear of the house? The keys hung on the bottler’s belt usually, but today Benjamin had seen them resting on a protruding wooden peg. He hesitated, but
then snatched them up. Pox on what the bottler might say!
    Striding to the storage room, he unlocked the stiff door and tugged it wide. The cool interior always had a strange smell, like meat left drying for years, enhanced by the malty sweetness of the
ales stored here after each brewing.
    He stepped on the elm flooring, his feet echoing hollowly in the shed, and went to the nearer barrel, tapping it. There was a good, wholesome sound to it, and he fetched himself a mazer.
    The bellow made him almost drop the cup. ‘What are you doing in here?’
    ‘John! Hell’s teeth, you could have killed me!’
    ‘I still may,’ John said, his hand dropping to his knife. ‘Why are you in here? Are you robbing our master?’
    ‘God’s honour, no! I was thirsty.’
    ‘Thirsty? That’s why you stole my keys? I put them down for a moment, and when I turn my back, you steal them and come to fleece my master! I trusted you, apprentice, and this is how
you repay me?’
    Ben was regretting his impulse now. ‘I was thirsty,’ he repeated, ‘and you weren’t there. I thought it was better to come and drink from here, rather than from the cask
in the buttery. It’s almost empty.’
    ‘Oh,’ grunted the bottler. He seemed to accept the lad’s explanation and calmed down.
    ‘I am sorry, Benjamin,’ he said. ‘We’re all on edge, after what has happened. Just remember your duties, and all will sort itself out. Our lives are devoted to service,
and that is how we shall be measured.’
    ‘Yes. I’m sorry I took your keys,’ Ben said contritely, passing them back. ‘I won’t do it again.’
    ‘I hope you won’t,’ John said. He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I didn’t mean to shout, boy. That young maid’s death has affected us all.’
    ‘Yes. Yes, it has.’

 

    Precentor’s House
    Adam Murimuth remained sitting at his desk when Janekyn Beyvyn entered with the vicar behind him.
    ‘Come in and stand before me, Father Laurence,’ the Precentor said. ‘I wish to hear what you have to say.’
    He was a good-looking fellow, Murimuth thought. Father Laurence Coscumbe was tall and