Free The Book of Fires by Paul Doherty Page B

She was only strong enough for a walk in the garden.’
    ‘Continue.’ Athelstan turned back to Rosamund.
    ‘Brother, what happened to my master and mistress was tragic. All I could recall were the warnings.’
    ‘What warnings!’ Athelstan and Cranston spoke together.
    ‘About a year ago,’ Sir Henry replied, ‘yes, Buckholt?’
    The steward nodded.
    ‘Sir Walter received messages, scraps of parchment thrust into the hands of servants entering the manor or left outside the porter’s lodge.’
    ‘How many?’
    ‘At least six.’
    ‘And the message?’
    ‘“As I and ours did burn,”’ Sir Henry replied, ‘“so shall ye and yours.” The writing was scrawled, the parchment dirty and wrinkled.’
    ‘Who would threaten Sir Walter like that and why?’ Cranston asked.
    ‘Sir John, my brother, did not know, and neither did I. The messages stopped as abruptly as they began.’
    ‘And “The Book of Fires” by Mark the Greek?’ Athelstan stared across at Lady Anne, now lost in her own sad thoughts.
    ‘“The Book of Fires,”’ Sir Henry’s voice fell to a whisper, ‘is a great secret. They say it is passed on from one Emperor of Constantinople to another …’
    ‘I know its history,’ Athelstan interjected, ‘as I know your brother owned a copy. It’s now gone, so where was it kept?’
    ‘In a bound leather casket in his bedchamber, the key always around his neck, or so we were led to believe.’ Sir Henry rubbed his face. ‘On the morning Walter was found dead, the key was still there and the casket locked. However, when I opened it, the book was gone. Who stole it, how and when?’ Sir Henry shook his head. ‘No one knows.’
    ‘What did it look like?’
    ‘I saw it many years ago, just after my brother returned from Outremer. Small yet thick, tightly bound in an embossed calf-skin cover. Only my brother knew its contents.’
    Athelstan stared around the chamber. This is a desert of emotions, he thought. Lady Isolda is gone and everyone seems to want to bury her memory deep. It was understandable: Sir Henry and his wife were prosperous merchants. Falke had lost his case and could do nothing. Buckholt had been vindicated. Parson Garman and Lady Anne had performed their duties as diligently as they could. Rosamund seemed lost in her own world. Nevertheless, Isolda’s execution had left a devastating legacy.
    ‘The Ignifer!’ Athelstan exclaimed. ‘The assassin who has murdered three people and who could kill and kill again.’
    The assembled guests moved in their seats, hands going out to their goblets or the sweetmeats, anything to distract their nervousness.
    ‘Sir John, Brother Athelstan,’ Falke declared, ‘we sit here and talk about Lady Isolda but Reginald Vanner should be your real quarry.’ The lawyer, face all determined, leaned forward, ticking the points off on his fingers. ‘Firstly, Vanner could have been involved in Sir Walter’s murder. Secondly, Vanner was Sir Walter’s clerk. He had access to “The Book of Fires”. Thirdly, he must know something about Greek fire. Fourthly, he has disappeared. Fifthly, he has a motive. He is now a proclaimed outlaw, a wolfshead to be killed on sight. Consequently he has nothing to lose in waging war against those who were responsible for the death of a woman who might have been his lover.’
    ‘I would agree,’ Sir Henry murmured. ‘Vanner could be the Ignifer.’
    ‘Sir Henry,’ Athelstan asked, ‘how easy is it to make Greek fire?’
    ‘Not too difficult,’ Sir Henry declared. ‘There are different types, ranging from,’ he spread his hands, ‘simple kitchen oil to a substance which is quite unique. “The Book of Fires”, I suppose, would describe all these categories and list the correct proportions and right elements for each.’
    ‘Sir John,’ Lady Anne spoke up, ‘Jack, my friend, I am tired. Surely you have finished here?’
    Cranston looked at Athelstan and nodded.
    ‘In which case, Sir Henry,’ the coroner