devilstone chronicles 01 - devils band Read Free Page A

heartbeat his screams had become a death rattle. Ignored the dying henchman, Thomas turned his attention to Pynch who’d somehow squeezed his bulk through the skylight and was now standing at the end of the roof.
    “Son of a Spanish bitch wolf!” Thomas yelled and he charged towards his remaining tormentor just as Pynch loosed his last shot. Panic had failed to improve the moneylender’s aim and the bolt vanished into the darkness likethe others. Pynch was now defenceless but the last of the once noble Devilstone family showed him no mercy.
    With a chilling cry of victory, Thomas plunged his sword into Pynch’s chest and gore spurted in crimson fountains as the moneylender’s last heartbeats pumped blood through severed arteries. In a final act of savagery, Thomas forced the blade upwards and ripped through Pynch’s ribs before withdrawing the blood stained blade. The dead man’s mouth fell open in silent protest as he fell onto his face and lay still. Uttering a curse on the man’s soul Thomas kicked the moneylender’s lifeless body and watched with satisfaction as the mound of blubber slithered slowly off the roof. A moment later a heavy, wet thump indicated Pynch’s mangled corpse had landed in the street below.
    Ned and Pynch were not the first men Thomas had killed. As a boy of twelve he’d ridden with his father’s band of reivers as they’d searched for Scotsmen raiding the Border Marches. They’d caught their enemies driving stolen cattle across the Rede, a small river in the hills that marked the border, and in the melee that followed he’d sliced open his first gizzard. Since that day a dozen years ago, Thomas had drawn his sword in countless Border skirmishes, and had even fought at Flodden Field, but whilst slaughtering Scotsmen in the wilds of Northumberland was one thing, butchering Englishmen in the middle of London was quite another. Killing Wolsey’s hirelings meant he’d be declared outlaw and if any man or woman gave him sanctuary they too would suffer death.
    The cries of horror from the crowd that had gathered around Pynch’s broken body roused Thomas from his thoughts and he realised his last opportunity to escape was slipping away. Once again he ignored the ache of his tired muscles and for the next hour he weaved a tortuous path across the rooftops of East Cheap. When his pursuers began to tighten their net, he hid amongst the chimney pots and when the furore passed, he doubled back. After a while the glimmer of torches had moved further towards the great cathedral of St Paul whilst he’d moved in the opposite direction, towards the grim fortress of The Tower of London.
    Despite travelling towards England’s most feared prison, with each passing minute of freedom Thomas’ belief that he might escape his enemies grew stronger and when he could no longer hear the shouts of the hue and cry he decided it was time to make for the river. His plan was simple. There were many Englishmen living in exile with as much reason to fear the wrath of King Henry and his cardinal as Thomas. These exiles waited patiently for the Tudors to be deposed and they’d pay handsomely for the knowledge and secrets he possessed … if only he could reach them.

2
    TOWER HILL
    F rom his crow’s nest in the rooftops, Thomas could see the masts of a hundred kogges and carracks moored against London’s numerous wharfs. The ships that could carry him to the safety of Bruges or Dunkirk were tantalisingly close but Thomas reckoned that large vessels bound for France or Flanders would be the first place the cardinal’s men would look. He therefore decided to make his way to the mouth of the Thames in one of the small wherries that plied the river trade and look for a bigger ship in the harbours of Tilbury or Gravesend.
    As yet, Thomas’ had no money to pay for his passage but that could be remedied with a little judicious burglary. His roof top journey had taken him to Tower Hill, where the grand houses of