The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Read Free Page A

the host called over. ‘You want an ale?’
    It was plain enough that the man was a local, and a regular here at this inn, but although he nodded and grunted at the landlord, he remained on the threshold studying the room. When his eyes fell on Pierre, the Frenchman saw the flash of recognition in them, and knew he was lost.
    With a poor display of casualness, Cynegils left the room and disappeared, strolling back in a few minutes later with a nonchalance that would not have deceived a blind beggar. He went to the bar with the host and sat down facing Pierre.
    If Pierre had entertained any doubts about the man, the way the host peered at the newcomer was enough to dispel them.
    ‘What you up to, Cyn?’ he asked suspiciously.
    ‘Nothing. Just get on and serve me, will you?’
    There was a hurried discussion, and the landlord shot a confused glance at Pierre, but seeing the Frenchman’s fixed stare, he hurriedly moved away to draw a jug of ale for Cynegils.
    Pierre gave an elaborate yawn, stretched, and drained his pot. Rising, he made his way to the rear door which gave out to the sleeping chamber, so he understood. He stumbledslightly, like a man unused to strong ale, and shut the door before darting along the passageway and out into the inn’s garden. There was an overwhelming stench of piss there, but at the moment Pierre cared nothing for that. He stepped behind the door, waiting.
    Soon enough, he heard the door from the hall open quietly, and the sound of steps making their way down the passage, where they stopped.
    Pierre debated whether to launch himself in through the door and tackle the man, but decided that if he did so, the fellow might scream to warn his companions, and they would be sure to come to their friend’s defence. This Cynegils was known here. No, better that he wait here until the man had checked the bedchamber, and then hurried out to the garden to see how Pierre had made good his escape. Except he wasn’t going to escape. He would hide here, catch the man and learn who had sent him.
    But then suddenly there was a sharp knocking sound, then a rush of feet, and Pierre had to move away in alarm, as two men came barrelling out, a third held between them. The two looked at Pierre. It was the apron-clad workman and his older companion.
    The apron-clad man looked Pierre up and down, then hawked and spat. ‘This one was going to knock you on the head, I reckon.’
    ‘You stopped him?’ There was some doubt in Pierre’s mind. These men had apparently helped him, but perhaps they were good at feigning. There had been a third at their table, he reminded himself. Where was
he
? Fetching the man who had paid this Cynegils?
    ‘You want him or not?’ the older man demanded. ‘Personally I couldn’t give a—’
    ‘Calm down, Bill. He’s just been close to having a blade through his back, and he’s probably wondering about us. That’s fine.’ The man with the apron was eyeing Pierre with a knowing expression.
    ‘Friends, I owe you my thanks.’
    ‘Someone’s watching for you,’ the man said speculatively. ‘I’d reckon you should find somewhere safer to stay the night.’
    ‘I know one man,’ Pierre said. ‘But I don’t know where he lives.’
    The other nodded his head towards the back of the garden. ‘If I was you, I’d be out of here now. There’s a big gap in the wall, over there. The landlord’s been trying to persuade me to get it fixed for him on the cheap. You can slip out there easy enough.’
    Pierre needed no urging. He ran to the bottom of the garden and found the tumbled section, just as the man had said. Vaulting over it in an instant, he stood debating with himself, fear making him pant, and then he set off quickly but quietly round to the front of the inn again.
    Further up the road, he noticed a paviour’s trestles set up. The roadway was being repaved, he guessed, and that was his last thought as the blade settled on his back just behind his kidney.

Chapter