The Fetter Lane Fleece Read Online Free Page A

as it had two years ago. Now wasn’t that a warning in itself considering this tavern sat almost equidistance from the prestigious Clifford Inn, Rolls House and Ned’s usual place of supervision at Gray’s Inn. But no it was still a shabby wattle and daub timber frame building some three storey’s high, pocked with crumbling gaps which the patches of whitewash and the large piles of mounded snow didn’t hide. The roof was the common thick straw thatch popular outside the city boundaries and cheaper than tiles or split shingles. Several shuttered windows, neither evenly spaced nor level, punctured the walls at each level. From memory they’d be simple timber shutters. No chance of lead framed glass at The Fleece. Over the front door swung the worn painted sign of a suspended sheep. It was fastened to a pair of rusty iron chains pinned by rough staples to a projecting beam off the second storey.
    As dilapidated as it was in his eyes, Ned couldn’t understand what had been its allure. His daemon happily supplied the ‘reason’. Ahh the innocent flaws of youthful memories. Deception, shame and humiliation all proved a useful spur for his play this night. Looking back on it Ned couldn’t believe he’d ever been that naive, a real country dolt, and by Satan’s singed arsehole, it was even after a year of university. But no, chided his daemon, the first day at Gray’s Inn and he’d fallen for the cosenage play of that sanctimonious swine, Gylberte Fowlke, senior apprentice lawyer. The best tavern with the fairest dice game from Westminster to London Wall, Fowlke had claimed, and embraced by the arm of friendship young Ned, wide eyed and keen to impress, had been led to a damned thorough fleecing. And that wasn’t all. After his trouncing at dice, flushed with shame and raged he’d challenged the dice master. By all the saints that act of insanity and bravado had almost earned him a shroudless grave tumbled in a ditch. Only the intercession of Lady Fortuna in the form of Mistress Adeline had saved him from his first almost terminal lesson in the ways of the Liberties. Master Fowlke the treacherous measley weasel would get his comeuppance later. This day though was the turn of that pack of roguish fleecers laired at The Wool’s Fleece.
    Ned straightened up and sauntered over to Rob. “All right this is just a simple play at cozenage. Remember to call me master or my lord and back my calls. We lead them on until we find out where they’ve stashed Richard.”
    Rob gave a short nod of almost reluctant agreement. Ned could see by the set of his shoulders that his friend was unhappy with the arrangement. “But Ned…”
    “Yes?”
    “I don’t mean any disrespect to our Revel companions, but are you sure we can depend on them to play their parts? Wouldn’t it be easier to call Meg and Roger for assistance? I’m sure the…”
    Ned made an abrupt cutting gesture with his hand at the suggestion and Rob’s words shuddered to a halt. “No! Not Meg.” He rubbed his hand over a very cold nose and shook his head.
    “Now Rob, your sister has many admirable qualities and I’ll admit she’s proved herself, ahh, inventive over this last week. But we’ve no heretics or secret night schools here. This play of the coney catcher’s game is one of mine own skills on mine own turf.”
    All that was true. This was his field and he’d be thrice damned as a measle tosspotting fool if he let Meg Black stick her nose in any of it.
    Rob appeared to accept this or at least he shrugged in resignation.
    “Look, as John explained, some punk and her apple squire have played a right piece on young Richard. The simple country cousin must have let out he was to be married soon and they seized him up for a pre–contract cozen. They’ll have a friar on hand and some petty lawyer to draft the instant marriage contract and as witness. If we don’t spring the idiot he’ll have to pay three pounds to escape the false bond.”
    Rob mulled