The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(62)
“My apologies, sir, I didn’t mean to offend you or Sir Walter. As I said, I’d be more than happy to oblige in whatever he needs.”
Mal turned on his heel and walked out of the shop, leaving the glassblower to stammer further apologies in his wake.
There were a few other glass workshops in the district, but none proved any more fruitful than the first. It appeared that alchemical equipment was even harder to obtain than Mal had first thought. But if Shawe was not buying London-made wares, he must either be having them made elsewhere, or perhaps importing them. Mal took a wherry across the Thames and resumed his search amongst the merchant venturers of the City of London.
“Alchemical vessels?” The shopkeeper squinted at Mal over his horn-rimmed glasses. “Yes, we do import them on occasion, sir. Very expensive indeed, though, I must warn you.”
Mal glanced around the showroom, where a king’s ransom in fine glass twinkled in the light of carefully placed candles. Sets of decanters and matching goblets, each on a silver tray, covered a pair of marquetry-work display tables; empty candelabra dripping in glass beads stood among them or hung from the beams above. Behind the counter a row of wooden stands displayed ropes of manufactured pearls that would fool all but the keenest eye, pendant earrings of the same, and brooches studded with false gems of all colours.
“Venetian?” he asked. Some of the glass was a deep blue colour, like the siiluhlankaar crystals. If this trail went cold, perhaps he could find out who imported such rare minerals and trace Shawe that way.
“Naturally, sir. Shipped all the way from Murano, lovingly packed in lambswool and sawdust.”
“So, you can obtain what Sir Walter requires?”
“Most assuredly, sir, though it may take a while. Our last shipment is already spoken for.”
“I see. The wizard earl, I suppose?”
“My lord the Earl of Northumberland is a client, yes.”
“Well of course.” Mal fished a gold angel out of his purse and laid it on the counter. “But there must be many breakages on the way from Venice. Perhaps you cannot always fulfil my lord earl’s orders. And if so, might we lay a deposit against that chance?”
The man ignored the coin, but a faint smile curved his lips and his hands twitched on the counter’s edge as if longing to snatch up the bribe. So, money was assuredly the way to this fellow’s shrivelled heart.
“We always order more than he requests, sir, for that very reason.”
“Then it must chance that by good fortune you are sometimes left with a full shipment.”
“It has happened, yes. An item or two to spare, certainly.”
Mal slid another coin across the table. The shopkeeper’s hands tensed and his eyes flicked rapidly towards the gold on the counter every few seconds as if expecting it to disappear. It was all Mal could do not to laugh in the man’s face.
“Well, then. Perhaps if we are thus fortunate, you can divert any leftovers to Durham Place on your wagon’s way to Syon House.”
“Oh, we don’t deliver to Syon House any more, sir. At least, not the alchemical wares.”
“No?” Mal sniffed his handkerchief, affecting an air of indifference, though his sinews ached like a man readying himself to charge into battle. At last, a clue to Shawe’s whereabouts.
“No. That was the peculiar thing.”
He paused and licked his lips. Mal took out a third angel. Damn, but this was proving to be nigh as expensive as alchemy itself!
“About a year ago,” the shopkeeper went on, “my lord earl gave instructions that further shipments were to be delivered to the Three Horseshoes in Aldgate Without. I assumed they were to be taken north, perhaps to Alnwick Castle itself.”
“Most likely,” Mal said, setting down the last angel next to its fellows. “Well, never mind. I’m sure Sir Walter can make it worth your while to send a delivery to the Strand as well.”
“Of course, sir. It would be a pleasure.” The shopkeeper opened his ledger and selected a pen from the inkstand. “Do you have a list of the items required?”
Mal made a show of searching his pockets.
“Damn, must have dropped the wretched thing in the street. I swear I had it when I set out.”
“No matter, sir. Send a letter at your earliest convenience, and I will advise you when the consignment arrives.”
“Much obliged,” Mal said, and took his leave. The whisper of coins sliding across wood sounded behind him as the shopkeeper gave in to temptation at last.
Aldgate Without, eh? It was certainly on the northern edge of the city, but surely Bishopsgate would make more sense if one were heading for the Great North Road. Wherever Shawe was lurking, Mal would put good money on it not being Alnwick Castle.
The landlord of the Three Horseshoes proved far cheaper to get information out of. He described the two men who came with a wagon to collect Shawe’s goods, but did not know where they came from, only that they left by the Great Cambridge Road. That left the whole of East Anglia as a hunting-ground, but on the other hand if Northumberland had another shipment on its way, perhaps Mal would not have to wait too long to follow it to its destination. He left the landlord under the misapprehension that he worked for Northumberland himself and was looking into an alleged misuse of funds, and swore the man to secrecy in the matter.