Blood on the Strand (40 page)

Chaloner dragged the sheet away from the last body, expecting to see Dillon, but what he saw made his stomach lurch in horror.
William Scot lay there, peaceful and relaxed in death. Chaloner felt the walls closing in around him, and for a moment was
aware of nothing but the pounding of his own heart.

‘Dear God, no!’ he whispered.

‘It is the scientific gentleman from Ireland,’ explained Lisle. ‘Peter Terrell. For some inexplicable reason, he came here
last night, so Johnson dispatched him with a
blow to the head. It is a good way to kill, because it does not damage anything we need for our dissections.’

Shock had allowed Chaloner’s guard to slip, and Johnson managed to grab his arm before he came to his senses and repelled
him with a punch to the jaw. The surgeon reeled away, while Chaloner’s numbed mind worked feverishly to analyse the information.
He had told Scot that Lisle planned to remove his splint, and somehow Scot had learned Lisle was not the kindly healer he
appeared to be and had come to investigate. They had killed him, and intended to use him for their grotesque dissection that
afternoon. Chaloner gazed at his friend’s still face, and made up his mind that it would not happen, no matter what the cost.

‘Is your entire Company complicit in this monstrous plot?’ he demanded, stepping briskly around the table to avoid Reynell’s
knife. His wits were suddenly sharp and clear, as they always were in desperate situations. He removed his hat – the one he
had used to steal Prynne’s gunpowder – and hurled it, ostensibly at Lisle, but it landed on the lamp. Flames licked towards
it. ‘Or just you three?’

‘The “entire Company” does not bear the responsibility of securing its future,’ replied Lisle tartly. ‘Arrogant fellows like
Wiseman sit back and enjoy the benefits of belonging to a licensed guild, but it does not run on air. It is my duty, as Master,
to ensure we are solvent. These Private Anatomies are an excellent way to achieve our aim, and I salute Reynell’s ingenuity
in devising such a plan.’

‘You keep some of the profit for yourselves, though,’ said Chaloner. ‘Wiseman has noticed your sudden upturns in fortune –
your generosity in donating implements to
the hospitals, Johnson moving in expensive Court circles, and Reynell’s suspiciously fine clothes.’

Reynell was becoming unsettled by the amount of time that was passing. ‘We should hurry. I keep thinking Wiseman might come,
wanting to know whether this afternoon’s corpse is ready.’

‘He will not stop us,’ said Lisle. ‘He is poor, because Webb’s scurrilous lies have destroyed his medical practice – his silence
can be bought.’

‘And if he proves awkward, then there are always uses for a large cadaver like this,’ added Johnson, a little longingly.

‘Where is Dillon?’ asked Chaloner. Smoke was curling from his hat. ‘Did he escape after all?’

‘Do not answer – just dispatch him,’ begged Reynell. ‘People will start to arrive for the Public Anatomy soon – they always
come early, to get good seats – and it would be awkward if someone came down here by mistake and saw us chatting to a future
subject.’

‘We shall dissect
you
for Lady Castlemaine,’ said Lisle with his pleasant smile. ‘It will be the first time a woman has requisitioned a performance,
and you are sure to please her.’

‘Then she is going to be disappointed,’ said Chaloner, launching himself forward and bowling Reynell from his feet. When the
clerk tried to stand, Chaloner hit him under the chin with his knee, forcing his head back against a wooden table with a dull
thump.

Johnson clutched his sword in both hands and came at Chaloner with a howl of fury, so the spy was obliged to jump hastily
behind the table. At that moment, the flame reached the remnants of the gunpowder in his hat, and it puffed like a firework.
It was not much of a display,
but it made Johnson spin around in alarm, allowing Chaloner to throw the broom at him while he was distracted. It struck
his jaw hard, and he stumbled into Scot’s body, snatching at it desperately in a effort maintain his balance. Then he and
the corpse crashed to the floor together, and the surgeon gave a yelp of disgust as he tried to free himself from the cold,
flopping limbs.

Meanwhile, Lisle raced towards Chaloner, brandishing his surgical cudgel. He swung it with all his might. Chaloner raised
his hand to protect his head, and there was a sharp crack as the splint broke. Lisle lunged again, while Reynell moved groggily
to grab Chaloner’s foot, making him fall. The spy became aware of gagging sounds behind him, and wondered what was wrong with
Johnson. He glanced around, and Lisle used his momentary inattention to strike again. The dressing took another monstrous
blow that sent waves of shock up Chaloner’s arm.

‘That is enough!’ came an authoritative voice. It was Wiseman. ‘Desist immediately.’

‘Thank heavens you are here,’ said Lisle, lowering his weapon in apparent relief. ‘We were preparing the subject for this
afternoon, when Heyden arrived and began to run amok. You can see Reynell and Johnson covered in blood from his attack. Seize
him quickly, while he is down.’

Chaloner sagged. There was no point in protesting his innocence, or in telling Wiseman what he had learned. It was so outlandish
that he would be wasting his breath.

‘Actually, I heard enough to know exactly what is going on,’ said Wiseman haughtily. ‘I have suspected for some time that
the handsome specimens you use in your Private Anatomies are not from prisons, and I resolved to discover
how you came by them. I set a trap, using Heyden as bait.’

Chaloner scrambled to his feet. ‘What?’

The surgeon stepped into the vault, and continued to address Lisle. ‘I told the porter to let me know when Heyden arrived
to see you. I knew you would be unable to resist him – a man with transient friends and no London family. I applied an especially
robust splint, knowing
he
would be desperate to be rid of it, and
you
would be equally willing to oblige him.’

Lisle glared at him. ‘You abused a patient to entrap me?’

‘To catch you in the act,’ corrected Wiseman. ‘And I have done it, too.’

‘No one will believe you,’ said Lisle, although there was an uneasy expression on his face. ‘Most of our Company find you
arrogant, disagreeable and rude, so no one will take your word over mine.’

Wiseman’s smile was unpleasant. ‘I do not care what my colleagues think, because I have him.’ He gestured over his shoulder,
and Chaloner saw Williamson framed in the doorway.

‘I heard enough to hang you,’ said the Spymaster coolly. He turned to the soldiers who were ranged behind him. ‘Arrest them
all.’

‘And if Mr Williamson is not a powerful enough witness, there is always him,’ said Wiseman, pointing to the floor, where Johnson
was gasping for breath. Scot’s corpse was on top of him, and Chaloner saw with a start that its hands were fixed firmly around
the surgeon’s throat. Scot was alive, and busily throttling the man who had tried to kill him.

* * *

‘You should not have stopped me,’ said Scot resentfully, sitting in Wiseman’s chambers a short while later. He was pale, and
there was a sizeable lump where Johnson had struck him, but he was quickly regaining his customary composure. ‘The fate they
had in mind for me was horrible, and I do not trust the law-courts to hand down a suitable sentence.’

Wiseman did not agree. ‘They may not hang at Tyburn, but there are other means of dispensing with people, especially if you
are Williamson. You should be aware of this – you work for the man.’

‘How do
you
know that?’ demanded Chaloner, immediately wary. Scot was ruthlessly careful, and did not confide in just anyone. Wiseman
would be one of the last people to earn his trust, especially as Scot had said on several occasions that he was wary of the
man.

Wiseman sighed impatiently. ‘Because government intelligencers live dangerously, and I am a surgeon with a Court appointment.
Williamson often summons me to help his people, and so does Lord Clarendon. I ask no questions, because it is safer that way,
but I know what you two do.’

Chaloner glanced at Scot. ‘Is it true?’

‘He has been the unofficial “surgeon to spies” since the Restoration, and I am surprised you have never had recourse to call
on his services.’ Scot turned to the smug medic. ‘What will happen to the Public Anatomy? Will you cancel it now Lisle and
Johnson are unavailable?’

‘There is no need for that,’ replied Wiseman comfortably. ‘Not when
I
– the Company’s most accomplished practitioner – am ready to save the day. The demonstration will go ahead as planned.’

‘On Willys?’ asked Chaloner in distaste. ‘You intend
to use him, even though his corpse was snatched from its grave?’

Wiseman rubbed his chin ruefully. ‘Lisle was right about one thing. Dillon
will
bleed if we use him – his lengthy scaffold speeches mean he has not been dead long enough for the bodily fluids to settle.
Meanwhile, the other corpses in the basement have been partially dissected already. Willys is our only choice.’

‘You cannot use Dillon, anyway,’ Scot pointed out. ‘No one seems to know where he is.’

‘Johnson does,’ said Chaloner, ‘but he is refusing to say.’

Wiseman was unhappy. ‘I hope Williamson finds him soon. It will be bad for the Company if his corpse appears somewhere public.
People will think we are careless with them.’

‘And that would never do,’ said Chaloner acidly. He was torn between anger at having been used as a tethered goat to entrap
Lisle, and relief that Scot had risen from the dead.

Wiseman grinned. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology, although, as Clarendon’s man, you must be pleased with the outcome – you
have successfully eliminated Johnson, one of your master’s nastiest enemies. Perhaps I
should
have taken you into my confidence, and asked whether you minded lending a hand – literally, in this case – but I thought
my plan would work better if you were kept in the dark. Besides, I mentioned several times that Lisle and Johnson had recently
become inexplicably wealthy, but you did not take the hint and offer to investigate.’

‘I did not know it was a hint,’ objected Chaloner. ‘I thought you were just talking.’

‘I never just talk,’ declared Wiseman. ‘Everything I say is worth listening to – and acting upon.’

‘Lord Clarendon
will
be delighted to learn Johnson is so spectacularly disgraced,’ said Scot, when Chaloner snorted his disbelief. ‘Especially
if some of the mess can be made to stick to Bristol.’

‘Perhaps so, but there was still no need to maim me. I would have helped to expose Johnson and his gruesome dealings, and
performing bad surgery was both unnecessary and unethical.’

Wiseman grimaced at the reprimand. ‘Well, it is done now, and to make amends, I shall remove the splint. You will play your
viol this evening as though nothing has happened.’

‘Good,’ said Chaloner coldly. ‘Because if I find I cannot, I shall return and brain you with it.’

‘Do not be bitter,’ said the surgeon with his irritating unflappability. ‘We have just apprehended three very dangerous criminals
and
you saved your colleague into the bargain. If you had not arrived when you did, he would be down in the basement now, having
his veins waxed.’

When he went to fetch what he needed for his operation, Chaloner turned to Scot. ‘I thought you said he could not be trusted,
but now it transpires that he works for Williamson, too.’

Scot shrugged. ‘I do not trust
anyone
at White Hall, no matter what his credentials, and there
is
something sinister about the man. I was right anyway – normal people do not use patients to trap their errant colleagues,
after all.’

Wiseman returned with a huge pair of shears. ‘Tell us again what happened, Scot,’ he ordered as he sat in front of Chaloner.
‘How did Johnson come to wallop you on the head with his bone chisel?’

Scot touched the lump and winced. ‘It is very simple.
Chaloner told me Lisle was planning to “help” him today, because you had bungled the original treatment. However, I knew
you were unlikely to make the kind of mistakes Lisle had accused you of, so I decided to spy on the man and his domain. I
was exploring the Anatomical Theatre when Johnson jumped me – to my eternal shame. I was in and out of awareness for hours,
and only came to properly when he dragged me to the floor.’

Chaloner scowled at Wiseman. ‘If you had not encouraged Lisle to want my corpse, I would not have agreed to keep an appointment
with him, and Scot would not have come to save me. Your plan put us both in danger.’

Wiseman waved a hand to show he thought it did not matter, and began to ply his shears. ‘Lisle did something right at least
– this splint will be easier to remove now it is cracked. And it saved your arm without a doubt. I would have been amputating
by now, had Lisle’s blows done what he intended.’

Scot watched him. ‘I thought you had invented some mysterious compound to dissolve your glue. Why are cutters necessary?’

‘I lied,’ said Wiseman. ‘There is no compound on Earth that can dissolve a Wiseman Splint.’

‘I do not understand much of this,’ said Chaloner, talking to take his mind off the fact that a man he did not like was labouring
over his arm with a very sharp implement. He was sure he could work everything out for himself, but he did not want to sit
in silence. ‘Can we go over it again? Webb was stabbed by Dillon and Fanning on the orders of their master. Who is he? Behn?’

Scot nodded slowly. ‘I certainly think so, but we shall never know for certain, given that both assassins are dead and Behn
is unlikely to confess without their testimony.
Meanwhile, someone must have witnessed the murder, and wrote to Bristol about it. Fanning and Dillon
were
guilty, but the other seven names were included for spite.’

‘Because someone does not like spies,’ agreed Wiseman, wiping sweat from his forehead. ‘This fellow struck Williamson hard
by exposing his people.’