The Riddle of St Leonard's by Candace Robb

The gatekeeper smiled with surprise at the hearty greeting from the Master of St Leonard’s. But once within, Ravenser saw that the city, too, was changed with the fear that hung over the people. The pillory at Holy Trinity stood empty, folk hustled along with heads down, the fishmongers on Ouse Bridge protected themselves with cloths covering their faces, though they still shouted their wares.
    Their muffled voices brought a memory that startled and unnerved Ravenser, a vivid vision of his mother hurrying him past a leper who cried out for alms. His mother had gripped Ravenser’s hand tightly and pulled him along. He did not know where the incident had occurred, but he remembered how frightened he had been when he’d recognised his mother’s fear. Had it happened during the visitation of the plague when he was a child? Is that why he remembered it? Or was it simply the fishmongers’ cloth masks that brought back the moment so clearly? God brought on such visions; what was Ravenser to make of it? Exceedingly uneasy, he crossed himself and trudged on with his men towards St Leonard’s, trying to keep his eyes on his feet. He wanted no more visions.
    Topas stayed close, sensing his master’s discomfort. And he was shortly needed. As the company passed along the west corner of St Helen’s Square, a man came rushing towards them, his eyes fixed on Ravenser. Topas moved quickly to block his way.
    But Ravenser noted the goldsmith’s emblem on the man’s vest and cap. His guild was wealthy, much given to charitable gifts. Ravenser stepped from behind Topas.
    ‘Sir Richard, these are dangerous times,’ Topas warned under his breath. ‘Trust no one.’
    But Ravenser had his priorities. ‘You have business with me, Master Goldsmith?’
    The man took off his cap, bowed with respect. ‘Sir Richard. I am much relieved to see you in the city.’
    ‘You are kind to say so.’ Ravenser cursed his poor memory for names. He recognised the odd slurring of words caused by the crooked jaw that twisted the man’s mouth, but he could not remember the man’s name, nor what his dealings with him had been.
    ‘It is no flattery, Sir Richard. I am much relieved to see you, and I pray that I might have a word with you.’
    Who was he and what might he want?
    The goldsmith saw his confusion. ‘Forgive me. Of course you cannot remember me after so long. Edward Munkton. My shop is in Stonegate, and you once …’
    ‘Ah. Master Munkton. The necklace.’ The goldsmith had designed a necklace for Ravenser, a gift for his mother. It seemed such a long time ago. And indeed, the man had aged, his once round face chiselled with years, his hair grey and wispy. ‘Confer with my clerk, Douglas, to find a time convenient for both of us to talk. At my house in St Leonard’s.’
    Munkton’s smile faded. He kneaded his felt hat with nervous hands. ‘If I might have a word now, I should be most grateful.’
    Ravenser glanced round. ‘In the street? It affords us little privacy.’
    ‘God forgive me, but I would stay away from the sick at present, Sir Richard.’ Munkton’s eyes danced away in embarrassment.
    But Ravenser understood. ‘Then briefly.’ He took the man aside, beneath the eaves of a closed shop, and held his ambergris down to show his trust in the man.
    ‘It is about Don Cuthbert,’ Munkton began, his breath sweet with fennel, ‘he came to me a few days past and asked to see my account books.’
    Ravenser blinked in disbelief. ‘To see what?’ Had the goldsmith gone mad? Cuthbert?
    Munkton, studying Ravenser’s face, smiled. ‘I had hoped to see such surprise, Sir Richard. I did not want to think that you had ordered your cellarer to insult me so.’
    ‘Of course I did not. Did he explain himself?’
    ‘He did indeed. He thought I might have purchased a chalice stolen from the spital. I told him that I am a goldsmith, not a trader, and that I have no need for chalices, as he might see if he took the time to look round