The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson Page A

business.’ It was a flat statement. ‘Maybe you’d like to talk to him about it.’
    ‘You and the whelp ought to take care.’
    ‘Should we?’ He tightened his grip on the knife. ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Things might happen to people you love.’
    In one swift movement John was on him. He planted a leg behind Julian then pushed hard so the man tumbled on to his back. He knelt on Julian’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees and holding the knife at his throat.
    ‘I’ll say this once,’ John hissed. ‘And I’ll only say it once. If anything happens to anyone I care about, if there’s even a hint of it, I’ll come for you. And next time I won’t stop. Do you understand me?’ He pressed the edge of the blade against the man’s flesh, just hard enough for a thin line of blood to appear.
    Julian stayed silent, a stare of pure hatred.
    ‘If I need to ask questions, I’ll do that without begging your leave,’ John continued. ‘We’ve had four men dead here. From all I’ve heard, another wouldn’t be missed.’ He reached down and lifted Julian’s knife from its sheath, sending it skittering away. Then further, plucking another from the man’s boot. It followed the first. ‘Do I make myself clear, Master?’ He spoke the title mockingly. ‘You threaten people I love and there’ll be no mercy for you. Do you understand?’ He lent on the blade a little more. ‘Do you?’
    Cautiously, Julian gave a nod and John stood.
    ‘I think we’re done here, Walter.’
    His heart seemed to beat so loud as he walked away he thought the whole town must be able to hear it. He pushed his hands into his belt so no one could see them shaking.
    ‘How did you do that, John?’ Walter asked in a voice filled with wonder.
    ‘Do what?’
    ‘Make him fall.’
    ‘Something I was shown once.’ He let out a breath. ‘You’d better be careful. He’s going to want his revenge.’ The lad nodded. ‘And not a word to your sister. I don’t want her worried.’
    ‘Yes, John,’ Walter promised solemnly.
    ‘No gossiping about it either,’ he warned.
    He watched the boy lope away. The day was as warm and sunny as it had been a few minutes before, but it felt different, as if there was danger in the air. He’d humiliated Julian, and the man wouldn’t stand for that. He was the type who’d demand vengeance. Not a clean, fair fight, but at a time and place where he had the advantage.
    But it also made him wonder just how deeply Julian was involved in all this. He wouldn’t threaten unless he had something to hide. Could Edward and Gilbert have been working for him, and he’d killed them before they could be arrested and talked? That made sense, there was logic in the chain of it all.
    Proving it would be another matter.
    By the time he reached the weekday market on the north side of the church, he felt exhausted. The fear and anger had drained away, leaving a hole inside. All he wanted was to lie down somewhere quiet, to sleep and forget for a while. He might be recovering from his injuries, but he wasn’t all the way back to himself yet.
    The stalls were full of goodwives and servants shopping for milk, butter, eggs, and the produce on sale – young onions and wild garlic, the first fresh greens of the seasons, pulled from the ground before sunrise and carried into town.
    He nodded good day to one or two he knew and raised his gaze to the spire. The oak tiles rose higher each day. Men climbed, held fast by harnesses, to nail them in place on the cross beams. It was a remarkable creation, tall enough to touch heaven. As impressive in its own way as the great minsters in York and Lincoln, the beautiful stone castles of God.
    In the house, the girls were spinning with the type of playful concentration only children could manage. The kitten kept pawing at the thread, and they kept pulling it away. He paused to kiss them on the tops of their heads and stroke the cat. No one was going to hurt them, he promised himself. No