The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) by Michael Jecks

making. That made his predicament all the more terrible.
    ‘Yes? Oh, it’s you, Henry.’
    ‘Yes, Joel, it’s me,’ Henry said, shoving his old friend out of the way without further ado and stomping through into the hall.
    ‘You look unwell,’ Joel remarked in concern. ‘Do you want some wine?’
    ‘Why not. Yes, broach your best barrel, Joel. You never know, you may not have time to finish it,’ Henry said nastily.
    He slumped on a stool while Joel first stared and then hurried from the room.
    The joiner’s hall was well-proportioned, with a wealth of pleasant carvings. Henry knew that Joel often relaxed with a baulk of timber and a set of chisels, and carved decorations forhis own amusement when he had time; this hall was a testament to his skill. It was lovely, and it made Henry feel unutterably sad. He had no such tribute to leave behind him. All he had was his family, when all was said and done, and a certain amount of money. All he had made, his saddles and bridles, were owned by others. He had nothing – not even a simple harness of his own. He had no need: he didn’t possess a horse. There was little point, when a man could hire a mount when he needed to travel.
    Looking about him now, he felt that his own life was lacking. Even though he had the love of his dear Mabilla, and his daughter was a model of perfection, there was an emptiness at the core of his life. And that life would not go on for ever. He was over sixty years old, in God’s name!
    ‘Come, Henry, tell me what the matter is,’ Joel said as he returned to the room. He held a quart jug and two cups, and as soon as he reached Henry, he poured a good measure into the first cup, passing it to his old companion.
    ‘Where’s Maud?’
    Joel’s eyebrows rose at that. He was a portly figure with a thinning crop of pale hair, not quite light enough to be fair, not dark enough to be mouse-coloured. His face was rounded and comfortable, more prone to laughter than rage, and the crow’s feet at his eyes proved that he was cheerful company. ‘My wife is out at the market, I think – why?’
    ‘I wouldn’t want her to hear me like this,’ Henry said.
    Joel sat and sipped his wine. ‘Tell me what this is about, Henry.’
    ‘One of my bloody saddles broke last week, Joel. Hadn’t you heard?’
    ‘Well yes, I had heard something about that.’
    ‘And it was the frame that broke. It happened right in frontof me – in front of my own house, Joel! The customer was reining in, and the cantle broke. I saw it with my own eyes. He plunged down to the cobbles headfirst, and I was sure he must die …’
    ‘Terrible.’
    ‘Yes, pretty damned terrible. And then he demanded that I pay for his physician, and told me he’d sue me for damages. He lost a lot of money that day, Joel.’
    ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
    Henry saw the sympathy in his eyes, but that wasn’t good enough. ‘Not as sorry as I was. But that frame was one of yours, Joel. It was one that you sold me. You told me you only had good quality wood, but it snapped. You rooked me, you bastard! What did you do, put together green wood knowing I wouldn’t notice?’
    ‘You’ve known me long enough to realise I wouldn’t do that to you.’
    ‘Do I? That saddle frame was lousy, Joel.’
    ‘I’ll repay you for the frame, if you like, old friend.’
    ‘You’re damn right you will!’
    ‘Is that all? There’s something else eating at you, isn’t there? Come on – get it off your chest.’
    Henry set his cup on the floor, then put his head in his hands. When he spoke again, it was a whisper. ‘Joel, I can’t go on much longer.’
    ‘Come along, old fellow, you’re as hale as I am!’ Joel said heartily.
    ‘Perhaps I am, but I had a visit last week. From the madman.’
    Joel’s face set as though it had been carved from stone. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Who did we always mean by that?’ Henry sneered. ‘William is back in the city. He’s a corrodian at St