Flight of the Falcon (Byrdes of York #1)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Hugh

T he café on the corner looked comfortable with both sofas and tables available inside. It was busy, but not too packed that there wasn’t anywhere to sit. There were also tables available outside. He approached the counter and almost did a double take. He could swear it was the same girl who had served him in the bookshop.

“Hi,” the girl addressed him. “Can I help you?” “Er, yes. An Americano with milk, please.”

She smiled at him as she began making his drink. “I see you’ve been in the bookshop.” She pointed to his book.

“I did. Are you related to Abbie?” It was the only thing he could think of.

“I am, I’m Petronella, but everyone calls me Ella. We’re two thirds of triplets, our brother Cory works for Robin in the antiques shop.”

“That’s handy.”

She laughed as she handed him his drink, “Well, our mother Jenny is their sister, they’re my uncles.”

Having unknowingly dropped that bombshell, she turned to serve the next customer and Hugh made his way outside. There was a sister? He knew they were all adopted children of Francis Byrde, but obviously he didn’t know everything.

Picking up his mobile, he pulled up Imogen’s contact details:

Did you know there was a sister?

He watched the three little dots for a moment as Imogen wrote her reply.

No. Checking now. I’ll get back to you.

Leaving it in Imogen’s capable hands, he sipped his drink and looked at the arcade around him. From the information they’d been able to get hold of and local newspaper reports, the whole area had been due for demolition and then rebuilt as flats. Half of it, the part where the arcade had opened onto Blake Street, had already been turned into flats, but the other half, which opened out here onto Stonegate, had been saved from demolition by Francis Byrde.

He’d bought up the remaining shops and had had them updated and owner’s flats added onto them. This was where the brothers now lived and traded.

Hugh sat for a while, his book open on the table, half perusing it and half watching the comings and goings of people through the arcade. Ella came out of the café and began clearing tables near him, smiling at him as she passed by.

“Another drink?” she asked.

“Thanks. I can order inside?”

“It’s okay, same again?”

He nodded and she disappeared inside, returning a few moments later with a fresh coffee and a card machine. He tapped his card and thanked her. Just then there was a commotion down the passageway next to him. He could hear swearing and… laughter?

He and Ella both looked up as Falcon Byrde and a younger man came into view. Robin Byrde, Hugh’s internal photo album told him. Robin had his older brother’s arm slung over his shoulders and was helping to support him, as the older man limped along.

“Uncle Fal!” Ella exclaimed as she went to see if she could help. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured her, grimacing.

Robin was too busy laughing to say anything straightaway, but eventually he got out, “He was too busy making sure I didn’t trip that he missed his step and turned his ankle!”

“It’s not funny!” Fal grumbled as he allowed his brother to help him towards the bookshop. Ella watched them go until someone call her name, then she went back into the café.

Hugh watched the arcade, but the brothers were in the bookshop now. He would check the camera feed when he got back to his flat later, but for now he could at least listen in on what was being said through the earpiece he was wearing.

“It’s not funny!” Hugh recognised Falcon’s voice.

“It is a bit funny.” Robin’s voice replied. “Abbie, be a dear and go get the first aid kit please.”

There was silence as Abbie obviously did as she was asked. “What happened?” she asked a few moments later.

“I missed a step,” said Falcon.

“He turned round to make sure I was steady on my feet, and twisted his ankle when he turned back,” Robin added.

“Really, Uncle Fal!”

“Here,” Robin said. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

Hugh pictured him examining Falcon’s ankle as it went quiet again. “There. All wrapped up.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

“Do you need any painkillers?” “No, I’m okay.”

Hugh’s phone beeped with an incoming text from Imogen.

Jenny Byrde married Foster Green 20 years ago and they have triplets Abbie, Petronella and Cory who all work in the shops in the Arcade. They’re 18. Not much is known about her. I’ll keep looking.

I’ve met the girls. Abbie works in the bookshop and Petronella (Ella) in the café. I believe the boy Cory works in the antique shop.

He waited a moment, but nothing else came through from Imogen. Putting his phone away, he listened in on the earpiece, but all he could hear was Abbie talking to customers. The brothers must have moved into the back where Falcon’s office was.

Draining his drink, Hugh stood up, waved goodbye to Ella then left the arcade. He headed down Stonegate, walking past several shops including the York Roast shop. He sniffed appreciatively when he passed, promising himself he’d get lunch from there one day. Other shops included clothes shops, souvenir shops and more eateries. A street of one kind or another had been on the same spot since Roman times. He turned right onto Blake Street, with its more modern shop fronts, then a few moments later, he entered the front room of his rented maisonette and threw the keys into a bowl on the sideboard.

The first thing he did was switch on his laptop and bring up the camera feed from the bookshop. Apart from being able to see what had been happening, there was nothing different to what he’d heard. After Robin had strapped his brother’s ankle up, he and Fal had moved to the back of the shop, leaving Abbie in charge once more.

Hugh’s phone rang. He recognised the ring tone as Imogen’s. “What have you got for me?” he asked without preamble.

“And hello to you too!”

“Imogen!”

There was a huff from the other end of the phone. “I checked up on the family. Apart from the boys we already knew about, there are two sisters, Jenny and Chyna.”

“Chyna?”

“Yes, she’s in Jamaica at the moment with Francis Byrde. From what I was able to find out, they’re there to try and track down some of Chyna’s biological family.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “That’s why he’s not around at the moment. Anyone else we’ve missed?”

“Not that I know of,” replied Imogen. “Make sure,” he instructed.

Imogen huffed again and put the phone down.

Hugh stretched and wandered over to the window that looked down on the arcade, where he could keep an eye on the bookshop. He watched as Abbie locked up the shop and joined a young boy who was just coming out of the antiques shop. That should in theory be her brother. When they were joined by Ella, he knew he was right.

He mooched around the maisonette’s kitchen, making himself some steamed salmon and green beans for dinner. He could have gone out – there were several excellent restaurants around where he was – but he fancied a home cooked meal.

The next few days passed in a pattern. Hugh spent the mornings catching up on videos from the bookshop from the previous day. With only the one camera, he wasn’t catching too much. He spent the rest of the time trying to work out what Falcon Byrde was up to and investigating the rest of the brothers.

He was looking through the scope at the shop when Falcon left, on his own and heading for Stonegate. Making a quick decision, Hugh threw on a canvas jacket as it had been raining earlier, and ran down the stairs and out the door. Rounding the corner to Stonegate, he caught a sight of his quarry as he stopped to chat with someone outside Ye Olde Starre Inn, the oldest pub in the area.

Hugh stopped a few shops up and waited. Falcon slapped the other man on the shoulder, giving a great guffaw of laughter, and then moved on at a good clip down Stonegate and into Minster Gate. Falcon then joined an older man dressed in a black cassock who was waiting for him on the steps of the Minster leading to the side door. Hugh managed to get a photograph of them and sent it to Imogen to see if she could find out who he was.

There were benches in Dean’s Park and it was a warmish May day, so he settled down on one, bringing out the book he’d been reading as a cover in case he needed it.

His phone buzzed with a text. It was Imogen.

That’s Father McKenzie. He’s attached to the Charter House at the Minster.

Why would he be meeting Falcon Byrde?

No information on that. McKenzie’s as clean as a whistle. Nothing on him, not even a speeding ticket.

Okay, thanks. I’ll stick around a bit longer and let you know if anything happens.

He put his phone away and contemplated what he knew already about Falcon Byrde. Nothing made any kind of sense, yet his boss was convinced he was negatively involved in the Goodkind killings.

There was no denying Falcon had been there when the Goodkind family had been killed. Their business premises had been blown up and Falcon had been one of the people to call 999 and had tried to give first aid to some of the passersby. It would all seem coincidental – being in the wrong place at the wrong time – if it weren’t for the fact that was the fourth time he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time in the last couple of years.

It had been enough to persuade Robert Swales that he was involved in some nefarious way. Hugh had to admit he had his doubts. There was nothing he’d come across so far that gave any credence to Swales’s suspicions. That alone was beginning to trigger Hugh’s alarms.

Falcon

Falcon was pleased that his ankle was no longer bothering him. It had been inconvenient when it happened, and he had been embarrassed. More so that it had happened when Robin had been with him. He was always more aware of where they were putting their feet when his little brother was with him. Though Falcon knew that the younger man didn’t have any problems with walking, he still wanted to make sure he was able to get around okay.

It was a sunny Wednesday morning, and he had an appointment to meet with Father McKenzie at the Charterhouse at the Minster. It was nearing 11am when he said goodbye to Abbie and headed off down Stonegate. He was pleased to see Arne who was the publican at Ye Olde Starre Inne. They’d been friends for years, and it was nice to catch up.

Laughing as he left his old friend, he quickly made his way to the Minster, happy to see that Father McKenzie was waiting for him.

“Come in, come in!” McKenzie welcomed him with a smile.

The soaring ceiling and architecture was amazing and Falcon was caught up, as always, in the majesty of the building. He followed Mckenzie through to a small side room, which appeared to be a kind of robing room. Through another door was a small area with a kitchen and McKenzie asked if he wanted a drink.

“Coffee please.” He made small talk whilst McKenzie made the coffee, then they settled in the larger room where many cassocks, surplices and vestments were stored.

“Take a seat.”

Falcon sat down on a ratty sofa, which turned out to be very comfy. He put his mug down on the coffee table in front of him.

“How’s the ankle?” Father McKenzie asked as they settled in. “A lot better, thanks. Such a stupid thing to do.”

The other man laughed and nodded. “Remind me to tell you about the time I broke my leg stepping off a train.”

“Really, just from stepping off a train?” “Turns out I have brittle bones.”

Falcon just shook his head and slowly sipped his coffee as he contemplated what to tell the older man. They hadn’t exactly found a great deal before he’d twisted his ankle.

“I’ve had a word with the manager at the Treasurer’s House and she’s agreed to let you into the cellar that Harry Martindale saw the ghost Roman soldiers marching through in 1953. There has always been speculation that they were some of the remnants of the Ninth Legion returning to York in defeat,” said McKenzie.

“I’ve read that story. There was an article on Martindale in the York Press in 2014 when he died. I’ve also done some reading around it.” Falcon grinned. “One of the perks of owning a bookshop.”

“Myrna, the National Trust manager in charge of the Treasurer’s House will let you in after the last tour has gone through about 4.30pm. You’ll need to contact her to arrange a date.”

Falcon nodded and finished his coffee. “You know I’m not convinced we’re actually talking about the Ninth Legion, don’t you?”

“I’m not either. But I know what I saw in that room.”

Falcon nodded again. He’d have to go back and have another look himself. He’d find a different way into the old hewn out room with round Roman shields and weapons hanging on its bare walls that Father McKenzie claimed to have found. Apparently, other memorabilia hung around the room, some of it with the distinctive IX Legio Hisp mark on them. The question they were trying to answer was were they from the real legion – although surely the wooden shields would have deteriorated by now – or were they false? Father McKenzie had been a young man when he saw them and had not been allowed to follow up then. His higher ups had forbidden it. Now they were long gone, and he had the authority to institute the investigation.

“Who else here knows about the tunnels?” Falcon asked.

McKenzie went quiet. “I’ve kept it fairly close. Only a couple of other people in my office know about it, even then, they don’t know where the entrances I found are.”

“I’ll be returning to the tunnels later this week,” Falcon informed Father McKenzie. “I’ll make sure I’m better prepared this time.”

The older man nodded and they finished their meeting.

Falcon followed Father McKenzie outside and waved to him as he walked back down Minster Yard. As he did so, he noticed a man sitting on a bench with a book beside him. He recognised the book; he had a couple of copies in his shop. It was a local history of York looking at the many, many ghost stories that were prevalent in the area. He smiled, sure this was the man both Ella and Abbie had described to him. They’d been giggling at the time and he hadn’t taken their matchmaking seriously.

Now though, looking at the man, he could see why they’d mentioned him. He was definitely his type. He hoped he’d come into the bookshop again whilst he was there.

With nothing more serious on his mind, Falcon made his way back to the shop. He let himself into his study and began catching up on emails and messages. He grinned when he noticed one from his adopted father, Francis.

Hi Fal. You’ll be pleased to hear that Chyna is settled at university and already making friends. We didn’t find any relatives, but we went into this knowing we probably wouldn’t. I’ll be on my way back in the next couple of days and can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to! A little bird (Robin) told me about your latest venture and the ankle. Hope it’s all cleared up now. You can update me on John’s request when I’m back in York.

I’ll make sure to invite you all for dinner. Love always – Dad

Falcon rolled is eyes at the message. Of course Robin had been sneaky and told their father what was happening. Still, Francis had many years of experience to bring to the mystery.

There was also a quick message from Father McKenzie giving him contact details for Myrna Hopkins so he could arrange a date to visit the Treasurer’s House cellar. He decided he’d wait to revisit the tunnels until after that. Francis might be home by then and he could come with him.