Jan chuckles. “You always cheated.”
“No more than you! Your brother was the only one who played it straight. I could never figure out how he won.”
“Yes. Well. Lukas has strange luck, I suppose.”
“Listen,” says the mayor, “I have a small favor to ask.” He rubs his fingers together briskly, then laces them in a gesture of prayer. On him, the gesture speaks more of retail than reverence.
The bishop bows. “As always, I am at your service.”
“My daughter, Mechtelt, the one with the, ah, large eyes?”
Yes, he knows the girl. On the street, they call her the frog. Children are known to hop in her wake.
“Mechtelt would very much like to join the Benedictines.” He puts out one hand. “Now I know the convent is full, but I wondered if there is any way to make room for one more nun. Might you speak to the abbess?”
Jan nods. “I am sure the abbey would welcome any daughter of the mayor.” He gives a subtle emphasis to theany. Willems reports that there is at least one girl among his bastards.
“Very good. Very good.”
Jan feels the scales tip. It can be profitable when the city owes the Church a favor. “I was hoping I might ask you about a troublesome matter.”
“My advice is free.”
Better be, if you expect me to pull strings for your bug-eyed daughter.
“You are aware that Dutch scripture has been circulating in the Markt?”
The mayor purses his lips. “Illegal scripture? In Brugge? I know nothing of it.”
Old fox. He’s lying. “Yes. Pope Boniface has charged me with finding the translators.”
The mayor’s head jerks. “You’re not going to make a Strasbourg of us?”
“Most assuredly not. We merely seek to keep the city in the good graces of the Holy See.”
“I don’t want any executions in this town, Jan. It’s bad for business.”
“No more do I.” Jan uses his most soothing note. “That’s why we must nip this in the bud. The Church doesn’t burn people for translations. Just bad translations. We need to stop them before they make any unfortunate mistakes. Heretical mistakes.”
A squirrel chatters from the trees. They’ve reached the intersection of the groomed paths.
“There’s reason to believe that the beguines are the source,” says Jan.
The mayor stops. “I have a niece in the begijnhof. I am very fond of that niece.”
“No, no, no. You misunderstand. We needn’t disturb them all. I need identify only one.”
“I know who you’re going to name.”
Does he? “Lord Mayor, you are always one step ahead of me.”
“My niece won’t say who, but you can read that girl like an illustrated alphabet.” So he does know about the translations. “You’re talking about the Janssens widow. Katrijn Janssens.”
As Willems told him. “The draper.”
“But you can’t touch her, Jan. Have you considered how much of your income comes from the guild?”
“But aren’t the beguines a thorn in their side? Mertens has been slapping new regulations all over them. I don’t know why they didn’t reclaim the stall when old Janssens died.”
