“Thank you for sharing the benefit of your experience, lieutenant,” Sheldrake said, his voice equally quiet, and his tone icy. Not looking at Walcott, he took hold of the handle of the branding iron and turned it in the coals: the metal if the brand was glowing a deep red. “But I have determined that these circumstances require more severe punishment.” Sheldrake stepped back and turned to address Varian and the assembled men. “The sentence is one hundred lashes!”
Unable to stop himself, Varian staggered back and the two guardsmen seized his arms. Gasps and muttering issued from the men in the ranks.
“Captain!” Walcott stepped forward and laid a hand on Sheldrake’s arm. “That will kill him.”
Sheldrake shook off his hand and stared straight into Walcott’s face. “Proceed!” he demanded.
“No, sir.” Walcott’s voice was almost inaudible.
Two heart beats.
“What was that?” Sheldrake turned to face his lieutenant.
“That punishment will not be carried out, captain. Not by me or anyone else present.” Walcott stood rigidly, meeting Sheldrake’s gaze, his face expressionless.
“Do you know what you are saying?”
“I am saying that as second in line of command here, I no longer believe you to be capable of commanding this company of the King’s Guard. The men are my witnesses when I say that I will assume temporary command here until a new captain can be appointed.”
“I see. On what do you base this judgement of my incapability?” Sheldrake’s voice was steady, though it threatened to crack.
“On the basis of your handling of the investigation following the assassination of Lord Eòghan, and the subsequent handling of the alleged murderer and his accomplice. Further, you disregard military regulations and misuse your authority. I feel your judgment can no longer be trusted. You seem divorced from reality, and I consider any decisions you make could endanger the lives of the men. This I cannot allow. I am sorry, captain.”
“As am I, lieutenant.”
“If you would surrender your sword, sir. I will have my men confine you to quarters,” Walcott said. “I would prefer not to have to use force, sir.”
Captain Sheldrake did not trust himself to speak.
Two Guardsmen detached themselves from the silent rows and took positions behind the captain.
“Please surrender your sword, sir,” Walcott said.
“My sword,” Sheldrake said quietly. He drew the sword from his scabbard, and looked down at it.
The thrust was sudden and unexpected. There were cries from among the Guardsmen as they saw eight inches of steel emerge through the back of Walcott’s uniform jacket. His blood dripped from the blade.
Walcott staggered back. His mouth opened and closed as if trying to form words, but the only sound issued was a horrible gargling sound as his throat was flooded. A dribble of blood and saliva dropped from the corner of his mouth, became a steady stream. His hands clutched at the sword, drawing it slowly from his body. Walcott held the sword up in front of his face, watching the blood run down the blade, unable to accept that the weapon had been run through his flesh. His face muscles were slack, and already his vision was becoming fogged at the edges. The sword clattered to the cobbles at Sheldrake’s feet. Walcott collapsed to his knees. His left leg twitched uncontrollably. Blood continued to stream from his mouth and from his wound, soaking his uniform jacket back and front. He made a pathetic attempt to rise to his feet, then his bladder emptied its contents and he fell sideways to the ground. He was dead before his head met the cobbles.
“Under law, the penalty for mutiny within the ranks of the King’s Guard is a mandatory death sentence,” Sheldrake announced. “That sentence has been carried out. Any other member of this company who seeks to oppose me in like manner will face the same penalty.”
The courtyard was silent.
“Take this away,” Sheldrake said, poking Walcott’s body with the toe of his boot.
After a moment’s hesitation, three men came forward and lifted Walcott from the cobbles. A forth went with them to open the door, so that the corpse could be taken into the Guard House.
“Bind the prisoner to the post,” Sheldrake said.
Varian was led towards the post, and his hands were bound above his head to the iron ring near the top of it.
“The punishment is one hundred lashes,” Sheldrake said. He nodded towards the labourer who held the whip. “You will administer the first twenty-five, and then him the next. Do not lay the whip on too lightly, or I will have scourged next.”
The man nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“All present will keep the count,” Sheldrake instructed.
The man shook out the whip and then drew back his arm.
The thunder-like snap! echoed around the courtyard. A chorus of male voices then counted the first stroke: “One!” A red gash like a knife wound opened across Varian’s back and blood ran down his pale skin.
Varian remained stoically silent for the first few strokes, barely a grunt escaping his lips. But with the sixth stroke he could hold it no longer and let out a full-throated scream.
Varian’s bare feet and the cobbles around them were splattered with his blood, and his back was a raw mess.
The Guardsmen continued to count, their faces pale and eyes wide. One of their number swayed on his feet and fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the sight and sound of the brutal flogging. No one moved to help the fallen man.
“Ten!”
The whip was raised again.
“Stop this!”
All movement ceased, and every eye turned to the source of this command.
Lady Julianne stood on the castle steps, standing tall and straight in an emerald green dress. Behind her, two Guardsmen in uniforms emblazoned with Lord Eòghan’s crest stood at attention. Having gained their attention, she walked slowly down the steps and across the courtyard. She looked towards Varian, who was now slumped against the post, barely conscious, and whatever feelings arose in her at the sight of him, she kept hidden. She turned to her two men.
“Cut him down and take him inside. Send for my personal physician,” she said.
Her men cut the ropes binding Varian to the post, catching him as he slumped. Supporting him between them, they led him into the castle.
“Who authorised this?” Lady Julianne asked.
Sheldrake had not moved during any of this, and found himself struck mute. Lady Julianne stood in front of him and looked him directly in the eye.
“I asked a question, captain,” she said. “I expect an answer.”
“I – I ordered the flogging of a deserter,” Sheldrake said.
“And his court martial?” Lady Julianne asked.
“Yes, my lady.”
“You received authorisation from the Palace this morning?” Lady Julianne asked.
“I expect to have it shortly,” Sheldrake said.
“I received a letter from Raensburgh this morning,” Lady Julianne said. “There was no mention of a court martial. Or of an execution.”
“My lady is mistaken, it was a flogging... a punishment and an example to others...”
“If he dies, you will answer for it,” Lady Julianne said. “Now dismiss your men and get this courtyard cleaned up. I will have a full written report from you by two of the clock today.”
“My lady, I...”
“Captain Sheldrake, the letter I received from the Palace confers upon me the full authority previously enjoyed by my late husband. Do you understand what that means?”
“I do, my lady.” Sheldrake bowed.
“Two o’clock, captain. I do not like to be kept waiting.” Lady Julianne turned her back to him and strode away.
Sheldrake watched the castle door open to received her. After the door had closed, he started at it, until a stirring of the men behind him drew his attention. He turned to see two of the Guardsmen helping their fallen comrade to his feet.
“You three get
this courtyard swilled down,” Sheldrake said. “The rest of you, get back to your posts. Dismissed!”
The men drifted away, conversation buzzing between them.
Sheldrake walked slowly back to his office, trying to frame in his mind the words to use in his written report. He was sure that Lady Julianne would understand his actions, once she learned that Varian Kenyon had helped the murderer of her husband escape justice. She might even reward him for the swift action and firm stance he had taken. Even if the young man did die as a result of the flogging. And as for the men under his command, they would not quickly forget what they had witnessed this morning. On balance, while things had not gone entirely in accordance with his wishes, the outcome was far from being a disaster.
“My lady will forgive the zeal with which I meted out punishment, I’m sure,” he said, practising his lines. “She knows I loved Lord Eòghan as a brother, and wanted to see those involved in his death dealt with as severely as our laws allow...”
Chapter Sixty
“I want my wife back,” Grimwade said.
“I hate to inform you of this,” Edison said, “but I am unable to resurrect the dead.”
“I do not want her back alive, I just want her body.”
“Tell me you are joking.”
“I need her,” Grimwade said.
“You did not desire her when she was alive, what makes you believe you will be attracted to her now she is dead?” Edison asked.
“This is not a sexual need, you degenerate,” Grimwade said, “it is a fiscal one. I need the body as proof. Proof that she is dead. I spoke with her executor: unless I can prove without doubt that she is dead, the money remains hers. If she is missing, kidnapped, I will have to wait seven years until she can be assumed to be dead and the money handed over to me. Seven years!”
“At times, life can be most cruel,” Edison said.
“I sent two of my people out to the spot where you and I agreed that she would be buried,” Grimwade said. “But there was no sign of a grave. I sent two more men out there to make a more thorough search, but it seems you chose a different spot.”
“Or perhaps we did not kill her at all,” Edison suggested. “Perhaps she caught whiff of your treachery and bribed us not to carry out your plan. Perhaps she is, even now, on her way back here with her mother and brothers in tow, ready to teach you the consequences of your betrayal.”
The hunchback had paled visibly. “Do not even joke about such things,” he said with a shudder.
Edison smiled.
“I want her back. Just go out to wherever you left her and dig her up,” Grimwade said.
“Just dig her and bring her back here?” Edison asked. “In one piece?”
“Of course in one piece. I want you to deposit her body somewhere that it can be easily discovered, as if it had been dumped by forest outlaws, close to the town.”
Edison sighed. “Have you spoken to Anton on this matter?” he asked.
“We do not need to concern him with this,” Grimwade said. “This will remain between the two of us. If you need any assistance in your labours, one of my men will accompany you.”
Edison shook his head sadly. “As you are perhaps aware, Anton and I joined forces in this little venture somewhat reluctantly, and we never really came to trust one another – not fully. That is how the body came to be buried in a different location to the one you specified. And while I know the location of most of your wife’s corpse, only Anton knows where her head is buried. It was a sort of insurance, you see,” Edison said. “Against betrayal.”
“Without his aid, you cannot recover Griselda’s body?”
“Not unless you can make do without the head,” Edison said.
“Without the head, I would be unable to convince the executor that the body was hers,” Grimwade said.
“I see the problem: headless corpses all look alike, don’t they?”
“I do believe you are enjoying my discomfort, Edric.”
Edison tried to look shocked and hurt, and failed. He grinned. “I shall locate Anton Leander and put your proposition to him. What fee shall I tell him you are offering to entice us to go back into the forest with our shovels?”
“You can tell him that you are both assured of a suitable reward for your actions,” Grimwade said.
“I am sure he will want me to put a figure on it,” Edison said.
*
“What news?” Edison asked when Anton returned.
“We need money,” Anton said.
“That is never news. How is Varian faring?”
“I could not get to see him – he is in Lady Julianne’s care. I am told the flogging was...” Anton swallowed, shaking his head. “He may not survive.”
“Anton, I am sorry...”
“We need a healing amulet – like the one you bought for me,” Anton said.
“The price the enchanter asks for such a thing...” Edison said.
“I don’t care. We have to find some way to get enough gold to pay it.”
Edison sighed. “Why is it that whenever I think Fortune has smiled on me, something comes along to dash my hopes?”
“What are you gibbering about?” Anton frowned.
“Grimwade dropped by with a proposition,” Edison said.
“He never gives up, does he?”
“What?”
“It might be easier if you just succumbed to his wishes,” Anton said.
“What?”
“Go to his bed, get it over with. I’m sure the disappointment would be such that he will never pester you again.”
“What makes you think I would be a disappointing bed-mate?” Edison asked. “Have you been talking to Meg? Because I was injured, and the tub was slippery with soap...”
“You sought to swive her in a bathtub? No wonder you were injured.”
“I was injured before attempting it,” Edison said. “We seem to have wandered from our original course...”
“You said Grimwade wanted you to do something to him,” Anton said, “for money.”
“Something for him,” Edison corrected. “A task that would pay enough for us to...” He rolled his eyes and sighed, “... to pay an enchanter for another amulet.”
“What sort of task?” Anton asked.
“What are your views on grave-robbing?”
Chapter Sixty-One
Thunder rumbled. The wind carried salt spray to them, and as they watched, lightning lit up the clouds over the ocean.
“Dramatic, isn’t it?” Anton asked.
“Perfect night for a bit of body-snatching,” Edison said.
“At least we have a shovel this time.” Anton flicked the reins, and the horse reluctantly moved on. The cart lurched and creaked down the rutted track, inland towards the forest.
They had a four-wheeled cart this time, and a single horse. They sat side-by-side on the seat, occasionally bumping shoulders as their uneven progress threw them together. Loose stones popped and occasionally shot out from under the wheels.
Edison wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. “What have we done to deserve this?” he asked sulkily.
Anton turned to him and raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, it was a rhetorical question,” Edison said. “We have lived the lives of charlatans and rogues, and probably deserve worse fate. But I do not have to like it. Why are you smiling?”
Rain began to fall, a few heavy drops hitting the leaves around them, the percussive sound increasing in tempo and volume.
“Why now?” Edison looked sky-wards, cursing the gods.
“Perhaps they thought you were running out of things to complain about.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Edison asked.
They were in the thick of the forest now. The rain was a dull roar in the leaves overhead and only an occasional heavy drop plopped down around them.
“I do not know. Why do you ask?”
“Do you think she is still here? W
atching us?” Edison asked.
“Griselda?”
“Do you think her spirit is hiding among the trees somewhere? Will she be watching us dig up her body?”
“Yes. She is probably plotting some horrible revenge on the two men who poisoned her, chopped her up and jumped on the bits to make them fit into an unmarked grave which they had dug too small,” Anton said.
Edison shivered and peered into the shadows between the trees. “You really think so?”
“Undoubtedly. We are here.”
The cart drew to a halt.
“Do you want to take first turn with the shovel?” Anton asked.
“After you. I think I will light a candle or two.”
Anton threw the arms and head into the back of the cart. Pale skin seemed to shine through the dirt coating them, their severed endings swollen and clotted with soil.
“Here we have one cadaver. Your task today, students, is not to dissect the human body, but to reassemble it, making the joins invisible to the casual observer,” Anton said.
Edison scowled. He unhitched the horse.
Anton checked that the brake was set, and placed wedges under the wheels. He took two planks from the back of the cart, lowering the tail-board and laying the planks to form a ramp from the ground to the bed of the wagon.
“The principle is simple,” Anton explained. He took a rope and tied it around the Griselda-cadaver’s left ankle. “The rope is attached to the corpse thus. It is then taken up, over the cart and tied to the horse’s harness, here.
“At the given signal, the horse will be encouraged to walk slowly forwards, pulling on the rope, and effortlessly easing the body up the ramp here onto the cart.”
The given signal was given.
A second given signal was given, when the horse ignored the first. The horse ignored the second signal.
Edison took hold of the harness and tried to urge the horse forwards. It looked disdainfully down its nose at him and remained steadfast.
“This horse is faulty,” Edison said.
Anton whacked the horse on the rump with the flat of his hand.
Startled, the horse jolted forwards. It took a few steps forward, pulling the Griselda-cadaver up onto the ramp, where it remained, balanced unevenly on one edge of the boards.
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