Julian left the room and as Lucas struggled to follow as questions began to drift through his mind. Why was Julian so happy to let Aurelio go to jail? What did he know? Did Julian somehow know it was Aurelio, and that’s why he was happy to leave a fellow San Bartolomé man behind?
For a moment, Lucas considered returning to his accommodation, returning to the comfortable bed, and returning to face Armada. It wouldn’t take long for Armada to work out his deception. It meant returning to his old life, but with even less respect than he’d had before. And he’d have to face the disappointed gaze of the old man for who knew how long. The thought of it was too terrible to contemplate.
Lucas couldn’t do that. He was loyal to Julian, to San Bartolomé. No matter what, he would give anything to them. He didn’t for a moment consider Julian to be the killer. He just wasn’t the type. Yes, he could be vicious when the situation called for it, but there was a long way between beating and killing.
Yet if Julian did know the killer, and it was Aurelio, Lucas would inform Armada somehow. Perhaps in a letter, sent from whatever secretive location he and Julian were now heading to. He would have done his duty to the case.
The thought of it didn’t sit well. An instinct told him this was wrong, but Lucas ignored that feeling. Tonight, he was taking his future into his own hands. Tonight, he was choosing to help his friend, the only real friend he’d ever had.
Tonight, his life would begin.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The city constables were waiting for Armada when he returned home from the tavern just after nine. He had spotted them before they knew he was there and he considered running. But to what end? To leave Salamanca and never return? No, there was no other way but to face whatever obstacle was about to be thrown at him.
Armada approached the front door to the building he was staying at slowly, keeping his body relaxed to show he had no intention of struggling or fleeing. The men declared him under arrest, clasped his wrists in irons, and escorted him to the ayuntamiento.
It was the next morning before anyone arrived at his cell to tell him what was going on. Arturo was the first. It was just after sun up and he had hurried over with no escorts, using his influence to have some time with the prisoner before the city officials came to start taking depositions and assess charges to bear.
“Armada,” Arturo said through gritted teeth, rushing to the bars. It meant they probably had little time.
Armada slowly rose from the stone floor he’d dozed on that night, happy to have a reason to be upright where his back wouldn’t ache quite so much. It had been a long night staring at the night sky through the tiny window above. But all his years being plagued by sleeplessness had prepared him well for just such an eventuality.
“Corregidor,” Armada said. “Buenas dias.”
“What were you thinking, releasing Enrique like that?”
“Is that why they arrested me? The constables who took me into custody seemed unaware of what I’d done.”
“You forged a release warrant and the ayuntamiento knows it. They caught Enrique trying to flee the city through the gate at Villamayor. It’s fortunate there was a man working there that night who recognised him. Otherwise, he’d be gone by now, with no way to track him.”
“So, he’s back in custody?”
“They’re going to hang him on Friday. No stopping that now. What were you thinking?”
Armada was disappointed. All that work to free an innocent man, only for his carelessness to not only get caught again, but to bring his violent death that much quicker. It seems God had no desire to change Enrique’s fate.
“I was thinking he was innocent and didn’t belong in prison.”
“Which is fine, if you were the one who arrested him. But you weren’t. And you broke the law to let him go. You have any idea how much trouble you’ve gotten us both into?”
Armada produced the key to Gregorio’s workshop and handed it to Arturo.
“What is this?”
“The fruits of my sacrifice. The key to Gregorio’s workshop. You are free to dispose of the evidence, or bring it to light. It won’t matter to the case much either way now.”
The key didn’t seem to soothe Arturo’s battered nerves, and he stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket to deal with later.
“You were supposed to remain objective, Armada. Nobody was supposed to know you were here. You remember us talking about that? You find the killer, find the evidence, then we reveal what you found. Now it’s all a mess. You’re going to prison, that’s for sure. As am I, possibly worse. At the very least, my career and my reputation are over. And for what? To let a man who you think might be innocent go? Was it worth it?”
“Enrique Talavera did not kill Gregorio Cordoba.”
“So, who did? Do you know? Because everything depends on that now.”
Armada knew he didn’t have the answer Arturo had come for.
“No. Not yet. I need more time.”
“Well, you don’t have it. What you have is a long trip back to Granada in front of you. I’ve spoken to the magistrate after they brought you in last night. He’s decided to order you be returned to Granada under escort with a letter detailing your crimes addressed to your majordomo. They wanted Cordoba’s killer, not you. You, they want out of the city as quickly as possible so they can pretend this case is over and everything is going back to normal.”
“It won’t,” Armada said. “Not with a killer out there. They will kill again. I promise.”
“Yes, and if you’d done your job correctly and kept yourself discreet, you might be out there looking for him! But instead, you’re in here because you decided to be reckless with your morals. Come on, Armada! I feel bad for Enrique too, but you let your conscience get the better of you. You should have focused your efforts on gathering evidence on the real killer!”
“Surely this magistrate is interested in finding the killer as well.”
Arturo looked at him with a shocked look, then let an amused smile crease across his face. “I never pictured you to be so naïve, Armada. Hasta luego.”
“Wait,” Armada said. “I need you to do me a favour. My page…he should know what is happening. Can you inform him? He will need money to travel back to Granada as well.”
Arturo agreed to send word to Lucas, then left. For the next few hours, Armada was left alone in his cell once again. Then, around midday a flurry of events happened very quickly. The magistrate showed up with an entourage of clerks and a notary, who took a statement that was signed and stamped, after which charges were declared and recorded. These charges had already been penned into a letter recommending that Armada serve a long prison sentence for forging a release warrant. Then, whatever valuables had been confiscated from his room, including his prized sherry barrel, were inventoried and shockingly were just enough to cover all the fees associated with his arrest and his extradition. The only possession he would keep was his cart and Teo’s mule, which would be escorted back to Granada along with him.
By late afternoon, everything had been prepared and Armada was clasped in irons once again, put on the back of a horse, and together with three soldiers, they were soon making their way down the Rúa de San Martín for the last time. The soldiers used their muscle to force the traffic to the sides of the road as they passed, making quite a spectacle as they went. Armada suspected this was by design.
Once they reached the River Gate, their papers were checked over thoroughly by the excise men there, who had to give the appearance to all city officials of being studious with their recordkeeping, even though much of the fees they collected were kept from their records.
With everything checked, the party moved outside of Salamanca’s walls toward the old Roman Bridge. It was here Armada felt himself start to get annoyed. None of this felt right. The case couldn’t possibly end like this. What had he missed? There were plenty of suspects, but none of them quite fit the profile entirely. There were still too many missing pieces. I
f only he’d known how little time he had left, perhaps he could have…what? Cases like these took time. There was no avoiding that. Perhaps he should have seen this coming from the moment he’d stepped foot in the city. The Holy Brotherhood were supposed to police the empty, lawless countryside. Not the cities, all of which had their own law enforcement officials. He should have known it was going to end like this.
But something wasn’t right. There was a missing piece his mind couldn’t let go. Armada began to go over the evidence he had again and again. He thought about Enrique Talavera, Aurelio Martinez, Julian de Benaudalla, even the corregidor. They all were connected, but none of them seemed to fit well. Which meant there was a missing piece of the puzzle. Some clue, some bit of evidence he was still missing.
Armada’s mind rolled back to Gregorio’s workshop. Other than finding his payment money, there had been precious little to learn there. It shouldn’t have been that way. That shop was the beating heart of this case and he’d found nothing. How was that possible?
The cart began to bob up and down as the wooden wheels rattled and groaned over the stones of the bridge, distracting Armada. There was little traffic here for the moment, and the soldiers slowed their pace as they crossed the bridge, allowing Armada a chance to peer out over the Tormes River and enjoy the natural serenity that surrounded them for the moment. Everything was green and lush and the air was full of birds and life as they furiously prepared themselves for a summer of eating and mating. After this, Armada knew, there would be long stretches of hot desert wastelands, where there would be few birds and little greenery to enjoy. Just endless hours of jostling about over deeply rutted goat tracks.
Something crawled out from the morass at the back of Armada’s mind. It was connected to the workshop. It had been but a vague instinct before. Just a sense that he’d missed something. It had returned now, much stronger, much clearer. Armada focused on the banks of the Tormes. The river. The water. Then thoughts of the workshop again. What was bothering him? Oh, why did his mind have to work so slowly sometimes?
The only thing that had seemed out of place at the time was the sulphur. The sulphur had been missing. Which meant Gregorio would have kept it somewhere else.
Which meant there was a “somewhere else.” Gregorio had yet more secrets, stashed away in a place not even Maria had known about. Perhaps not even Julian de Benaudalla.
Something Teo had said bubbled up to the surface.
There are bits under the arches where bricks are missing. It’s easy to hide things there.
“Stop!” Armada screamed.
The soldiers were startled, one of them pulling too hard on the reigns and frightening his horse as well, who reared up and neighed loudly.
Armada was on his feet, his wrists still locked to the cart, and he nearly fell out of the cart when the driver pulled it to a stop. The soldiers on horseback turned around and glared at him angrily.
“What is it?”
Armada realised he hadn’t the time to explain. He needed the soldiers to act quicker than that. He turned to the man sitting next to him.
“I’m going to be ill.” Armada held out his wrist clasps.
The soldier’s eyes went wide and he hurried to let Armada out of his irons.
Once free, Armada leaped out of the cart ,and instead of running to the side of the bridge to be sick into the river as was expected, he instead broke into a run back to the beginning of the bridge.
“Stop! Stop, prisoner!” he heard shouted behind him. And he would. As soon as he confirmed what he suspected.
Armada easily made it to the city end of the bridge and raced round the verracos that guarded it. Instead of going further on toward River Gate, he circled round to a small set of stairs leading down to the riverbank below.
His pursuers took this as a sign that he was making a run for freedom and increased their pace to catch him. But Armada still had a minute or two lead time on them. Just enough…if he hurried.
Armada raced into the water. It was high tide, and it went almost up to his waist before he reached the first arch under the bridge. He found the workman’s ledge and heaved his body onto it as his soaked trousers loudly dripped streams of water back into the river, letting the soldiers know precisely where he’d gone.
Armada examined the walls of the arch, looking for any sign of loose bricks. There was a chance he’d gotten this wrong, that desperation was driving him more than intellect. In which case he was happy to deal with the embarrassment later. But if he was right…he couldn’t leave the city until he knew.
Finding nothing, and hearing the soldiers race down the stairs into the river, Armada dove into the water and made his way to the next archway along. Here, the water was up to his chest, making it difficult to move quickly. Armada pushed his way toward the next workman’s ledge, feeling his feet sinking deep into the muddy bottom, and found it difficult to hoist himself up again, as his body was so much heavier from the extra water and mud.
Here, the workman’s ledge showed more wear from being tread upon much more often. Armada once again inspected the walls themselves, running his hands over the bricks as he heard the soldiers pushing their bodies through the water. He had only moments.
Then, in the middle of the archway, he spotted it. There on the ledge, just in the middle, was a powder that looked out of place on the mossy brown stones of the bridge. The powder was yellow, and Armada took a bit of it on his fingers, holding it up to his nose.
Rotten eggs. It was sulphur.
Armada looked up to find the bricks in the wall in front of him seemed to have little mortar holding them in. Armada began removing these bricks, his nose meeting with a stronger scent of sulphur as he did so.
Not having the time to neatly stacks the bricks, Armada instead tossed them into the water, trying to reach Gregorio’s den of secrets before the soldiers could reach him. The soldiers were already to the ledge and scrambling to get a foothold on it while screaming at him to stop and wait for them.
Armada removed brick after brick, tossing them over his shoulder. And soon, a hidden chamber began to reveal itself as the daylight filled its dark corners. Armada could see canvas sacks stacked in one corner where more of the yellow powder had spilled out.
He’d found it. This must be where Gregorio took delivery of his sulphur and stored it here so the smell wouldn’t give away what he was doing in his workshop. It all fit together.
That’s when the other odour became apparent. There was something stronger now filling the air, a smell of rotting meat. A smell of death. A smell Armada knew only too well.
The first soldier was now racing along the ledge, sword drawn, yelling at him to stop.
Armada ignored this and had now removed enough bricks to squeeze himself inside, if only to buy himself a few more moments.
It was all he needed. The odour was overwhelming in here and as he got closer to it, it was obvious where it was coming from.
The body was sprawled out on top of sacks of sulphur, their canvas bags soaked blood red. The flies had little trouble getting in and now buzzed about the body, which had been inside for weeks now and was quite badly decomposed. But there was enough left to tell it was a boy, late teens, possibly younger. One glance at the skull, the source of much of the blood on the floor, made it clear how he’d died.
The soldier was now close enough to reach him, but he instead glanced at the body, then turned out of the chamber to be ill into the river. The other soldiers saw this and kept their distance, peering into the chamber instead and gasping in horror.
But it wasn’t the body itself that had grabbed Armada’s attention. It was the pin on his lapel. It was tiny, carved out of silver, in the shape of a mint leaf.
And it changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It had been a long night for Lucas, and he was relieved when the bouncing stopped. He’d had no idea of just how rough the surface of Salamanca’s streets were until he’d spent a few hours rid
ing in the back of a cart, feeling stabs of pain ripple through him with every cobblestone.
The fact that he was lying flat on his back didn’t help. Julian lay beside him, both of them covered in a canvas tarp by Federigo, who had then thrown bales of hay over them to hide their presence. Lucas had been quite clear that no one could spot them leaving the city. If Armada had gotten any indication that they were fleeing in the night and sent a tracker, it would be the end for all of them.
Federigo knew this and did his best to stick to the smaller back alleyways where they were less likely to be noticed, but it also meant rougher roads to traverse. Lucas tried to concentrate on breathing normally and not being sick from the pain.
“Cayate!” he heard Julian whisper from next to him. “Half the city can hear you breathing over there.”
“Sorry,” Lucas said. He didn’t want to get Julian in trouble. Julian was doing him a favour. They were fugitives as of tonight. Julian owed his freedom to him. It showed Lucas was probably more loyal to him than any of the other boys of San Bartolomé. His place at San Bartolomé would now be secure. They would never have reason not to trust him again. He thought of the adventures they would be free to have now. How many more days did Lucas have to look forward to drinking the afternoon away with the boys, kicking a ball about in the courtyard, or smoking tobacco with Julian and Marco, with Ambrosio powerless to stop him or ever scold him again? He would be just one of the boys.
Suddenly, the cart stopped and the sheet was whipped back by Julian as he hopped out.
Lucas was confused. They hadn’t been travelling all that long. Certainly not long enough to get out of the city.
Lucas sat up to find he could still make out the spires of the cathedral in the moonlight. They were on the other side of the church now, somewhere to the northeast, and it was easy to make out the walls of the new cathedral, as well. But they were still well within the city walls.
A Murder Most Literate Page 19