Duilleog

by Donald D. Allan

  We started left down the residential road and paused as a couple of children rushed by, pushing a hoop with a stick and laughing with endless energy. I had never been one of those kids and felt a longing to join them despite knowing it was impossible to be a kid again. I watched them disappear around the corner and looked at where we were.

  I had never ventured down this area of town before. I never had the need and was worried people would get suspicious. The people living here were wealthy. Their money fuelled the town, which in turn fuelled the barony. They had power and stature and didn't like anyone interfering with that power nor intruding into their private area of town. As I took in my surroundings, the occasional window dressings would shift ever so slightly, and I knew we were being watched. I suddenly felt very exposed and the dirt on my clothes seemed to stand out all the more. I was one of the poor and not tolerated in this part of town. The presence of the Reeve was likely the only reason I wasn't already asked to leave.

  A river barge captain had once told me the houses were nothing special, but to me, they were homes with living rooms, kitchens, bedrooms and all the fine belongings that anyone could possibly want. They gave shelter from the wind and rain, warmth in winter and shade in the summer sun. The buildings were well tended, and some had been washed with coloured stains, making them bright and cheery. The windows had real glass, and the roofs were shingled with clay pieces. I wondered what it would be like to live under a dry roof instead of the stars and trees. I sighed. That life was not meant for me. Living outdoors was my world, and it called to me, but I strived to imagine living in a house until the Reeve broke me out of my reverie by starting to speak to me at last. I felt some measure of satisfaction when he broke the silence first and I grinned to myself.

  "Bill fought in the revolution all those years ago. He made a real name for himself but not with the Baron. It was the Lord Protector himself that he impressed. Bet you didn't know that, did you?" He didn't wait for a response but kept talking, almost as if to himself. "I don't think anyone in this town knew. He kept that to himself. Very private. Sure, they all imagined that he must have done something of value once and they knew that he had money. He had his large home that he paid for in coin and he always had money for beer and wine at the inn. Did you know he was a knight in the King's Guard?"

  This last question shocked me, and I looked up at the Reeve to see if he was joking. He seemed to be waiting for an answer, so I mumbled a no. I hadn't known that. He certainly didn't look like someone from the King's Guard—but a knight, too? The King’s Guard was the elite in the land—except they were now called the Lord Protector's Guard. Knights were all allowed to wear armour and carry swords and had horses and squires and all that other stuff, didn't they? Bill, when I did chance to see him, was usually sitting slouched outside the inn drunk, smoking a pipe and watching people wander by. The burns on his face and hands were horrible to look at and people always kept clear of him. He yelled at people a lot, too. He was, everyone knew, a bitter man. Daukyns liked him though, and that thought kept my tongue quiet. Daukyns was an excellent judge of character.

  "He was. Wait till you see his armour. The way he told it, he had been a very honourable Protector's guardsman of some stature. It took years of speaking with him to piece that together, but I did. After the war, he was given a knighthood, lands to go with it, people to work that land and a purse to keep it running. He tended his land and collected taxes for the Realm for years. He took a wife and had kids, too." The Reeve paused a moment before continuing. "I think he loved being a knight but ten years ago that all changed and he came here by himself to live. He moved into that home right over there." And the Reeve pointed to the house at the end of the road.

  It was, no doubt, where we were headed. I took an appraising look as we approached. The house looked like all the others except it was a little better-taken care of, but it was hard to say why. The wood was a little better trimmed. The windows were framed a little straighter. The roof was a little more even and better shingled. Flowerpots adorned the porch and were obviously well watered based on how vibrant they were. I didn't truly understand the need for a house since it separated you from the earth. The flowers were held in little clay pots and I could sense they felt so constrained and frustrated. Their roots reached deep in the soil only to find themselves blocked by fire-hardened clay all around them.

  As we closed the last few yards, I could make out a guard standing in the shadow of the porch beside the door. I knew him by sight but not by name. The poor man was in full garrison dress and he looked bored but alert. I pitied him and the heat he must have been suffering dressed in all that armour. He spied us as we walked toward him and seemed to stand up a little straighter. A quick glance to the Reeve confirmed to me that he didn't notice the respect the town garrison returned to him. He was oblivious to the guard and kept speaking to me. The guard gave me a tight smile and nodded once.

  "He wouldn't say anything of his wife and kids," continued the Reeve. "I only knew he had them because he let it slip one day. But, mind you, he never mentioned them again and I suspect they no longer live or no longer care about him if they do still live. Something happened ten years ago that made him give up his knighthood, his lands, his people and to come to this small merchant town miles from anywhere of any importance. What could cause a man to do that, I wonder?"

  I thought then of the burns marking Bill's face, neck and hands. They were bad but long healed, and I suspected they marked his body elsewhere. Daukyns had mentioned he used the poppy plant for the pain of the burns. The pain had never truly faded, he had explained at my look of surprise. If something had happened to his family in the past, I suspected a fire was involved. I didn't doubt Reeve Comlin thought so too. Little escaped his notice.

  We reached the two steps leading up to his porch and front door. The Reeve paused, took out a cloth and wiped the sweat and dust from his face and then from the back of his neck. He placed one foot on the bottom step and leaned an elbow on the lower railing post beside the steps. He nodded at the guard who nodded back. The Reeve waved one arm in the direction of the other houses.

  "These folks had no idea who lived here. Sure, they knew Bill. Knew he once owned land but not why and what happened to him. He had money. That's for sure. Paid his taxes and never traded for anything—he always paid good coin. That was enough for these people around here. They didn't need to– or want to—know more than that." The Reeve leaned down and spat on the ground.

  "They also don't seem to care that he is now dead and murdered in his own house other than for the pleasure of gossiping about it. Already people in the town are jostling to buy the place. Captain Gendred closed down the housing office this morning in disgust. That was a respectable thing to do, I thought. Bill hasn't even been buried yet."

  The Reeve looked over at me and at the guard and I nodded my agreement. The guard, suddenly thinking he was part of the conversation, nodded too. The Reeve looked at me a little longer and I had to look away. Something was bothering the Reeve, and I had yet to figure out how I was involved in any of this other than almost being killed by the same man that had killed Bill. Here I stood outside his house and I had no idea why. For some reason, I felt guilty, and the hidden coin came immediately to my mind. I started to say something about it when again some part of me stopped my words. A sudden insane urge to run came to me but I held my ground and waited, opting to simply look down the street to the other houses.

  "Follow me," he ordered, and he started up the stairs. The guard turned to the front door, pulled a key out from around his neck, and quickly unlocked and removed a shiny brass padlock from the door. The hasp was newly installed and stood out against the wood. The guard stepped aside to allow us passage. Clearly, the guard expected us, but he looked strangely at me. I suspected he was wondering why the Reeve would bring me into this home. Much like I was wondering.

  The Reeve pushed open the door and walked into the house, waiting for me to follow him. I
glanced at the guard, who was thankfully now ignoring me and walked through the door behind the Reeve. I stopped just inside to look around and I blinked repeatedly to clear the sun from my eyes in the sudden gloom.

  Once my sight adjusted, my first impression was I had entered a place of meticulous order. This was my first time in a house and even not knowing what to expect, I could easily tell there was no clutter anywhere to see. The walls, floors and ceilings were all made of expensive and expertly joined wood planks. Trim covered the bottoms and tops of the walls. The furniture was of superb quality and precisely placed, gleaming with oils and immaculate. The walls and furniture were empty of any belongings or keepsakes. There were no items hinting of family life, or loved ones, or any personal possessions.

  To my nose, the house smelled strange. It was hotter than outside despite the shade and the heat stung my nose when I breathed in deep. The smell told me the house had been locked up for a few days with no air to freshen it. With no movement of air, the sweat on my skin had nowhere to go, and I was soon dripping with it. From out front I heard the guard cough and watched as the Reeve turned his face to the noise with a frown. The cough was the same wet sound I had heard earlier, and I couldn’t help but think of the sick woman with her child in that shack. The sickness was spreading.

  From where I stood at the door, I saw the first floor contained a living room opening up to a small kitchen with a wood stove that vented through the back of the house to the outside. There was one small door in the kitchen and I surmised it opened to a small adjoining pantry much like in the kitchen in the inn. A dining area was beside the kitchen and contained a simple table with one chair pushed up tightly against it. From the dining room, a backdoor led behind the house to where a privy and wood store would likely be located. Beside me a narrow flight of stairs led upstairs but glancing up, I couldn't see what lay above us on the second floor. If it was like the inn, I expected to see a bedroom at least.

  The Reeve called out a greeting and a rough reply from outside the back door was heard, confirming another guard was positioned behind the house. I hadn't expected that and wondered what would warrant two guards. Before I could ask, the Reeve clasped my shoulder briefly in a tight grip and then headed for the stairs. I followed after him and we made our way to the second floor until we stood in a narrow hallway. The heat upstairs was heavy and thick, and I wiped my sleeve across my brow and blinked when the sweat stung my eyes.

  Two bedrooms and a study were the only rooms upstairs off the hallway. I imagined this house must be considered a large private home by Jaipers' standards. One bedroom was clearly the one Bill had used; the spread was still rumpled. The other bedroom was empty except for a narrow cot pushed up against the far wall. Both bedrooms were small compared to the study, which took up most of the upper floor. The Reeve led me directly into this windowless room. It contained a centrally positioned, beautifully ornate desk with a thick, padded leather chair glistening with oils. A large wooden chest sat on the floor behind the desk and pushed into the far-right corner. What caught my attention was that each wall was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves filled with books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. I had never seen this much-written word in one location and marvelled at the wealth they represented. My eyes hovered for a moment over a hollow in the bookshelves behind the desk displaying an elaborate coat-of-arms I did not recognise. Then I noticed, as I made my way into the room and could peer into the corner once hidden from the hallway, that an armour tree stood proudly bearing a full set of plate armour. I had never seen anything like it before. It was made of solid metal and shone like a looking glass. Draped from the armour hung a large, two-handed sword, worn with use. I knew this sword was not ceremonial and was well used and cared for.

  All this I noticed automatically but my eyes were drawn to the arc of blood that crossed the desk, over the coat-of-arms and the wall and rose up over the bookshelves. I looked up and saw the blood continue across the ceiling. At my feet, in front of the desk, lay a massive pool of blackened, dried blood. It was here Bill had bled out and died. There was so much blood it was still drying and looked sticky. Disturbed by our entry, swarms of flies rose and buzzed all over the place, and I was glad my stomach was empty. Anything I had in it would be gone by now and I resisted an urge to gag as the coppery smell of the blood reached my nose. I covered my mouth and nose with a hand and breathed through my fingers and mouth. Flashes of memories from my childhood of blood covering floors and walls overcame me, but they vanished as quickly as they had come and I blinked them away.

  The desk had several scrolls and papers strewn over it and it was in such a state of disarray I knew Bill had never left it like this. It was uncharacteristic of the house and from what I could tell of Bill's obsession with neatness, with everything being in its proper place. The mess on the desk was out of place. The blood on the desk had been smeared in places and I knew the murderer must have been going through the papers when he had been found, killed Bill and then resumed his search. I glanced behind me at the study door that lay fully open and against the wall; no blood marked the outside of it. I pulled the door closed enough to examine the back and there I found blood. The murderer had hidden behind the door, swung it closed when Bill entered, no doubt focused on the disarray of his desk. He would have stepped forward and grabbed Bill from behind and opened his throat in one motion. It was the only thing that made sense from what I was seeing and I imagined the scene playing out in my head.

  The Reeve was staring at me and so I told him what I thought happened and he nodded in agreement, seemingly pleased with my conclusion.

  "The only thing the murderer touched was this desk," he said. "He went through the drawers and pulled out the papers. I believe Bill came home unexpectedly and came in here; most likely he heard something. He probably walked in and stopped when he saw the mess on his desk and knew that someone had been here. That's when the murderer stepped out from behind that door and opened Bill's throat with one cut. An expert cut, I might add, it’s not a simple thing to cut a man's throat. He cut both veins and his voice in one cut. He knew what he was doing and had done it before. Bill bled out in seconds. He never had a chance." The Reeve's head and eyes followed the blood that had sprayed across the ceiling and over to the far wall.

  "The murderer then took his time and finished looking for what he wanted and left. He was caught leaving by the back door by the neighbour in the house behind this one. He called over thinking it was Bill heading to the privy. When the man ran, he called out and was lucky to have the garrison patrol already out front to hear him. They saw the man run off and gave chase. One went inside the house and found Bill lying dead in his own blood. They chased the man to the wall and watched him disappear over it thanks to a knotted rope left for that purpose. I tracked him south and found him with you."

  The Reeve looked at me and waited. I had no idea what he was waiting for and suddenly I felt uncomfortable and out of place. The events here had led to that man scooping me off the ground and then dying with an arrow through his eye. It was senseless. I glanced around the room looking for anything to explain why this had happened so I could break the silence with the discovery. Then a thought occurred to me—a little detail that didn't add up.

  "Where is the knife he used?" I blurted out. At my camp, he had used my knife. I didn't remember seeing another one when the Reeve had looted his body.

  The Reeve smiled at that. "Good question. I have no idea. I've looked all over for it and even questioned people in town. No one has seen it. Best I can figure is he lost it somewhere between here and where you were." The Reeve sniffed and pointed a boot at the chest in the corner. "Have a look in there."

  I moved over to the chest, careful to step over the blood, and waved the flies away. As I stood over it, it was clear that this was an expensive chest and expertly made of the finest woods. Brass bands wrapped the chest and gave it strength and I figured it would probably take at least two strong men to lift it w
hile empty. Leather handles were fashioned into the sides on metal rings. The domed lid was oiled and gleamed even in the dull light coming into the room from the hallway. The hasp of the chest was unlocked and so I reached out and pulled the lid up with surprisingly little effort.

  I gasped when I saw the contents. Everywhere I looked I saw gold crown and half-crown coins. The inside of the chest was lined with inset drawers and held bags all bulging with more coins. It was a tremendous fortune; it contained more money than the entire town could earn in a lifetime. I had heard the expression "a king's ransom" and now I knew what one looked like. The light from the hallway glinted off the coins and flashed in my eyes. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Some coins were new but most were old, I thought, and certainly dating from before the war. The cameo of the king stood out on all the coins in the chest. I was reminded of my own stolen coin and felt the guilt descend on me again.

  The Reeve came over and slowly closed the lid, looking down at me. "Now that is quite a sizeable fortune and more than a knight with simple lands could ever amass in twenty–five years, don't you think?"

  I had no idea how much a knight made but certainly thought the Reeve must be right. Just how could Bill have that much gold?

  "It–it–it's..." I stammered searching for the right word. "Amazing!" I finally got the word out, but it still didn't convey my complete sense of awe. "He has so much gold!" I still thought of my coin. My coin didn't have the King's image on it—it wasn't like these.

  "Had," corrected the Reeve drily. "He had so much gold. Question is: why did the man who killed Bill not take any of it? His purse didn't contain a single gold mark."