Ghosts in the Snow

by Tamara S Jones

  "Where was she cut? How badly?" Dubric asked.

  Nella's stomach clenched. Goddess, she was cut more than once? "I don't know," she said finally. "It was dark. She seemed to have trouble breathing or talking. I… I could barely hear her."

  He scribbled some notes. "Go on."

  "I tried to stop the bleeding but couldn't. Maybe if I could have seen…" She wiped at her eyes. "I held her, and called for help. That's when he grabbed me."

  She started to shake again, and Risley drew her close despite her fingers clutching and digging into his thigh. "He grabbed my hair, pulled it, and he held a knife to my throat."

  She paused, winced, and forced herself to remember. "He… he… he said I wasn't where I belonged."

  "He talked to you?" Dubric's eyes lit up. "Did you recognize his voice?"

  "Not exactly." She paused for a moment, trying to remember. "I think he was trying to change it, make it deeper, rougher. But it was still familiar." She frowned. "Not someone I knew, not like you or Risley, but…" she shrugged.

  "But it was a voice you had heard before." Dubric stared into her eyes. "You are certain of that?"

  "Yes. Familiar, but not real familiar. Does that make sense?"

  He made a few notes in his book. "Did you notice anything else?"

  "Yes. His breath was bad, like rotten meat. Just horrible. And he was hot."

  "What happened after he said you were not where you belonged?"

  "He called me a child… no, a little girl. Yes, that's right. A little girl. I asked if he was going to kill me."

  "What happened then?"

  "He said I wasn't on his list."

  Dubric's attention flashed to her with such abruptness she jumped. " 'His list'?"

  She nodded, glancing at Risley. "He said I wasn't on his list, I was on Risley's. The knife was moving over my throat and I was so scared, but he said… he said that Risley thinks he loves me, and he asked me if I loved Risley, too."

  "Oh, Nella," Risley whispered, still holding her close.

  She looked up at Risley, tried to smile, and almost succeeded. "I didn't know what to do. What answer he wanted to hear. I finally realized that all I could do was tell the truth." She reached up to squeeze Risley's hand on her shoulder. "So I said 'Yes, I love him.'" She lowered her eyes as he kissed her forehead, then she turned back to Dubric. "Next thing I knew, I woke up in here."

  Dubric's pencil paused. "Did you see anything? His clothes, his hands?"

  "No. It was too dark. I didn't see anything at all but the snow. He was behind me."

  Dubric sighed, wearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. For a moment Nella thought he might slump to the floor, but he reached for a chair and fell into it. He took a long time adding to his notes, then he drew a breath and looked into her eyes. "I need to understand the dead girls. How many of them did you know?"

  "Plien," she said, her fingers digging into Risley's thigh again. "She was the only one I knew, I guess, but I'd met Celese…" she shrugged. "I think I talked to the egg maid—Rianne, is that right?—a couple of times. We're just all so separate, Dubric, grouped together by job, we don't have much time to meet new people or make friends. At least, I don't. For the most part, we know who one another is, but beyond that… I'm sorry, but I didn't really talk to any of them, except for Plien."

  "Please," he said, "surely someone in the servants' wing knows these girls. Someone gossips, someone has an opinion, a hunch, a fear." He glanced at Risley, then returned his attention to her. "No one likes to speak ill of the dead, but there has to be a connection between them, a reason why they were killed and you were not."

  She shivered, chewing her lip, as worry skittered across her belly. "All right. I don't know how much help I'll be. I truthfully don't know much about the others, but Plien… well, she tended to make up excuses to get out of work, and she liked to spread rumors. Sometimes she teased people, but otherwise she was nice enough. Friendly, for the most part, willing to help."

  Nella's eyes rolled up as she thought, gazing into the clouds painted above Risley's bed. "Dari told me right after I came here to always write my name on my things because, if I didn't, Plien might steal them. But, honestly, I never knew her to take anything." She returned her attention to Dubric and said, "Plien and I always got along. We weren't good friends or confidantes, but she was all right, all things considered."

  "Did she ever mention anyone special that she met with? Who was her closest friend? Did she owe anyone money? Did she complain about her job?"

  Nella shook her head and cringed. "No, not really. Stef is the complainer. Plien, mostly, never asked for anything or offered anything. She just…" Nella shrugged. "She just kept to herself, I guess. I don't think she had any really close friends, no one that she giggled with or anything."

  "Did she see a lot of men? Lay with them, perhaps?"

  Nella blushed, fidgeting. "I guess so. I don't think she cared who she bedded."

  "Are there rumors about particular men? Whispers that all the murdered girls met this fellow or that one? Were there any men you often saw in the women's quarters?"

  "Lots of us have male friends. Some are honestly courting, some not, and after a while the faces become familiar, so we stop noticing them. At least, until this started." She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. "Some of the men are married, and we all know it, but we never talk about it. I guess it just wasn't our business."

  Dubric's pencil paused as he looked at her. "Did Plien see married men?"

  Risley's arm around her shoulders felt warm and comforting. "Yes," she replied, her throat clenching. "Sometimes."

  "Is there any chance that the voice you heard came from one of Plien's lovers?"

  "Maybe. I guess it's possible."

  "What about the other murdered girls? From what you know, and what you have heard, did they have many male companions?"

  Her belly burned in shame and embarrassment. "I think so. Some of them, their morals weren't the best, I guess."

  "Married and unmarried men?"

  "Yes, I suppose so. I didn't know them, though. Really. I can't say for certain, but the rumors…"

  She looked at Risley and swallowed the bitter lump burning in her throat. There are rumors about me, about us.

  Dubric's question turned her attention back to him. "What sort of rumors, Miss Nella?"

  She laughed harshly and shook her head. "There are so many rumors, Dubric, you have no idea. Every man is suspicious. You. Lord Brushgar. Risley." She smiled into Risley's eyes before turning back to Dubric. "Every man old enough to shave is suspect. Someone looks at us wrong, he's the killer. He's lurking in every shadow. Hiding behind every door. We truly have no idea, no idea at all. I'm sorry."

  He watched her, his wax-coated pencil quivering in his grasp. "But there is a particular rumor, isn't there? The one that scares you?"

  "No, not really."

  "Miss Nella," he said, leaning forward. "I want to catch this monster and I cannot do that if you lie to me. He cannot harm you now."

  She shook her head, swallowing and trying to breathe.

  "It's okay, love," Risley said. "I'm right here and you're safe. No one will harm you. I promise."

  She tried to speak but no sound came out. She shook her head, clenched her fists, and tried again. "He's hunting whores," she shoved out, her voice barely above a squeak.

  "Oh, Goddess, love," Risley said, drawing her closer. "But you're not, we're not—"

  "Can you repeat that, please?" Dubric asked. "I couldn't hear."

  "Maybe that's why he left me alive," she said, struggling to control her terrified heart and gasping breaths. "I'm not on his list, not yet. But he said I will be!"

  "No!" Risley turned her, holding her face in his hands. "No, you won't. I won't let it happen. I will never leave the slightest doubt of my intentions, I swear I won't, and no one will accuse you—"

  "What in the seven hells are you two blabbering about?"

  Nella shud
dered. "They say he's hunting whores, Dubric. But why didn't he kill me? Everyone thinks Risley and I…"

  "Shh. Not everyone, love," Risley said, stroking her hair. "Not everyone." He held her close, protecting her in his embrace.

  Sighing, Dubric rubbed his eyes and searched for a different page in his notes. "No one of any sense whatsoever thinks you are a whore, Miss Nella. You are a forthright, hardworking, honest, virtuous young woman. Of that there is no doubt."

  "Thank you," she mumbled. But you don't hear what they say about me, what the other girls think. Oh, Goddess, what am I going to do?

  "Do the other girls do more than dredge the deceased's questionable morals? Are there no useful insights or prevailing rumors?"

  "No, Dubric, not really."

  He leaned forward, staring at her. "There is no name the staff whispers? No man that seems to worry them? A place all the dead girls tended to frequent? A consistent fear I can trace?"

  "I'm sorry, Dubric, but we're all just terrified, no matter how moral or immoral we are. It could be anyone. Even you."

  Dubric sighed and stood. "I know that you have had a bad scare, Miss Nella, but I want you to pay close attention to any voice you hear for the next few days, to see if—"

  "No," Risley said, and the arm around her shoulders suddenly felt stiff. "No."

  "The bastard is in my castle, boy, and if she can identify him, she has to."

  "No. He let her live once, he might not do that again. She's not going to become a target."

  Dubric slammed his book shut. "She will not be a target."

  "How do you know that?"

  Nella mewled and curled into his arms. She started to cry.

  "I'm sorry, love," Risley said, stroking her hair, "I shouldn't have said anything."

  "She is my only damn witness, Risley. She has to."

  Nella shook her head and clung to Risley.

  "Nella," Dubric said softly, "If I do not catch him, kill him, he is going to keep on killing."

  Nella wailed.

  "Get out," Risley snapped. "She told you all she knows."

  Frowning, Dubric looked at Nella and said, "If you think of anything else. No matter how minor you may think it is…"

  She shivered and wished she could climb into Risley's skin where it was safe and warm.

  Dubric said to Risley, "She cannot leave the castle. I will arrest you if you try to take her away. I mean it." His eyes bored into Risley, then he turned and left them to her pain.

  Ever so gently, Risley carried her from the bed to a divan by the window. "Maybe sitting in the sun will help you get warm," he said. Wrapped in blankets, she curled within his arms and let him hold her.

  "How did I get here?" she asked, slowly calming, her face pressed close against his chest as he held her.

  "When I got to the servants' wing this morning, I knew something had happened. There were guards posted at your door and more inside your room. You'd been found in the courtyard during the night. I didn't know what to do. I… I hit one, maybe all of them. I went crazy…" He held her even closer and kissed her hair, and she noticed the bruising on his hands. "It took all of them to stop me from ripping the place apart, and Dari said you'd been taken to the physicians'.

  "When I ran in, you and the others were on tables." His voice cracked, wavered. "You were covered in blood, so much blood, but you were still breathing. It looked like your throat had been slashed, but it hadn't." He kissed her head again. "Thank the Goddess, you weren't hurt. The physician told me you had no more than a bump on the head, that you'd be all right."

  "But not the others," she whispered.

  "No. One was just… the other… he was working on her."

  "Go on," she whispered.

  "I grabbed you," he said. "The physician tried to stop me, but I had to get you out of there, away from all that death and blood. I wrapped you in the blanket and carried you here."

  "Thank you," she said, wondering how much sanity she'd still have if she'd woken at the physicians'.

  He stroked her hair, her back. "Right after I got you here, Dubric came and screamed at me for stealing his witness. I think I punched him, too." Risley shook his head and shrugged. "Anyway, I cleaned you up as best I could, then I begged and bribed a group of maids to do the rest and gave them a shirt to dress you in. I never left the room, I swear. I never left you alone for a moment after I found you."

  She felt a tingle of embarrassment as she huddled close to him, absorbing his warmth. "Thank you," she said, trying not to think about being naked and bloody in his bed.

  "That's all I know. Dubric kept coming in, glaring at me, pacing the room, then leaving."

  "What time is it?" she asked.

  "Midafternoon," he said.

  That's why the sunlight seems so odd. She looked out the window. "How long can I stay here?"

  He touched her cheek, drawing her gaze back to him. "As long as you want to. As long as you'll have me."

  Her eyes searched his for a long moment, then she nodded and laid her head against his chest, content to sit in the sun, wrapped in a blanket and his embrace.

  * * *

  The moment Dubric reached the main hall, an angry crowd swarmed him.

  "It's him, Dubric. Can't you see?"

  "Arrest the bastard!"

  "Hang him!"

  "He let his bitch live!"

  "Kill them both!"

  Dubric ignored them all and pressed through to his office, snatching a sealed message from the herald before the nervous prat uttered a word. He had no time to reflect upon the extreme anger of the crowd, no time to worry about why they hated Risley with such unexpected vehemence. Whether Risley was the killer or not, the misguided fury would not help him.

  Alone in his office for the first time in days, he closed the doors to the crowd's screams and sat at his desk, pencil poised over his notebook.

  He had wasted much of the day holding out hope for Nella's testimony, but it had led him nowhere. The victims' moral failings had come as no surprise, nor had the staffs fear. He stared at the page containing her recollections and he frowned. A list. A possibly familiar voice. How could anyone follow those clues? While educated people might write things down, even illiterate farmers kept lists in their head.

  He opened a drawer and pulled out a battered book, flipping to a page. At census last autumn four hundred and seventy-three souls lived in the castle and its grounds, and more than eleven hundred others in the village. Nella had lived in the castle for moons. How many people had she talked to in that time? How many voices would she consider familiar but not incredibly familiar? Scores? Hundreds?

  He sighed, searching for an elusive clue, a connection between the victims and the survivors. Surely there was a reason why Nella and Lars lived while everyone else died, and a reason the killer removed, and—after seeing the dyer's liver—presumably ate the kidneys of his victims.

  Dubric tapped his pencil on his teeth. Could I he examining this from the wrong direction? Is it virtue he craves? Innocence and forthright honor? Is that why he did not kill Lars or Nella? Why she was not yet on his list?

  But who would care about virtue? Who would penalize those who did not meet whatever arbitrary standards they have applied? What virtue-seeking man would kill? How could that make sense?

  Frowning, he returned to his notes and the evidence. Despite the light snow, the moon had been bright the night before and still Nella had seen nothing.

  The kitchen lackeys had seen nothing. Lars had seen only a shadow. There had been no real witnesses at all. He made a few notes and stumbled into the luxury of wild thinking.

  What about the heat? Both Lars and Nella mentioned that the killer had been hot. Shadow Followers burned of Taiel'dar's heat, but he could barely imagine such trouble had come to his lands. Surely there was another explanation. What if it had been a ghost, a specter, or a spirit? What about curses, prophecy, or magic? He grunted to himself and frowned. Oriana had indulged in such fancies, had emb
raced the magic of religion, and it had killed her. He would not make the same mistake, even if he had gone nearly a phase without a night's sleep and had nine ghosts following him. There had to be a logical, sensible explanation. A person had done this, not a ghost. He, perhaps more than anyone, knew that ghosts were annoying but harmless. Whomever it was, he would catch them and kill them, or die trying.

  He smelled thyme in the air and he looked to the small table beside the door. Someone from the kitchen had left him a lunch tray. Grimacing, he turned away.

  He wasn't in the mood to eat.

  * * *

  Stroking the prize in his pocket, he followed Nella down the stairs, admiring the gentle sway of her hips beneath her simple garments and the way they clung to her small, slender frame. He followed her like a shadow to a crowded table during the busiest part of the evening meal. He remained perfectly friendly, perfectly concerned, and perfectly polite despite the nervousness of nearby maids. As he ate, one hand would creep from time to time to his pocket and stroke the perfect braid of dark hair he had cut from her the night before. Her hair felt different from the others, and he wondered if it was because he had granted her life, or because she was still perfect and unspoiled.

  He sat near her, close enough to touch her skin if he dared. Watching her, saliva filled his mouth as he ached to taste her again. She had tasted so sweet, perfectly luscious and delectable, much better than the piss-filled kidneys.

  He blinked and smiled at her. She smiled back, delicately eating her vegetables as she stifled a slight tremor in her hand. He swallowed his mouthful of saliva and shared an inane bit of news with her, marveling at how quickly she had recovered from her fright the night before.

  He had not meant to frighten her, goodness, no, why would he wish to frighten the object of his desire? Brave and lovely, intelligent and compassionate… so unlike the others. So perfect for him, now that he had changed, and such a perfect prize to win.

  Telling a charming joke, he winked at her with wry amusement. She laughed softly, her hand covering her mouth and caution leaving her lovely brown eyes for a moment as he fell into them. She, of all people, had nothing to fear from him, after all, and somehow she seemed to realize how precious she was to him.