Ghosts in the Snow

by Tamara S Jones

  Soon, he thought as he ate with a perfectly grim smile on his face. From time to time he wondered whose flesh he would taste that night.

  But mostly he stroked the slim dark braid coiled in his pocket and thought of the day she would become his.

  CHAPTER 12

  After dinner, Risley and Nella returned to his suite and spent a quiet evening together. Nella relaxed and explored the rooms while he trailed behind her like a shadow. Risley's suite was bigger than any she'd cleaned, with seven rooms plus a privy chamber. The stone walls had been plastered and painted lovely hues, each room tinted to match the furnishings and carpets. She opened every closet and cupboard, searching for phantoms that weren't there.

  "Do you want a guard in here with us?" he asked, hesitantly taking her hand. "Or a chaperone?"

  She shook her head, seeing little point in quelling rumors after what had happened. "No. I trust you."

  "Are you sure? I have a reputation, you know." He reached out to touch her cheek. "And you don't need to be sullied by it."

  She had heard long ago he had a girl in every castle. "Your reputation has never frightened me."

  He smiled into her eyes and for the first time that day she felt truly warm.

  He called for a bath and poured the water himself, setting out towels and soaps on an oak bureau for her. Once her bath was readied, he sat outside the open door, facing away from her, with his back against the wall. He remained close, protecting her yet giving her privacy.

  Beside the towels stood a selection of pretty bottles and a basket of soaps. Captivated, she let her fingers glide along the bright glass. "Are all of these yours?" she asked, sniffing a smooth, floral-scented loaf. "These soaps?"

  Remaining in the hall, Risley was silent for a moment, then his voice came out in a rush. "Of course, but they're yours to use if you wish, love. I didn't know what you might like, so I put out several."

  Nella smiled, shaking her head at his gentle fib. Surely he did not bathe with lilac bath oil. She almost asked what they cost, then pursed her lips and shook her head. He would insist they were his and refuse payment. Sooner or later she'd go into the village and find out their price for herself, but she was too curious to let the indulgence slip her by. "They're beautiful," she said, lifting the soaps to her nose. Each had a different scent. Light, delicate, evocative. She smiled. "Thank you."

  "You're perfectly welcome."

  She selected a soap, hesitated, and pulled off her dress. Risley had not moved from his place outside the door. She slipped into the hot water and sighed as the heat removed any taint of shivering. "Oh, Risley, this feels nice."

  "I thought it might relax you."

  She smiled and closed her eyes, letting the heat soak in. "I've never had a hot bath before."

  She heard the smile in his voice. "Take your time."

  They chatted while she bathed, about nothing of great import. When she rose from the tub, she splashed and his voice stumbled.

  Wrapped in his robe, she came from the bath chamber with her oddly short hair damp and her face fresh.

  He leapt to his feet, fumbling, and she felt the heat of the blush on her cheeks. "May I borrow your shirt again? My nightgown…" her voice faded away and she shrugged.

  He nodded. "I'll get one."

  He hurried off and she trailed behind him. "They're in here." He pulled open a drawer full of crisp white shirts. "Use whatever you like."

  "Thanks," she said, and glanced at her little pile of clothes folded neatly on his bedside table. Her pile wouldn't even fill half of one drawer. She suddenly felt very small.

  He looked at her for a moment, then turned his eyes away. Opening a closet and removing a couple of blankets, he said, "I'll take the divan. Do you need anything else?"

  She shook her head.

  Blankets tucked under his arm, he reached out and lifted her chin with one finger. "Dubric's squire's been checking on me at night, so if you hear someone walking around don't worry. He'll certainly keep your reputation intact, all right? But I'll be in the next room if you need me. You're safe here. I promise."

  She nodded and tried to smile.

  After one last longing look, he left her to herself, not quite closing the door behind him.

  She combed her hair and heard him blow out the lights throughout the suite. Through the crack in the door, she watched him settle into the divan by the window, a sword on the floor beside him and his face and body turned toward the bedroom door.

  She lowered her head and turned away. As she climbed into the massive softness that was his bed, she said, "Good night, Risley."

  "Good night, Nella," he replied. "Sleep well."

  I'll try, she thought, pulling his pillows close against her chest and burying her face in them. Everything was too soft, too big, and she wondered if she could sleep at all.

  * * *

  Dubric patrolled outside the castle with an accountant named Cotter. They tried every door, gate, and window they could reach. The grounds remained secure, no unauthorized people entered or exited the castle, and the waxing moon left plenty of light to see by. Dubric tried not to get his hopes up.

  Once again, the night was nearly over. Once again, no new ghosts had yet joined the group. As he walked his patrol, he contemplated what had changed within the castle during the past day. What could account for this peaceful night? He could only think of one thing.

  He wondered if the presence of Nella in Risley's suite, and presumably in his bed, had quieted the beast. Were the murders a symptom of Risley's frustration and loneliness? Surely the young man had not spent more than an occasional night alone in summers. Dubric knew as well as anyone that an abrupt shift from regular, ample release to absolutely none could accentuate any man's aggression. And when the desired object of affection remained in sight but out of reach, it was quite possible that a normally sane man could snap. Especially a man who had long ago become used to getting his way. Even the similarities between the victims made sense now. Nella was a servant, so all the victims were servants. Nella was a commoner, hence the victims were commoners. Nella was young… Nella was alone… Nella worked…

  Dubric frowned. The clues were there from the beginning, and as he examined the facts, admittedly from the benefit of hindsight, he could see them falling together. The final piece was perhaps the most important. Of all the girls that were attacked, only Nella survived. If the others were indeed lacking in moral fortitude, that piece fit, as well. They provided easy access to release, while Nella did not. A stunning contrast. Exactly the criteria Risley craved, but not the person herself, and he killed them for their lack. But no matter how angry or frustrated he was, he did not want to hurt Nella. In his frenzied, misplaced passion, he had cut her hair, but did not truly harm her.

  But Nella was no longer out of reach. She was close at hand, almost property. Risley's base desires could be sated, Nella could be pursued and adored as whim demanded, and the frustration of being kept from her had come to an end. It made perfect sense. There would be no more murders simply because Risley was once again physically involved.

  Dubric felt worry gnaw at his entrails. Even if Risley were guilty, no good could come from accusing him. Not only would the King be furious, Brushgar would prefer that his province collapse around his ears before admitting that Risley may have done wrong. And Kyi and Heather… Finding their son accused of murder would break their hearts and ruin a treasured friendship.

  "Damn," Dubric muttered. He trudged on, the ghosts weighing on his soul. What choice do I have? Do I ignore the evidence and allow him to continue, or do I truly consider his possible guilt? Do I risk all-out war with Haenpar and perhaps the King? If it came down to it, could I hang the lad? I have changed the boys' diddles, for King's sake, and witnessed his parents' wedding. I look upon the lad as a nephew. Family. Yet I have a duty to Faldorrah, a duty I cannot deny.

  They walked east along the southern wall, past the pair of men watching the main doors, then rounded the corner
toward the kitchens. Dubric paused, holding out his arm to stop Cotter's steady trudge.

  Something moved in the darkness, a shadow, a wraith, black against the night.

  "Remain silent," Dubric whispered as he pulled his sword. He crept along the east wall, past the kitchen door and the place where Ennea had died. The ghosts hung behind him, oblivious to his quiet hurry, tainting the castle walls with their dead, green glow.

  The wraith moved away, braving moonlight as it slipped toward the gardens, and Dubric followed, trying not to grin. Bastard son-of-a-whore, I have you this time.

  He lost track of Cotter, forgot about his ghosts, and was so intent upon his quarry he barely noticed when he twisted his ankle in a hole. The man was clothed in darkness and he slipped from moonlight to shadow while Dubric dogged his heels as silently as any ghost.

  The shadow reached the castle cistern—a stone well that granted access to an abundant spring—and it climbed the wall to stand upon the edge.

  Is that how he's getting in? Dubric thought, easing closer. Could someone crawl through the piping to the kitchens?

  Then he stopped, momentarily aghast, as the man opened his black trousers and urinated, polluting the castle's water supply. His backside gleamed pale and hairy in the moonlight as his pants fell about his ankles.

  What in the seven hells? Dubric thought, hurrying toward him. Has he been doing this all along? Is this the connection to the kidneys?

  Dubric's sword winked in the moonlight, but the man on the well did not move until the tip poked against his spine. "Get down. Immediately," Dubric said.

  The man startled and turned, still urinating, and spattered Dubric with hot fluid. "Aw, peg!" Inek gasped, stumbling over his pants and nearly falling into the well.

  "Get down," Dubric said, astounded. He had expected to see Risley.

  Waggling his penis at Dubric, Inek shook the last drops free, then yanked up his pants. "Piss on you! Piss on all of you!"

  Dubric pointed his sword at Inek's chest. "Get down. Now. I do not want to send your filthy corpse into our well."

  "Piss off," Inek said. He spat, then walked along the well's edge. "Go ahead. Kill me."

  Dubric stood his ground. "Get, Down."

  Inek turned and Dubric was surprised to see tears glistening on his cheeks. "You killed Ri, you pegging bastard!"

  Before Dubric could respond, another shadow moved in the dark. It leapt and lunged, knocking the herbmonger from his perch. Both men rolled to the ground.

  Dubric ran to them and pulled Cotter away before Inek caught his bearings again. One foot on his prisoner's chest, Dubric held his sword to Inek's throat. "Enough of this madness. If you resist, I will run you through, but just enough to hurt and bleed. That means you will suffer, do you understand? And I can make you suffer greatly for a very long time. To save both of us needless mess and screaming, you are going to get up, slowly, and once you are restrained we will walk, calmly, to the gaol."

  Inek writhed, but the sword kept him pinned to the ground. "I'm not done with you yet, you old chicken shit bastard. You'll pay. Everyone will pay."

  With his free hand, Dubric ripped a small coil of rope from his hip and tossed it to Cotter. "Tie him, and place a loop around his neck. He has a tendency to slip from wrist binds."

  "Yes, sir," Cotter said. He grabbed Inek's hands, wrapped his wrists, and knotted the rope before wrapping a loop of the remainder around the herbmonger's throat.

  Reconsidering Risley's guilt, Dubric stepped off of Inek's chest. "Get up."

  "Peg you! I'm not doing anything!"

  Dubric took the rope from Cotter and yanked on it, dragging Inek off the ground. "I said to get on your feet."

  Inek gasped and struggled, but Dubric had his way. He shoved, dragged, and forcibly prodded Inek down the east-tower stairs to the gaol and shoved him into a vermin-infested cell. Half-strangled and punctured in several places, Inek ultimately stumbled to the rancid cot, cursing Dubric with every breath.

  Dubric slammed the door and locked it, staring at the filthy bit of refuse the night had brought him while his ghosts meandered among the cells. "Did you kill those girls?"

  Inek spat, his saliva flecked with blood, and he staggered to his feet. "What if I did? What if I didn't? Who the peg cares? All you've got on me is pissing in public, but you'll make up any damned lie to peg me. Bastard." He spat again and graced Dubric with an obscene gesture before falling back onto the cot.

  Dubric stared at him for a moment, then left the gaol, thinking of searching Inek's home and shop for additional evidence concerning the murders. As he climbed the east-tower stairs, he heard the five bell ring and he smiled. Perhaps it has been Inek all along and I will have a night without another ghost. And to think I considered Risley! Sexual frustration and similarities to Nella! Pah. What a fool I can be.

  Dubric had always considered Risley to be a good lad. A bit headstrong, a bit spoiled, but with a good heart. Now that he thought about it, what young man in the early stages of romance did not get upset from time to time? When he and Oriana were first courting, when he had wanted her so badly he could taste it, the slightest incident angered him. Unless of course she were nearby, then all was right with his world.

  And Inek. By the King, how many times had Inek been in trouble for fighting, fraud, or petty theft? He had admitted to having had sexual relations with at least one of the dead girls, had made a habit out of causing trouble, and showed no remorse for the loss of life. Perhaps he had finally snapped, falling into madness and murder.

  Dubric looked to the brightening sky and took a deep breath. The culprit likely was in gaol, there would be no additional ghosts, and soon, with luck, justice would be served. Once again life would return to its predictable quiet and he could get a full night's sleep.

  He grinned. What a beautiful morning.

  * * *

  Not long before dawn, the milkmaids began leaving the castle, each group escorted and guarded by a pair of men who had been volunteered to help protect the courtyard. One, a castle squire named Fultin, had been assigned the west-tower door. He had also been assigned a list of the maids and their appointed barns. His sole duty, at least concerning this list, was to check off the milkmaids' names and note the guards assigned to them. A group of five maids approached. All were scowling. "Names please?" Fultin asked, his pencil poised over the last set of six names.

  All answered, confirming their places on the list. "What about Nansy?" he asked as he checked off the five new arrivals.

  "She's running late," one said. "As usual."

  He frowned. Four guards remained at the door, awaiting their charges. Two were supposed to escort the last set, the other two to patrol the barn area once all the girls were inside.

  "We can wait for the straggler," the bigger of the men said, "get her where she needs to be, then patrol."

  His partner shrugged and nodded.

  "Are you sure about that?" Fultin asked. "We can wait for her to get here."

  "We don't wanna get in trouble," one of the milkmaids said.

  "She's always getting us in trouble," piped in another.

  "We can handle a single milkmaid, boss," the bigger of the men said, his hand on the hilt of his very big sword. His partner nodded. He carried a chunk of wood, about the size of a sword.

  "All right," Fultin said. It seemed like a reasonable solution to him.

  The five milkmaids went forth with their pair of guards and disappeared into the dark. A thin line of pink glimmered on the horizon when Nansy trudged to the door, her hair half-combed, her eyes half-open.

  "Mornin'," she said, yawning. Roughly half her teeth had gone missing and her breath stank.

  What a charmer, Fultin thought, crossing off her name. He nodded grimly, then motioned her into the dark with her two guards.

  Not long afterward, the screams began.

  CHAPTER 13

  No! Dubric thought, turning to stare at his ghosts. It can't be! Not again! For King's sake, I
nek is in the gaol!

  Olibe Meiks flickered into view before him, screaming in astounded anguish, blood coursing from his throat. Dubric wavered, holding his aching head, as Meiks's ghost seemed to solidify. Meiks's death felt heavy, so damned heavy, like a lead weight tied behind Dubric's brow.

  A moment or two later, barely long enough for Dubric to realize the castle slasher was not afraid of guards or men, a milkmaid eased into view, her guts falling from her belly over and over and over. Under the burden of eleven ghosts, Dubric's knees buckled and he fell, slumping onto the muddy ground.

  Cotter ran to him, trying to help him stand. A scream whispered through the air, echoing through the dawn like a frigid north wind, and he shivered.

  "By the gods!" Cotter muttered, turning to the west. "Another one?"

  "It would seem so." Shoving himself upright despite the pounding in his head, Dubric staggered toward the western side of the castle. A guard trumpeted an alarm, filling the air with golden sound that brutally mimicked the blossoming morning.

  * * *

  Trumpets echoing through the last vapors of her dream, Nella opened her eyes to a dark room, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. She felt strangely out of place, as if she had dreamt upon a silken cloud. She had clutched Risley's pillow to her chest while she slept, and she pressed her face against it, breathing in his scent.

  Risley, she thought, smiling. I'm in Risley's suite, in his bed, and he knows I love him.

  Still smiling, she sat and stretched, swinging her legs out from under the blankets, then she paused, staring at the door and the thin line of bluish light peeking from beneath it.

  Didn't I leave that open? Frowning, she looked at the closed door then climbed from the bed, her bare toes curling against the chilly floor.

  She reached for the latch and paused, her hand trembling. A trumpet warbled somewhere outside, ringing in her ears like a warning. The trumpet faded away and she wavered where she stood, caught in the echoing silence. Her heart hammering, she tapped the wooden door, leaning her ear against it. "Risley?"