by Alys Clare
I took some steadying breaths and set about my simple morning routine, trying to impose on myself an air of calm. It wasn’t easy, when a voice was yelling in my head, Hurry up! Hurry up!
I wandered through into the little storeroom and said, trying to sound nonchalant, ‘We worked through all those mushrooms yesterday, so I’ll go and fetch more. There’s a good patch up near the old oak tree.’
‘Yes, do,’ Edild replied. ‘All the time this mild weather encourages them to grow, we should take advantage of it.’
Shortly afterwards, feeling very guilty about having deceived my aunt, I left the house. I put the mushroom basket down behind the privy. There was no point in burdening myself with it, and Edild would need it.
I flew up the low rise behind Edild’s house and emerged on the higher ground. There were quite a few people about, making their way to wherever their day’s work summoned them, and one or two nodded a greeting. I walked along for a few paces behind a trio of raucous lads heading for the large area of strips on the upland, then quietly stepped off the path and under the spreading branches of the ancient oak tree that stands behind the village like a lone sentinel, dwarfing the few other trees nearby.
It was as good a place as any from which to observe my friend Sibert’s house, and I only hoped I wasn’t too late.
After only a short time, I saw him come out. He called something to someone still inside – his mother, Froya, no doubt – and then he set off up towards the higher ground. Almost as if he knew I was there, he strode right up to the oak tree.
I called out softly as he drew level. ‘Sibert! May I speak to you?’
He stopped dead. ‘Lassair?’
I emerged from behind the tree’s massive trunk. ‘Yes. Good morning.’
‘I heard you were back,’ he said, smiling. ‘I was going to come and see you, but I heard about your brother getting hurt and thought maybe you wouldn’t want visitors.’
‘It’s always nice to see you,’ I said truthfully. Once I’d believed myself in love with Sibert, but I’d been quite young. Since then we had shared a lot together, and I look upon him as a true friend.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘I’m heading that way.’ He indicated. ‘Shall we walk together?’
‘No,’ I said. Too dismissively; his face fell. ‘Sorry, but I’m not staying in the village.’ Very quickly I explained about how whoever had attacked Squeak was looking for me and how, fearing that my continued presence would bring more danger to my kin, I was heading back to Cambridge.
Sibert looked at me for a long moment. ‘I understand your reasoning,’ he said eventually, ‘but, honestly, Lassair, it’s a bit daft to leave a village full of family and friends who’d all protect you and scurry off on your own, isn’t it?’
He was absolutely right, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. ‘I’ll be quite safe,’ I said hurriedly, ‘because the Night – the person looking for me thinks I’m in the village.’ Sibert’s mouth opened to interrupt but I didn’t let him. ‘And once I get to Cambridge,’ I went on, raising my voice to drown his, ‘I’ll be safer than anywhere else, because I’ll go straight to Jack Chevestrier.’
Sibert’s expression changed. Something left it – something quite vulnerable – and his features stiffened into formality. He turned away. ‘You must do as you see fit,’ he said distantly.
‘Will you do something for me?’ I asked timidly.
He spun round to me again. ‘What?’ He sounded cagey.
‘My family will worry about me and—’
‘You mean you haven’t told them of this hare-brained scheme you’ve come up with?’
‘Of course not, they’d stop me.’
Slowly he nodded. ‘Indeed they would. I imagine,’ he went on, ‘you want me to wait till later, when you’re well away from here, and then, just when they all start to panic because you’re nowhere to be found, calmly explain where you’ve gone, and why, and that I knew all about it yet didn’t try to stop you.’
When he put it like that, I could readily see his objections. ‘Please, Sibert!’ I said in a sort of suppressed shout. ‘I have to go, but it’ll make everything so much more horrible if they think I’m – er, if they start imagining the worst!’
He looked at me, and I wasn’t sure I could read his expression. ‘Can’t I come with you?’ he asked. ‘I could look after you till you get to the town.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. I reached out and took his hand. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful for the offer, but I’m quicker on my own.’ I was also quieter and a lot less noticeable, having taught myself long ago to move through the landscape of my native fens soundlessly and all but invisibly. Once off the main tracks – I had planned in my head the route I would follow – it would take a better man than the Night Wanderer to find me.
Or so I hoped.
Sibert went on holding my hand. ‘I’ll tell them. Good luck.’ Then he leaned forward to put a kiss on my cheek, dropped my hand and strode away.
I watched him till he was just one more figure among many. It was only then that I remembered I’d meant to ask if he had any news of Hrype; if, indeed, Hrype was in the village.
Too late now.
My journey went more smoothly than I’d dared hope. Almost as if invisible hands guided me, I seemed to know instinctively which paths to take, which short cuts would work, and even, at times, where a hidden causeway just under the surface of the water would take me safely across an inlet and cut off a good couple of miles.
The last one was a skill I’d used before. It was good to know it hadn’t deserted me.
My luck held even after I’d emerged from the fens and was heading off down the road into Cambridge. A very fat woman driving a rather insubstantial little cart was going my way and she offered me a lift. I accepted gratefully, although I felt sorry for the poor horse having to pull the extra burden, and as we trotted briskly along, the fat woman told me she was on her way to town to stay with her daughter, who had just given birth to her first child, taking a cartload of good fresh milk, cream and cheese, a newly baked loaf, some apples just off the tree and a side of bacon. She clearly believed you only got wholesome food in the countryside.
‘Your daughter will be glad of your support,’ I said when I could get a word in edgeways.
‘Aye, that she will,’ the fat woman agreed. We were close to the town now and an aggressive glint came into her kindly eyes. Reaching down beneath the narrow little bench on which we sat, she brandished a huge club with several nails sticking out of the thick end. ‘And just let this here Night Wanderer come anywhere near my new grandson, and he’ll regret it!’
He does not fear you or your club, I thought, although I didn’t know where the thought came from; I didn’t believe it originated with me.
A deep shudder of fear ran through me. You didn’t have to come back here, I told myself bluntly. You have come running back to this town full of dread, and must face the consequences.
Hurriedly changing the subject – just then I couldn’t bear to think about what I’d done, how foolhardy and reckless I’d been – I asked the fat woman what the new baby was to be called.
I went first to Gurdyman’s house. It looked just the same and at first I didn’t think anybody had been there; certainly, there was nobody at home now. I emerged from the crypt and walked slowly along the passage. Just as I went out into the little inner court, warm with the afternoon sun, something prompted me to look into the shining stone. I sat down in Gurdyman’s chair, took the stone out and gazed into it.
But it seemed only to want to show me things I already knew about, mostly concerning the journey I’d just made. I saw myself under the oak tree looking at Sibert’s retreating form, and then I was out on the fens, making my sure-footed way over small hillocks sticking up out of the dark water. I was wondering whether this was the stone’s way of boosting my self-confidence when all at once I felt a wave of love. Then, fleetingly, I was standing at a greater distance fr
om the image of myself in the stone than I had been, as if I had been transported into the mind of someone else looking at me. That person, whoever he was – I was almost sure it wasn’t a woman – loved me. There could be no doubt of that.
As suddenly as I’d flown to that other viewpoint, looking back at myself, I was returned to me watching me. It’s hard to explain how I knew – the shining stone is full of mysteries, and this, it seems, is one of them. I wrapped the stone and put it away. I knew why it had wanted me to look into it; it wanted to reassure me that I’d been right to believe I’d be in no danger on my journey, because someone had been guarding me. Perhaps, I mused, sitting there in the warmth and letting my mind drift, this was another instance of the stone wanting to boost my confidence in my own abilities; to reinforce, yet again, the old message that my human mentors also kept repeating: listen to your instincts, and the more you act upon them, the more reliable they will become.
My instincts were telling me the identity of the loving eyes that had watched over my journey, and I was full of happiness to think I would soon be with him.
Sooner than I thought: I heard the door to the alleyway creak open, footsteps came hurriedly along the passage and Jack stood there, drawn sword in his right hand and knife in his left.
He looked at me in amazement. ‘You!’ He lowered his weapons, putting the sword in its scabbard and the knife through his belt.
‘Er – yes,’ I agreed. Why was he so surprised? He’d been tailing me all the way from Aelf Fen, so wouldn’t he know I was in Gurdyman’s house?
The shock in his face was rapidly replaced by a smile. ‘I’m very glad to see you, Lassair, but what are you doing here?’
‘Well, I just thought I’d check to see if Gurdyman had come back,’ I said tentatively.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t mean here in this house. I meant here in Cambridge.’
My confusion increased. For the second time that day I explained about the assault on Squeak, my certainty that the Night Wanderer was the assailant, and my fears for my family. ‘But I was right, wasn’t I?’ I could hear the pleading in my voice. ‘There was no danger on the journey, as I was sure there wouldn’t be if I was careful and took those little-travelled tracks.’
Now it was Jack who was confused. ‘Is that what you did? It was a wise precaution, but I still think it was rash.’
Is that what you did? I heard the words again inside my head. He had no idea what route I’d taken from Aelf Fen to the town; had had no idea I was even here, until he’d walked in on me just now.
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, far too brusquely; he could not have guessed why I was upset.
‘I’ve been checking on this house ever since you left,’ he replied. ‘When you came in just now you left the door ajar – anyone could have followed you in – and I came to see who had broken in.’ Then, his expression changing, ‘Lassair, what’s wrong? Why are you angry?’
I shook my head. It was so stupid. But then, he was owed an explanation. ‘I thought you were following me,’ I admitted. ‘I imagined you’d decided to watch over me and make sure I came to no harm.’ Because that’s what the stone just told me, I could have added.
Or, at least, I’d thought it had …
He came swiftly over to me, crouching down beside Gurdyman’s chair. ‘Of course I would have done, had I known you were making the journey,’ he said with quiet force. ‘But I wouldn’t have hidden from you. I’d have wanted to enjoy the walk with you, not spend it watching from the shadows.’
It was so exactly the way I, too, would say he’d have acted that I knew he was telling the truth. ‘Thank you,’ I muttered.
He stood up. ‘Although I wish you were miles away, I really am pleased to see you,’ he said, ‘because there are many things I want to discuss with you.’ Oh, I thought, disappointment flowing through me. Not because of the pleasure of my company then, or because you really, really want to kiss me again. ‘We’ll go back to my house,’ he was saying, already walking off along the passage, ‘and I’ll prepare food for us. You must be ravenous.’
We took our usual roundabout route back to the deserted village. I was eager to see what the mood in the town was, whether fear and mistrust had increased, what people were thinking and feeling, but we saw barely a soul. The town is dying, I thought. It was dramatic, but I was very afraid it was true.
Walking along behind Jack, I wondered who, if not him, had been my loving benefactor that day. Almost straight away I had the answer: Sibert. My dear friend, worried for me, anxious that I was going into danger and unable to persuade me otherwise, had risked the wrath of the overseer and followed me all the way across the fens till I was picked up by the fat woman in the cart. How lucky I was in my friends, I reflected. I just hoped he hadn’t got into too much trouble for missing a day’s work.
The geese set up their usual alarm as Jack and I approached his house, and Jack quickly hushed them. They still, it seemed, took exception to my presence. We went into the house and he kicked up the fire. He put a stout bar across the door. Then he melted lard in a skillet and fried bacon and onions, throwing in roughly cut slices of bread to soak up the fats, and the simple food was some of the most delicious I’d ever tasted. The little room had quickly become warm and cosy, and, with food in my belly, I was starting to feel drowsy.
But when we had finished and were sitting side by side by the hearth, mugs of light ale in our hands, he said, ‘I need to tell you what’s been happening while you were away. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I want to share my tentative conclusions with you, only you won’t follow them unless you know all that I know.’
‘Very well,’ I said. I gave myself an imaginary nudge in the ribs. Wake up and listen!
‘I’m still being kept well away from Gaspard Picot’s investigation,’ Jack said matter-of-factly, ‘and he’s now threatened the men he suspects of keeping me informed with dismissal and worse if they persist.’
‘So you’ve been working alone?’
Jack smiled. ‘Not entirely. Walter and his lads are just being a lot more careful.’
While it was heartening to think that the men’s loyalty to Jack outweighed their fear of retribution, nevertheless I felt anxious for them. ‘I hope so,’ I muttered.
There was a short pause. Then Jack said very quietly, ‘Lassair, many of us in this town heartily dislike the fact that our sheriff is a corrupt and self-serving man. Now that his nephew holds almost as much power – and he, if anything, is even worse – there’s a growing movement for change. I don’t have to cajole and bribe Walter and the others to work with me.’
I thought about it. ‘But you have charisma,’ I said slowly. ‘You’re someone people are willing to put their faith in, and that carries a heavy responsibility.’
He didn’t answer. I turned to look at him, and saw the awed expression on his face. He doesn’t realize, I thought.
‘If that is really so,’ he said eventually, ‘I shall have to make quite sure I don’t let them down.’ He topped up our mugs, then, in a different tone, said, ‘Now, this is what I’ve been thinking. There are two crimes being carried out: the murders and the thefts.’ He was talking quickly now, the words tumbling out, and I listened intently. ‘The murder victims are Robert Powl, Gerda, Mistress Judith, the young priest, Morgan and Cat. Each was killed in the same way, and surely by the same hand.’
Not a hand, a claw, I thought. I saw again that horrible wound on my brother Squeak’s shoulder and chest, and sent out a quick prayer that he was truly on the mend.
‘Now, the thefts,’ Jack continued. ‘Something was taken from the locked stone vault in the barn beside Robert Powl’s house; something that we have to conclude was very precious, either in monetary terms or in some other way, first, because he went to the expense of making a secure place in which to lock it up, and second, because whoever stole it went to great lengths to get at it.’
‘The thief knew it was there,’ I put in.
‘His warehouse was searched,’ I said. ‘Everything had been turned upside-down.’
‘Yes,’ Jack said again, ‘and we concluded that something had been taken, although we couldn’t say what. Mistress Judith’s storeroom had also been searched, and you concluded from a consideration of what ought to have been there that some cinnabar was missing.’
‘I only thought it was something she’d probably have,’ I protested. ‘I don’t think we should see too much significance in its not being there.’
‘Very well,’ Jack conceded. ‘So, of our six victims, two we know to have been robbed, or at least to have had their premises searched.’ He paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. ‘We come again to poor little Gerda,’ he said. ‘I went back to Margery’s the day before yesterday to talk to the girls again, specifically to ask if Gerda’s room had been searched and if anything was missing, but I think we can discount robbery in her case. For one thing, she didn’t own much more than the clothes she stood up in, a change of personal linen and a little silver chain with a pendant, and, although it was missing when she was found, nobody thought it was worth very much, if anything. One of the girls – Madselin – said it looked old and was worn very thin. For another thing, she didn’t have a room of her own but simply a bed in a dormitory with the others, and, since the dormitory is very rarely empty, it would have been almost impossible for anyone to go in and search it without someone noticing. And, again, why would anyone bother when Gerda didn’t have anything to steal?’
Poor Gerda. It didn’t seem to have been much of a life, yet the women I’d spoken to all said she was a happy, cheerful little thing, affectionate and kind, her sweet nature unaffected by the life that circumstances had forced her to lead. She hadn’t been local, and what family she had seemed to have abandoned her.
I said suddenly, ‘What was the pendant?’
‘Hmm?’
‘What was it? A cross? A medallion?’