Liars and Thieves (A Company of Liars short story)

by Karen Maitland

  Dye held up her hands in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Take no notice of Pecker. Manners of a charging boar, he has. He’s not used to fine company. What he means is, why don’t you stay here for the night, keep warm by the fire? Lass in her condition can’t go traipsing through the forest in the dark. If she falls, she could lose the bairn. ’Sides, that horse of yours is lame. It won’t be going anywhere in a hurry. And I’ve seen the way you was eyeing the pot. I reckon you’ve not had a bite all day. Strapping man like you needs his meats.’

  Narigorm glared at Dye.

  ‘We are going now!’ She pointed to the corpses. ‘If Adela sleeps with death, her baby will die.’

  Adela clutched at Osmond in alarm.

  ‘Never you mind about them,’ Dye said. ‘Pecker and Jack’ll shift them, right now, won’t you? You’ve eaten a bellyful, lass. Give your elders a chance to get something hot inside them.’

  ‘Let them go,’ Holy Jack growled from across the clearing. ‘Cut our throats while we sleep, they will.’

  But I noticed he was not looking at Rodrigo’s knife, but at Narigorm. He was afraid of her and it wasn’t just her white hair. He saw something malevolent in that child, something that up to then I thought only I could see.

  The temptation of a hot meal proved too much for Osmond, Rodrigo and Jofre. Once the corpses had been removed by Pecker and Jack, they dug into the common pot with nearly as much gusto as Narigorm had done.

  Pecker was painstakingly raking through the fire with part of an old pickaxe blade. The metal hit something solid among the wood ash. He flicked it out. The egg-shaped stone momentarily glowed red, but as he rolled it away from the flame it turned black again, though unlike its namesake, the salamander, it was still far too hot to touch. Pecker sat there watching it intently as it cooled, as if he expected it to hatch, but it lay as dead as any one of the thousands of rocks and pebbles that were scattered around us. As soon as he could handle it, Pecker rolled it in the woollen cloth he’d taken from the monk and slipped it inside his tunic.

  Neither Zophiel nor Weasel returned to the camp. I thought Weasel might sidle back, but I did not expect Zophiel to put himself into the hands of the outlaws again. I had no idea whether he was hiding in the forest, was wandering lost, or had managed to make his way back to Cygnus and the wagon. In any case, it would be pointless to search for him in the dark and I suspected Jofre, at least, would be relieved to be spending a night free from his constant jibes, for along with Cygnus he was usually the butt of Zophiel’s stinging sarcasm.

  ‘What’s the lass doing?’ Dye asked.

  I glanced over to where Narigorm was sitting cross-legged, staring at something on the ground. My heart sank as I caught sight of the three concentric circles she had drawn in the mud.

  ‘She is a rune reader by trade,’ Osmond said. ‘Tells fortunes at fairs and markets, don’t you?’

  Narigorm said nothing. All her attention was focused on the three circles. I felt my gorge rise. The last time Narigorm had read the runes, she had predicted the death of one of our company, and the next morning we had found the body. I kept trying to convince myself that she had somehow witnessed the death or merely guessed at it, but there was such a malicious delight in her voice and eyes when she’d uttered the words that I almost felt as if she had caused it with those runes of hers.

  ‘No, Narigorm, not tonight,’ I protested. ‘We’re too tired for such games.’

  As soon as the words fell from my mouth, I knew that I had made a foolish mistake. Narigorm turned her ice-blue gaze to me, her eyes glittering.

  ‘It’s not a game, Camelot. It’s never a game.’

  ‘She found the stone, didn’t she?’ Pecker said stoutly. ‘I reckon she’s got the gift. Here, girl, you tell my fortune. Go on.’

  Narigorm smiled. ‘I need something of yours. That amulet you always wear.’

  Pecker’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you know . . .? See, I told you she had the gift.’

  He hauled on a cord round his neck and dragged out an object from beneath his tunic. Narigorm was clever. She must have glimpsed the cord and guessed that a man like Pecker would wear some kind of hidden amulet to keep him from harm. In truth, I used that trick myself in the taverns and markets when I was looking out for those who’d be most easily persuaded to buy my charms or relics.

  Pecker handed Narigorm a greasy linen pouch. ‘Moonwort, that is. That herb’ll open any lock. And the heart of a toad. No man can catch you when you carry its heart,’ he added proudly.

  Narigorm took the bag and laid it carefully in the centre of the circles.

  Then she held her bag of runes above the amulet and, dipping her hand in, she pulled out three of the rune stones and flung them across the circles.

  Holy Jack shrank back, raising his arms so that they were crossed over his face as if he was warding off great evil and shrieking ‘“Sanguis eorum sit super illos!” “Their blood is upon them.” “They shall stone the diviner with stones.”’

  ‘It’s you that wants stoning,’ Pecker snapped. ‘Let her work.’

  ‘“You shall not suffer a witch to live,”’ Jack muttered sullenly, like a hound which must get in one last yap after it’s been commanded to be silent.

  Narigorm ignored both of them. She pointed to one of the runes.

  ‘Kanaz, the rune of fire and sickness.’

  Far from seeming dismayed, Pecker appeared delighted.

  ‘That means the salamander’s stone, that does.’ He moved closer, bending over the circles to peer at the other runes. ‘What does that one mean? Wealth? Heaps of gold and rubies? A fine house? You’ll see, the whole world’ll be crawling on their bellies to my door, knowing I have the certain cure. And I’ll make ’em pay through their pizzles for it.’

  Narigorm’s pale hand fluttered like a moth across the second rune.

  ‘Beorc, that’s the woman’s rune, the hearth rune.’

  ‘See that, Dye.’ Pecker lifted his head and beamed at her. ‘Runes are saying you’ll be the mistress of this grand house. Told you I’d make us rich one day, didn’t I?’

  A fine mist of rain had begun to fall again. Water dripped from the two puckered lumps of flesh either side of Pecker’s split nose, but in his excitement he seemed as unconcerned as Narigorm by the cold or wet. Above the ruins, the wind rattled the branches of the trees as if they were old bones. The firelight danced across the three circles on the ground, as Narigorm’s small fingers moved to the final rune. Pecker’s voracious eyes followed.

  ‘But Beorc isn’t alone. See, Is lies next to her, that means the woman is treacherous. She has betrayed you.’

  Pecker snapped upright, spinning round to face Dye.

  ‘What does she mean? Have you turned king’s approver for a pardon? Our lives for your freedom, that it?’

  Dye shot him a venomous look. ‘How long have you known me, Pecker? Do you really think I’m a snake? If they catch you, they’ll catch me and we’ll dangle side by side from the gallows.’

  ‘Then what does she mean – betrayed?’

  Dye’s gaze flicked to Holy Jack, and just as swiftly back again. But not swiftly enough, for Pecker had caught the glance.

  ‘Have you been swiving him, you whore? Have you?’

  Pecker kicked the runes savagely aside. He bounded over the rubble towards the bothy. Jack scrambled to his feet. Pecker raised his fist, but Jack’s knife was already in his hand.

  ‘Share everything,’ Holy Jack growled. ‘That’s the bargain we made. Dye’s willing, so why should you care?’

  Dye ran up and pulled on Pecker’s arm, but he smashed her aside, knocking her to the ground, and pulled his own knife. The two men circled each other, tossing their daggers from hand to hand.

  Dye stared wildly round at us. ‘Stop them. They’ll kill each other.’

  I glanced down at Narigorm. It may have been just the flicker of the shadows cast by firelight, but I was sure she was grinning.

  Dye finally persuaded her
two lovers to call a grudging truce and all three of the outlaws retreated to their own bothies in sullen silence. We bedded down as best we could among the ruins of the old building, trying to squeeze under the bits of makeshift roofs or up into corners, anything that would keep the rain from falling on our faces. It was cold and the ground was hard, but I’ve tramped the roads for so many years I could sleep in a bear pit, and even the ache in my shoulder couldn’t keep me awake after the day we’d endured.

  By the time I woke the next morning, a heavy grey light already filled the forest, but I might not have woken even then had it not been for the shriek of rage which brought us all staggering out from our holes to see Pecker stomping round and howling incoherently. It took a few moments to make out what he was saying.

  ‘Stone’s gone.’ He shook the woollen cloth in his fist at us. ‘Some thieving bastard’s stolen it.’

  ‘Are you blind?’ Jofre said. ‘The stone’s still in the cloth.’

  ‘This isn’t the salamander stone. Some arse-wipe’s swapped it. Thought I wouldn’t notice.’

  Pecker peeled back the cloth, thrusting it under our noses. The stone inside was roughly the size of the one I’d seen the night before, but paler and much more angular.

  Pecker grabbed Jofre by the front of his jerkin, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘How did you know there was a stone in the cloth, boy? Did you put it there when you stole mine?’

  Rodrigo seized Pecker’s wrist and forced him to let the lad go. Rodrigo held his pupil by the shoulders and searched his face.

  ‘Ragazzo, on your honour you will tell me, did you take the stone?’

  Jofre glared at Rodrigo and for a moment I feared he would stubbornly refuse to answer. But finally he shook his head.

  ‘I didn’t touch his wretched stone, I swear.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to prove?’ Pecker demanded. ‘You’re his master, you probably told him to do it. Fecking foreigners. Thieves, the whole lot of you!’

  Rodrigo took a furious step towards Pecker and might well have punched him had Dye not pushed her way between them.

  ‘Pecker . . . Pecker! It’s Holy Jack, he’s gone.’

  Pecker ran towards the little bothy and peered inside, then crawled in on his hands and knees, as if to satisfy himself that Jack wasn’t hiding somewhere.

  Dye stood watching, her hands on her hips.

  ‘Jack never gets out of his pit this early. Says it’s not worth stirring till there’s fresh meat to be hunted on the road, and nobody comes this way much afore noon in winter. He must have taken off last night, ’cause I’ve been up since afore cockcrow and I never saw him go.’

  ‘So, Signora,’ Rodrigo said, ‘it seems the thief is your missing friend and not a foreigner after all. Perhaps your husband wishes to apologise.’

  Dye laughed, but whether it was at the idea that Pecker was her husband or that he would ever apologise was hard to say, for at that moment Pecker crawled back out of the bothy, and the look of fury on his face was enough to strangle any laughter at birth.

  Rage and rail as Pecker might and did, it was not going make the thief return. He insisted we cast around to see if there was a trail of footprints which might show the direction Jack had taken. None of us were inclined to help Pecker but, given his foul mood, he might easily have knifed one of us if we didn’t at least appear to be searching. Besides, if we could send him off in pursuit of Jack, we could recover our property and slip away, maybe with a few additional supplies into the bargain. Is it stealing to take what a thief has stolen? The plunder could hardly be returned to its dead owners.

  But the ground immediately around the camp had been well trodden and beyond it the earth was so sodden after months of rain that water simply lay in great pools on top of the ground which, like an over-fed baby, had refused to swallow another drop and was burping up what it had already drunk.

  I thought we might have more luck looking for signs that someone had brushed against trees, breaking twigs or snagging clothing on them in the dark. I was scanning the undergrowth and not paying much attention to where I was walking. I took a step forward and had to fling myself backwards as the ground vanished beneath my foot. I sprawled in the mud, clenching my jaw against the searing pain in my shoulder.

  I was lying on the edge of a deep pit, about five yards broad and long, half-filled with muddy water as thick and stinking as mouldering soup. I dragged myself painfully back from the edge, not daring to stand up until I was away from the lip, for fear the sodden ground would collapse beneath me. As I clambered to my feet, I saw that something was floating below me in the near corner which had been hidden from my view.

  A naked human corpse lay just beneath the surface, the opaque eyes staring sightlessly up from its swollen features, the boated belly protruding just above the grey-green water. But there was something else, something caught on the floating corpse. It was a second body, this one clothed in a ragged brown cloak which fanned out over him, like the hair of a grotesque mermaid. It was floating face-down, a dagger protruding from between its shoulder blades.

  There was no way to remove Holy Jack’s corpse from the gullet, for the pit was so deep that in spite of the rain, the water level was still twice a man’s height below the edge. If Jack’s body had not been caught on one of the gas-bloated corpses, it would have sunk in the suppurating liquid and we would never have known he was dead. Not even Pecker could remember how many corpses lay rotting down there. Pecker and Dye were certain it was Jack’s own dagger protruding from his back. The question was – who had plunged it in there?

  As soon as she saw the body floating in the pit, Dye flew at Pecker, pounding him with her fists and scratching at his face.

  ‘What did you have to kill him for? He’s been a good friend to us, the best!’

  Pecker caught her wrists, shoving her away. ‘I never touched him. Been looking for him, haven’t I? Why would I do that if I’d known he was in there?’

  Dye glared at him sullenly. It was plain she didn’t believe him, nor, judging by their baleful looks, did the rest of our little company. But I wondered. Pecker had seemed as genuinely shocked as the rest of us when he saw Holy Jack’s body in the water. He had killed a great many men, but perhaps this was one murder of which he was innocent.

  But if Pecker hadn’t killed him in a fit of jealously, who had? No one else had a reason to, unless Jack had stolen the stone and now someone had stolen it from him. Weasel? He was still out there in the forest, as was Zophiel, and it was Zophiel who’d known about the power of the stone. But would he really kill for it?

  What about the rest of us? Jofre believed his mother had died of the pestilence in Venice. Was the boy so terrified of the fever that he’d kill for the cure that might save him? I found my gaze straying to Osmond. He’d fight a dragon with his bare hands to defend his beloved Adela from harm. Would he commit murder for her?

  The same thoughts had evidently been occupying Pecker as we trailed silently back to the camp. He crouched down over the fire pit, rubbing his hands over the blaze.

  ‘One of yous must have seen Jack take the stone and reckoned to have it for yourself. Only thing that makes sense. Unless his Highness took it. He’s not shown himself.’

  ‘You also have a man who is missing,’ Rodrigo growled. ‘His trade is robbery and murder. Why do you not go after him?’

  ‘Weasel could steal the grunt from a pig,’ Dye said, scowling. ‘But he don’t kill, never has. Can’t bring himself to do it. ’Sides, he wouldn’t have to. If he’d wanted to get the stone, he could have taken it without Jack even knowing he’d been touched.’

  Pecker nodded towards Narigorm, who alone still seemed to have an appetite and was digging into the cooking pot, hunting for fragments of flesh.

  ‘She can tell us who stole it. She can read it in her runes. If it was one of you . . .’ He left the threat hanging in the air, but I knew he was thinking that the gullet would soon be swallowing another victim.


  Narigorm did not look up, but I caught the faint ghost of a smile on her face. I knew she must not be allowed to do this. She would make worse mischief, and she had already done enough harm last night.

  ‘But if the child said it was Weasel, you wouldn’t believe her,’ I said. ‘She’s one of us. How would you know she’s not lying?’

  I could feel Narigorm’s fury burning into me like a wasp’s sting. I’d been right. She was planning something. I felt a tiny surge of triumph that I had thwarted her.

  Dye nodded, scowling.

  ‘Can’t trust the brat. Look at that white hair of hers. It’s not natural. Looks like a ghost-child. I reckon she’s a changeling.’

  Dye had evidently not forgotten, or forgiven, Narigorm’s performance the night before. ‘In the village where I was raised,’ she continued, ‘if something went missing, they put a black cockerel under a pail and every person who was suspected took turns to lay their hand on the pail. Cock crowed when the thief touched the pail.’

  ‘You got a black cock hidden somewhere, have you?’ Pecker said acidly, making a show of staring round the ruins. ’Cause last cock I seen ended up in that cooking pot and that were three moons since. But maybe if the thief puts his hand to that pot it’ll spring out alive and start crowing.’

  Adela glanced at Osmond.

  ‘I heard . . .’ she began, then trailed away, staring down at her hands.

  ‘What?’ Pecker demanded. ‘Cough it up.’

  ‘Someone . . . told me that if you draw an eye on a wall and everyone turns their backs while a nail is driven into it, then the guilty one will feel a sharp pain in their eye and cry out . . . Osmond could draw . . . He’s a fine artist.’

  ‘What colour eye?’ Pecker asked suspiciously. ‘’Cause if it were blue and the thief’s eyes were brown, he’d not cry out.’

  ‘If he draws it in charcoal,’ I said, ‘it would work on anyone.’

  A grin spread across Pecker’s face.

  ‘Best make sure it’s a right eye he draws then. You don’t have a left ’un, old man, and if you’re the thief I don’t want you cheating your way out ’cause you can’t feel the nail.’