The Prison of Buried Hopes (After The Rift Book 5)

by C. J. Archer

  Max pushed to his feet and snatched up his empty tankard. "Easy for you to say. You didn't have to listen to her crying and shouting."

  "All the more reason to find who really murdered Jute and bring them to justice."

  "You think we can bring the Deerhorn lordling to justice?" Max snorted. "I worked among nobles long enough to know who wins and who loses." He went to walk off, but stopped when Balthazar stamped the end of his walking stick into the floor.

  "You're giving up?" Balthazar looked at the faces sitting around the table. "Without a fight?"

  "No, of course not," Theodore said. "But we're not going to get help from the widow. Not before the trial."

  "Then we have to hope the king intervenes," Meg said.

  "And in the meantime?" Balthazar asked. "Are you going to sit by and do nothing tomorrow?"

  "I'm going to visit the widow," I said. "She saw the body and will be able to describe the wounds to me. If there were injuries other than a bruise on his chin, we can prove Dane didn't kill Jute."

  "And if she won't talk to you?" Quentin asked.

  "I'll find where the body is kept and inspect it myself.”

  The bootmaker’s door was unlocked but no one was inside.

  "Is anyone here?" Theodore called out. "Mistress Weller?"

  We had returned to the workshop with Quentin and Max accompanying us. Max insisted, saying I needed an armed escort if I was going into the city, especially with Lord Xavier about. "It's what the captain would want," he'd said.

  He was probably right. He stood by the door, looking every bit like a guard with one hand on his sword hilt.

  Quentin walked slowly around the workshop, gazing at the floor as if searching for lost coins.

  "What are you doing?" Max asked him.

  "Looking for signs of where Jute died. His widow found his body here somewhere."

  "What's that going to prove?"

  Quentin shrugged and continued to scour the floor.

  The workshop looked as though it had been tidied. Tools had been put away, and strips of leather organized into batches of similar color and size on the workbench. There were no completed sets of boots, but a small collection behind the counter looked as though they were in the middle of being repaired. A pail full of water sat on the floor beside the stool at the workbench, a scrubbing brush beside it surrounded by a damp patch. The floorboards were discolored in that spot, and not just from the water.

  I bent down for a closer look. "He died here."

  Quentin and Theodore joined me. "Blood," Quentin announced after a brief inspection.

  "There was no blood on Jute Weller after Dane hit him."

  The door leading to a room out the back opened and a woman stopped there upon seeing us. She was about to greet me when she noticed the others.

  "You!" she snarled. Her face twisted with rage and she flew at Theodore. "Get out!"

  Chapter 5

  "Get out!" The woman pounded Theodore's chest with her fists and kicked him in the shin.

  Theodore grunted, but managed to catch her wrists and dodge out of the way before she kicked him again. "Please, Mistress Weller, calm down. We just wish to talk to you."

  "I want nothing to do with you! Murderers! Killers!"

  "We're not," Quentin tried in a soothing voice. "Nor is our friend. He's a good man and we want to prove he didn't kill your husband."

  "Get out!"

  I stepped between Quentin and Mistress Weller, still struggling to free her wrists from Theodore's grip. "Dane didn't kill Jute," I told her. "That patch of blood on the floor proves it."

  She stopped struggling and stared at the spot I pointed to. Her face crumpled and she began to cry. "I hate him! I hate all of you for coming here and taking my Jute away from me. It's not fair! It's not fair!"

  I touched her shoulder. "We're so very sorry for your loss. Dane didn't kill Jute, but perhaps we can find who did."

  She sniffed and shrugged my hand off. Then she spat in Theodore's face. "Foreigners."

  Theodore instinctively let her go to wipe off the spit.

  Mistress Weller picked up a hammer from the workbench and raised it above her head. "Get out!"

  Max grabbed my shoulders from behind and dragged me out of the away. I shook him off, hardly noticing him.

  "There's blood on the floor!" I pointed to the patch she'd been scrubbing. "Dane's blow didn't draw blood. The ostler will testify as much."

  She slowly lowered the hammer. My words must have finally punched through the fog of her grief.

  Theodore edged towards her and, when she didn't try to kill him, gently pried the hammer out of her grip. He blew out a measured breath in relief.

  Mistress Weller began to cry, great heaving sobs that wracked her body. I put my arm around her and she sobbed into my shoulder. Quentin brought her a stool and I guided her onto it. Theodore passed her a lace-edged handkerchief that drew querying looks from both Quentin and Max, which he pretended to ignore.

  "My name is Josie," I said. "My friends and I are passing through Merrin on our way to Freedland."

  "With that Marginer," she said, dabbing at her eyes.

  "His name is Erik. He's very sweet, despite his looks. He was released from prison since he didn't steal that horse two winters ago."

  She handed the handkerchief back to Theodore. "I didn't know he’d been released."

  "Our other friend Dane knew Erik was innocent, but he also knew Erik might not get a fair trial. Sometimes people see Erik and assume the worst. Dane is not a killer. He just wanted to help Erik get to safety. Yes, he had to use force, but he also had two swords in his possession and did not use either of them."

  "Not the pointy end," Quentin clarified.

  Max nudged him with his elbow and scowled.

  "Dane didn't kill your husband," I said again.

  "Somebody did," she whispered through fresh tears. "Who? Why?"

  I looked to the others. How much to tell her?

  Theodore squatted down in front of Mistress Weller. "We suspect it was a man who hates Dane and saw this as an opportunity to get him into serious trouble."

  She reeled back. "Are you saying my husband was murdered for no other reason than he was a convenient victim?"

  Theodore nodded.

  "That's madness!"

  "This man is mad," I said, more enthusiastic now that she seemed to believe us. "Mad and vengeful. He followed us here from Glancia, that's how much he hates us."

  "Can you prove it was him?"

  I hesitated. I didn't want to give her false hope. "I don't know. He's a nobleman and if there were no witnesses…"

  She eyed the blood on the floor again. Shudders wracked her body. "It won't come off."

  "My father was a doctor," I said gently. "I used one part ash to five parts water with a dash of coleander oil to clean his workbench."

  She blinked back at me. "Thank you."

  "Your husband deserves justice, Mistress Weller, but not at the expense of our friend. I know this is hard for you, but can you recall what injuries Jute had?"

  She indicated her left temple. "There was blood on the side of his head."

  My pulse quickened. "That proved someone else came here and hit him. Not only did Dane's blow not draw blood, but he struck Jute on the chin. Did you see Jute when he arrived back from the White Horse?"

  "No, but I heard him. I was out the back, preparing supper. He called to me that he was home and I heard him working." She indicated the hammer. "A while later, I came in here to tell him supper was almost ready and I saw…" She gazed at the patch of blood on the floor and her face crumpled.

  "Is there any other way in here?" Max asked. "Any way an intruder could have come in unnoticed by someone on the street or by your neighbor?"

  "There's a rear entrance that leads to the courtyard, but I was in the kitchen the entire time, from when Jute returned until I came out to announce supper. They would have had to go past me if they used that door."

&nb
sp; Max looked towards the door leading to the street. I knew exactly what he was thinking. We needed to have another talk with the chandler.

  I thanked Mistress Weller for her help and followed the men to the chandler's shop.

  The chandler looked up from where he was serving a customer. His gaze narrowed. "What do you want now?"

  The customer paid and picked up the box of candles. She eyed us carefully as she passed. Max closed the door behind her then stood by it, once again taking up guard duty.

  "This is getting ridiculous,” the chandler grumbled. “You keep coming here and asking the same questions."

  "But this time we're providing the answers," I said.

  He frowned. "Pardon?"

  "We've just come from Jute Weller's workshop. We spoke to his widow. The poor woman has been scrubbing her husband's blood off the floor."

  "It's a tragedy. I know she's suffering. I can hear her crying."

  "Then let's help her find the real killer."

  "The killer is in prison awaiting trial."

  "You weren't listening to what I said. Mistress Weller was scrubbing blood off the floor. Dane's blow did not draw blood."

  He picked up a crate of candles from the floor and placed it on the counter. "It must have or she wouldn't be scrubbing off blood, would she?"

  "You didn't mention seeing blood on Jute's head as he passed by after the altercation at the White Horse."

  "Just because I didn't mention it doesn't mean it wasn't there."

  "Blood seems like something a person would mention seeing," Theodore said. "It's an important detail."

  The chandler merely shrugged.

  I blew out a measured breath to calm my rising temper. We needed this man on our side. We needed to know why he'd lied. "You told us you spoke to Jute when he came back from the White Horse."

  "That's right."

  "And you claimed no one else came by after that and before Jute's wife found his body."

  "So?"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Course I'm sure. I was either standing in the doorway or watching through the window the entire time." His gaze met mine. "No one went inside Jute’s shop except for Jute."

  "Mistress Weller says she was in the kitchen and no one entered through the back door. That means the killer had to have gone through the front."

  "Not if your friend is the killer and he inflicted the killing blow some time before." He lifted a box lid, but I clamped my hand over it, slamming it back down.

  He glared at me. I glared back. "I'm giving you an opportunity to change your story," I said. "Now, I'll ask again. Are you sure you saw no one else go in through the front door of Jute's workshop?"

  He hesitated. Swallowed.

  Quentin placed his hand on his sword hilt, ready to draw.

  "Are you threatening me?" the chandler asked.

  "No," Quentin said.

  The chandler pushed my hand off the box lid. "I was here the whole time, looking out. No one else came or went, just Jute."

  Damnation! Hailia and Merdu! I wanted to draw Quentin's blade myself and stab the man through his hand until he agreed to tell the truth.

  Max rushed towards him and slammed his palms down on the counter. "Who paid you to lie?"

  The chandler reeled back, shaking his head. "N—no one! I, I saw no one. Nothing. Go away, please, or I'll shout until the constable comes."

  Theodore grabbed Max by the shoulder. "Let's go. Lord Xavier paid him too well."

  The chandler chewed his lower lip.

  "Then we'll pay more!" Quentin cried. "Whatever he paid, we'll double it."

  The chandler crossed his arms and gave Quentin a smug smirk. "Nobody paid me a single ell."

  I grasped Quentin's arm as he reached for his sword. "Probably because he threatened to destroy your stock if you didn't do as he demanded," I said.

  The chandler pointed at the door with a shaking hand. "Get out. I have nothing more to say."

  I thought Max and Quentin might use their swords to force him to tell us everything, so I bundled them outside with Meg and Theodore's help. We couldn't afford to make the situation worse for Dane by threatening the chandler. Being foreigners already put us at a disadvantage. We had to tread carefully.

  "He's lying scum," Max spat. "Deerhorn got to him."

  Theodore set off along the street. "Then let’s do something about it."

  I trotted after him. "Are we going to see the sheriff?"

  "We are."

  The sheriff was in no mood to see us, however. He spotted us as he was leaving his office with two constables in tow and changed direction to avoid us.

  I walked fast to catch up. "We have new information for you that will prove Dane didn't kill that man."

  "The trial is tomorrow," he said.

  "He should be released today. He's not guilty and we can prove it. There's blood on the floor of Jute Weller's workshop where he died. Dane's blow inflicted a bruise, not blood."

  "That's not proof." He quickened his pace.

  "Of course it is."

  He stopped and rounded on me. "Are there witnesses?"

  "The ostler will tell you no blood was spilled at The White Horse."

  "I've questioned the ostler. He can't recall."

  "He's lying."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Because he's annoyed that we got Erik free."

  He set off again, shaking his head. "If you have a witness, get them to tell what they saw to the magistrate at the trial tomorrow."

  "How, when all the witnesses are lying?"

  "I've done my job, Miss," he said over his shoulder. "Let the magistrate do his."

  Max pushed past me and grabbed the sheriff's shoulder. The two constables rounded on him, swords pointed at Max's chest. He let go, hands up in surrender. "You're willing to see a good man sent to his death?"

  "He might not be executed," the sheriff said. "If the magistrate is feeling generous, your friend will be sentenced to hard labor in a prison mine for accidentally causing a death."

  "For how long?" I asked.

  "Twenty years."

  I reached for Meg, suddenly feeling very weak.

  She wrapped her arm around my waist. "Let's go back to the inn. Josie, you need to rest."

  "I can't rest while Dane is in prison." I removed her hand and strode off. "We need to talk to the ostler and convince him of Dane's innocence. He must testify that the blow didn't draw blood. If not him, then we'll find someone else who was there. I will produce a witness at that trial, even if I have to employ underhanded methods like Lord Xavier."

  Max stepped in front of me and caught me by the arms. His cold gaze met mine. "Quentin and I will find a witness. You go back to the inn. Meg's right, you need to rest and what we're going to do is not a woman's business."

  "It bloody well is my business. This is Dane's life!"

  "I know, Josie. But I can't involve you in what must be done. Dane'll never forgive me."

  "He won't have to know."

  "He’ll know. Go back to the inn." He let me go and strode off. "Quentin, with me."

  Quentin gave me a flat smile then trotted after Max.

  Theodore moved up alongside me. "He's right. The time for talk is done. Let them do what they have to do and keep your hands clean."

  Meg hooked my arm with hers and we headed back to the inn.

  Max and Quentin were gone all night. I knew because I couldn't sleep and sat in the room they shared, waiting. When they finally returned at breakfast, I sprang up from the bed.

  Quentin jumped in fright. "Merdu, Josie! You scared me half to death."

  "Well? Did you convince the ostler to testify today?"

  "He wasn't there," Max said. "He didn't come to the inn or return home."

  "Where was he?"

  They both shrugged.

  "What about another witness? Did you find someone else who'd seen what happened?"

  Max eased onto the bed and dragged his hand through his
hair.

  "Quentin?" I asked, voice small.

  He shook his head. "A serving girl took pity on us and eventually told us that none of the men who'd witnessed the incident were around. She said we wouldn't find any of them. They're in hiding."

  "Hiding!"

  Max looked up. His eyes were cast in deep shadow, his face gray beneath the stubble. "They've been paid to disappear until after the trial is over."

  I sat heavily on the bed beside him. "Lord Xavier."

  "He's a step ahead." He swore under his breath. "I should have known he'd interfere and get to the witnesses first. Dane would have predicted this."

  "It's not your fault." I didn't sound particularly convincing, so I took his hand and squeezed. "All is not yet lost. We have the meeting with the king this morning."

  If we could explain the situation to him, he would surely see that Lord Xavier had interfered. He’d have no choice but to order Dane’s trial be canceled. I had to hope so anyway. A royal pardon was Dane's last chance.

  King Phillip met us in a long, narrow chamber with a dais at one end and royal purple and gold banners hanging from the beams. A matching carpet covered the floor, deadening our footfalls as guards led us to the dais. The room would have been a cavern of gray stone without the banners, made darker by the lack of light filtering through the small windows. Dozens of candles on tall iron candelabras had been lit in the corners to keep the grimness at bay, but they only served to remind me that this ancient fortress was outdated when compared to the bright palace at Mull.

  The king looked equally grim and somewhat non-descript. He was of average height for a Vytillian, with silver hair and flat gray eyes. His clothing, however, was anything but average. He wore a black doublet covered in a diamond pattern in gold thread, matching shoes with a heel, and a high lace collar of pristine white that brushed his trimmed beard. The white lace cuffs of his shirt protruded from his doublet sleeves and cascaded over his hands but didn't hide long, fine fingers that he flicked to command the guards to retreat. It was the sort of ostentatious outfit King Leon wore.

  Princess Illiriya, standing on the dais beside her father's throne, introduced Theodore and me. "And I assume this is Brother Balthazar," she finished.