Sharon Penman - Cruel As the Grave

Her relief was palpable that they'd come for a customer; men were expendable, her whores harder to replace. "A man with a scar…" She pretended to ponder it, then nodded. "The man who took Arlette for the entire night is likely the one you want."

"Where?"

"Above-stairs. The inner chamber is Arlette's," she said, and stepped aside hastily as they brushed past her. The common room was almost deserted. By the hearth a drunk nodded blearily into his wine cup, and in the corner a ruddy, stout man held a half-dressed woman on his lap. He gave a startled yelp as they burst in, beginning to rise and inadvertently dumping the girl into the floor rushes. By then they were already through, plunging into the darkened stairwell, loosening their swords in their scabbards. They were at the top of the stairs when they heard a woman scream.

Luke was in the lead. Swearing, he flung himself at the door and shoved it open. The chamber was small and cramped, holding only a stool, a basin, and a bed. A couple was entangled in the sheets, gaping up at these intruders. But the man was dark haired and unscarred. Ignoring his sputtering protest, Luke hit the inner door with his shoulder. It gave way at once, catapulting him inside.

This room was even shabbier than the first one, almost all of its space taken up by a rumpled bed. A buxom redhead was kneeling in the middle of it, oblivious or uncaring of her nudity. "He went out the window," she cried, "without paying, curse him! And when I tried to stop him, the whoreson struck me!"

Luke's headlong rush into the room had sent him stumbling into the bed, nearly tumbling down on top of the indignant Arlette. Justin swerved around him and lunged for the window. He was not so reckless as to jump, though, lowering himself as he clung to the sill and then dropping the remaining four or five feet to the ground.

He landed on his feet like a cat. His eyes had to adjust again to the darkness, and at first he could see nothing. He thought he was in the courtyard behind the brothel, but he could not yet be sure, for clouds hid the moon. He stood very still, waiting for the shadows to reveal their secrets, and then heard the soft, ragged inhalation of breath. As he turned toward the sound, a gleam of starlight bounced off the blade of a thrusting dagger. If he'd not spun around, it might have found his heart. As it was, it slashed through the folds of his mantle with just inches to spare. The man had put the full weight of his body behind that lethal lunge and before he could recover his balance, Justin sent his fist thudding into his belly. Gasping, the attacker reeled backward, and Justin fumbled for his sword. As it cleared its scabbard, a dark form came plummeting from the overhead window, crashing into Justin's assailant and knocking him to his knees.

The quarry was momentarily stunned by the impact, giving Justin the time he needed to level his sword at that heaving chest. "You so much as blink and you're dead." As threats went, it was simple and effective; the man lay perfectly still as Justin kicked aside the dropped dagger. Luke had regained his feet, was struggling now to regain control of his breathing.

Lowering his sword until it was almost touching his captive's windpipe, Justin glanced swiftly toward the deputy. "Well done, Luke!" he said admiringly. "However did you see to land on him like that? I was half-blinded when I first went through the window!"

"I was lucky," Luke panted, coming forward to peer down at his victim. "Is this the one?"

Justin nodded. "Meet Giles de Vitry." But something about Luke's modest response did not ring true; he'd never known the deputy to shrug off praise before. As a sudden shimmer of moonlight brightened the courtyard, he studied the other man's face, and then he grinned. "Admit it, you did not plunge from that window with a hawk's unerring precision. You lost your grip and just happened to fall on him, didn't you?"

Luke regarded him impassively. "Can you prove it?" he said at last, and they both laughed. Giles de Vitry chose that moment to make an ill-considered escape attempt. He squirmed sideways, only to freeze again when the point of Justin's sword pricked the skin of his throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

"You're not one for listening, are you?" he said reprovingly, much to Luke's amusement.

"You sound like a tutor reprimanding an unruly student, de Quincy! If we bring him back inside, we'll have to protect him from Arlette. Let's take him into the stables for our talk." Drawing his sword, Luke prodded their prisoner to his feet. "You're in the mood for a talk, aren't you, de Vitry? Reasonable men always prefer talking to the alternative."

De Vitry gave Luke as venomous a look as Justin had ever seen. He did not protest, though, wisely allowing them to shove him across the courtyard without resistance. A wide-eyed groom was cowering in the stables, with no intention of investigating the mayhem occurring outside. When the combatants invaded his refuge, he bolted out the back, leaving them alone with several horses and a spitting calico cat. Luke found a length of rope, trussed up de Vitry, and pushed him down upon a bale of hay. Taking the groom's lantern from its wall hook, he said, "He is all yours, de Quincy."

De Vitry flinched as Justin unsheathed his dagger. Ignoring the other man's recoil, Justin applied his blade to the neck of de Vitry's tunic. The material tore easily, revealing a leather pouch suspended upon a braided cord. Its contents were a disappointment: money, no letter. Luke had found de Vitry's saddlebags, stored with his gear in the tack room, and Justin searched them next, although without expectation of success; if the missing message had been concealed in the saddlebags, de Vitry would not have left them unguarded out in the stables. When his pessimism proved well founded, he came back to the courier, stood gazing down at him thoughtfully.

"Now what?" Luke was appraising their prisoner, too, green eyes speculative enough to give de Vitry a chill. "You think he memorized the message?"

Justin considered the possibility, then shook his head. "Not likely. If the message says what I think it does, its recipient would need proof that it indeed came from John."

At the mention of John's name, de Vitry's head came up sharply. Recovering some of his confidence, he said hoarsely, "You've got my money. What else do you want from me?

"

Luke glanced toward Justin. "I hate it when they insult my intelligence. You're not being robbed, hellspawn. You're under arrest… as you well know."

"You're the law?" De Vitry strove to sound shocked. "God's Truth, I thought you were bandits!"

"Do not stop now," Luke said encouragingly. "I am waiting with bated breath for the rest of your story, eager to hear why you chose to jump out of a window in the middle of the night, only half dressed in the bargain. Your explanation ought to be riveting."

De Vitry ran his tongue over dry lips. "I… I was seeking to avoid paying the whore."

Luke shook his head in disgust. "So to save yourself a halfpenny, you'd leave a valuable sword behind and risk breaking your neck. I can see this will be a long night. Shall we take him back to the castle, de Quincy?"

"No," Justin said, "not yet." He'd been studying the courier, his eyes taking in the man's dishevelment as he reconstructed those frantic moments in Arlette's chamber. De Vitry had been alerted to danger, hearing them on the stairs. He'd hastily snatched up his tunic and mantle and gone out the window, forced to abandon his chausses, braies, boots, and even his sword. Doubtless he'd have come back for them later, if he'd been able to evade pursuit. "Do you know what I find most puzzling, Luke? His choices. It makes sense to grab for a dagger, especially for one so quick with a blade. He already had the money around his neck. I can see, too, why he'd pull on his runic ere he bolted. A man running mother-naked through the streets would find that hard to explain, after all. But then he took his mantle. Does that seem as odd to you as it does to me?"