Candace Robb - The Lady Chapel

The Riverwoman was strange and frightening, with her piercing eyes and bony but strong hands, her clothes made of many colors, sewn together from others' castoffs, her sudden movements-so unexpected in a person her age, her weird house with the Viking ship upside down on the roof, the sea serpent hanging upside down to greet the visitor with a leer, and her scent-smoke, roots from deep in the earth, river water, blood. But Jasper trusted the Riverwoman as he trusted no one else. His mother had told him that Magda Digby was the only person in York who owed no one, and so she was free to be trustworthy; no one could wring a secret from her. So Jasper had gone to her when he'd broke his arm falling off a roof he was helping thatch, and again with bruises and cuts he suffered when he fell in a stable and grazed his side against a plough that had been half-buried in hay.

After the stable incident, Jasper decided to listen to the Riverwoman's warning. And his caution paid off. As soon as the folk he worked for began asking questions about Master Crounce's murder, Jasper disappeared. And the accidents stopped. Now and again he would return to the protection of the masons and carpenters at the minster, but even that was not safe for long.

So his comfortable cranny in the minster was a temporary home, one he appreciated at the moment with the storm beating against the stones. He curled up in a tighter ball and went back to sleep. But something woke him. A footstep, a sense of someone near. Jasper squirmed to the edge of his cubbyhole and looked out, wondering whether he had pushed too far back into the darkness and had missed the dawn. He always tried to wake at dawn so he could relieve himself in private before the masons arrived.

At first Jasper could see nothing. It was still dark except for a predawn grayness where the roof stopped. But he heard something. It sounded like the hem of a cloak or skirt dragging on the paving stones. And there was a scent. Lavender water. His mother used to wear lavender water when Master Crounce visited. Jasper wondered whether it was his mother's ghost come searching for him. She would come to comfort him if she could. He would like that. He would like his mother to hold him and stroke his hair and tell him stories of his father.

But Jasper's several months on his own had taught him to be wary. If he was wrong, if it wasn't his mother but someone trying to make Jasper feel safe enough to reveal himself, he could be killed. So Jasper held his breath and listened.

"Blessed Peter, where's the stone?" someone muttered. A woman's voice. "Five hands from the corner, six stones up, they said."

She was close enough now that Jasper could hear her quick breaths. There was a scratching sound. Then something snapped. Jasper jumped at the sound, he was so tense.

"Cheap knife," the intruder muttered. "She's such a miser. Sharpens knives until they're parchment thin-Aha!"

The sound of stone sliding against stone.

Jasper could see her shadow now, as the grayness brightened into a feeble dawn. She faced the wall just beyond Jasper's hiding place, crouching down, pulling at something. A stone, from the sound of it. She had hidden something behind a loose stone, he guessed.

Jasper shivered. He did not wish to witness anything he might be sorry for. He wiggled back from the edge of his hiding place. His stomach growled and he held his breath, certain that the growl had echoed through the minster. But she did not come. Jasper relaxed and began to twist himself around so his pale hair would not stick out and give him away. Then the rags he wore would be mistaken for a pile of mason's rags. But as Jasper moved, he stirred up dust, and his nose betrayed him with a mighty sneeze, which so surprised him that he bumped his head.

"Who's there?" the woman demanded. She reached in and pulled Jasper from the hole, scraping him along the rock and dumping him on the stones three feet below. She was surprisingly strong. Jasper landed on his right side, his arm and leg bent beneath his weight. The pain left him breathless.

She kicked him. "Little spy!"

"I was sleeping," Jasper cried, terrified. He thought his arm and leg might be broken. He could neither protect himself nor run.

She grabbed him by the cowl of his tunic and dragged him toward the light, then took his head in her hands and studied his face. "Why, it's Jasper de Melton. Well, you've followed me for the last time. He's after you, you know. He plays with you and brags about it. But he's lost track of you. You're a clever one."

Dark eyes, a large mouth, large hands. He could not see much more. Jasper thought he had seen her before, but he could not remember where. "How do you know my name?" he asked.

"Everyone in York knows your name. And outside the city gates, your fame has spread all the way to-" She laughed. "But that would be telling."

Jasper painfully wriggled out of her grasp. She lunged for him, dropping what she'd been clutching in her right hand, a bloody bundle. It fell to the ground. Jasper kicked it away, hoping she would go after it. It rolled out into the rain, the cloth unwinding to reveal a human hand.

Jasper screamed.

The woman pulled a knife from her cloak and raised it above him.

Jasper threw his hands up over his head, shielding himself.

She laughed. "Do not worry, Jasper. The point broke off in the stone, and I've no stomach to poke you to death with a blunt knife." She picked him up by the cowl again. "But from now on I'll carry a sharpened knife with a very good point. And if I hear you've said one word about what you've seen, or describe me to anyone, I will kill you. Or he will." She laughed again.

Jasper knew her now. He remembered that laugh from Corpus Christi Day. The woman who had laughed at Master Crounce.

She dropped him, grabbed up the hand, and stuffed it under her cloak. "Remember," she said, with a glint in her eye that made Jasper think she looked forward to stabbing him. And then she ran out.

Jasper pulled himself up to his knees and said a prayer of thanksgiving for his deliverance. When he tried to stand, a sharp pain ran up his right leg. He clenched his teeth and stood up straight. His right arm hung useless. The pain in his arm was a dull throbbing. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. He wanted his mother. He wanted things to be as they once were, his mother waiting for him, Mistress Fletcher yelling at him not to run up the stairs because it gave her a headache. Jasper felt hot tears on his cheeks.

But things were not as they once were. Jasper was alone. The Riverwoman had been right. He had enemies. Master Crounce's murderers. Jasper must disappear. He limped out of the minster.

One of the city bailiffs stomped into the shop, cursing the weather and then apologizing as he noticed Lucie standing at the counter. "Forgive me, Mistress Wilton, but it is a Hellish world out there today, all this rain and wind." He shivered and set a damp pack down on the counter before her. "1 took the liberty of pausing at the York Tavern and asking if Mistress Merchet might come here."

Lucie eyed the leather pack curiously. "What is this about, Geoffrey?"

Bess came bursting in the door. "So you've found a pack under Foss Bridge you want me to identify, eh?"

Geoffrey doffed his cap. "Mistress Merchet, I need you to tell me whether you recognize this pack, and then Mistress Wilton must identify the contents of a pouch within it." Geoffrey nodded to the travel-stained saddle pack on the counter. "It was found under a pile of rocks near Foss Bridge."

Bess touched the damp leather. "May I look inside?"

The bailiff nodded.

Bess opened the flap. Inside was a leather wineskin, empty, a change of clothes, several drawstring pouches, a small account book, a knife and spoon, and a pair of soft, impractical shoes in bright red. "Gilbert Ridley's, no doubt about it," Bess proclaimed.