Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

The third of these had lived a little farther down the road from Langatre’s house, and as he passed by, he saw Ivo Trempole again.

‘Any fortune?’ Ivo asked when he caught Baldwin’s eye.

‘None, I fear,’ Baldwin said.

‘I was thinking …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, if there was someone in the town, we’d have learned about him. People always spot someone nearby who’s doing strangethings.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. After walking about the city all afternoon learning that no one knew anything that could help him, hewas in no hurry to be told that he had been on a wild goose chase. He moved to walk away. Even Sir Richard’s company was preferableto this.

‘It occurred to me, though, that perhaps this man, if there is one, isn’t a local? Perhaps it’s someone who’s only recentlycome to the city.’ Catching sight of Baldwin’s expression, he apologised quickly. ‘I’m sorry, sir knight. It was silly. Iwas just thinking …’

‘No — you are quite right. This could so easily be someone who has only recently come to the city. It would explain much. But …’ His face grew more lugubrious as he considered the problem. ‘How would I learn whether there was anyone who hadrecently come to the city and might practise the magical arts?’

Ivo screwed up his face. ‘I’d speak to the keepers of the gates. They ought to know if there were any real strangers comingin. They know the regular visitors, like those who supply the markets, and they’d be sure to notice strangers. Try old Halat the South Gate. That’s the main way into the city for anyone usually.’

‘I shall — and, friend, I am most grateful,’ Baldwin said.

As he left Ivo, another thought struck him. If a man was recently arrived in the city, in order to make no noise as he walkedin he must have travelled light. A fellow with a packhorse or a cart would be more noticeable. But a necromancer had needof his tools. Perhaps a necromancer without his tools had come, and required replacements?

It was an interesting hypothesis, anyway.

Robinet stood in the street and stared again at the place where he thought he had seen the man on the night James died.

Ach! It was one thing to think that a man was there in the middle of the night, when it was silent, all the people back intheir homes, probably in their beds, but now? With all the noise and bustle of the city in the middle of the day, it was nearimpossible to bring back to mind that strange memory. The only thing he thought he could remember was that the figure wasshortish, but beyond that the darkness and the ale had wiped the details from his mind.

He had been walking here for hours now, just walking the way that they had come, trying to prompt something — anything — that might help; but nothing occurred to him. At last, now, he was meandering about the place and eyeing the people millingall round, wondering whether a face or shape might prompt something. So far nothing had worked.

‘You still here?’

‘Just looking about.’

Walter looked at him and shook his head. ‘Look, the man who killed him probably had no knowledge who it was he killed. It’snot as though James was a man who would be missed.’

‘He was a king’s man,’ Robinet said obstinately.

‘He was an arse. He ruined you.’

‘It was largely my own fault.’

‘And had you gaoled fine, didn’t he?’

Newt shrugged. It was true, and he had hated James for it at the time. Christ Jesus, the first moment he saw James here in Exeter, he had thought to kill the man. But then he had seen the shadow of the lad he had helped train in the job, and suddenlyall that had been less important. Especially when James had apologised. It was a little thing, but Robinet was not the sortof man to bear a grudge unnecessarily. If James was contrite, and he did appear to be, well, there was little worth in beingangry or bitter about things. The king had forgiven him a long while ago, and Newt was well protected now, with his corrody.

‘Just leave him be, friend. There’s a murder every few weeks here. What’s the point of seeking James’s killer when there areso many others? They never get resolved, and I doubt this one will either.’

‘He was once a friend,’ Newt said softly. ‘That makes it worthwhile for me.’

Walter nodded, but gave a twisted grin. ‘Not for me, though. I’m back for some food. You coming?’

Robinet was tempted. He had been walking and thinking all day without a break, but he shook his head. ‘I’ll stay here a littlelonger. Just to see if I can recognise anyone.’

Walter gave a chuckle and shook his head as he strode off towards his house. He was clearly of the impression that Newt hadlost his senses over this matter.

Well, his opinion was not important, Robinet thought to himself. No. The main thing was that he felt as though he had a duty to find his apprentice’s killer, no matter who that man might be.

From Langatre’s house, it was a short walk up the hill to the main South Gate Street, and thence down to the gate itself. On the way, Baldwin wondered whether he might meet the coroner again, and found himself hoping against hope that he wouldnot. The coroner was a kindly soul, it was true, and generally had a shrewd mind, but his loudness and constant attempts attelling jokes were wearing after a while. Baldwin was happier to try to find out all he could without his company.

The keeper of the gate was standing before the arch with his thumbs stuck in his belt, grinning broadly at the sight of acarter shouting with rage and kicking at his horse. His exhausted old nag stood patiently, head hanging in the shafts, andas Baldwin approached he saw the man aim a kick at her flank. She moved with the pain, but was too tired to do more than shakeher head and whinny.

‘Damned fool. Has turds for brains,’ was the gatekeeper’s assessment. ‘Came in here with his cart overloaded, and then complainswhen the poor beast can’t carry it all.’

‘Does it often happen here?’ Baldwin asked, seeing other splinters and shards of broken wheels about the place.

‘Fair bit. If a carter’s an idiot. The way up here is not so steep as Stepecote, but it’s bad enough. Look at her! She’s carryingfar too much on that cart. It’s his own fault.’

Baldwin could only agree. ‘Master Hal? I have been advised to speak to you.’

‘What about?’ His eyes had hardened instantly, and now Baldwin was aware that the fellow’s smile was gone like frost in thesunshine. ‘If it’s anything to do with my lad, I’ll …’

‘I am trying to learn whether anyone has come to the town recently who might have looked suspicious. I was told,’ he improvisedshamelessly, ‘that you were the most astute of all the gatekeepers, and if anyone was a stranger, and looked up to no good,you’d be the man to spot him.’

‘Aye, well, that’s as may be. True enough, I suppose, but what would you want with the man?’

‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace, friend,’ Baldwin said silkily, with just a hint of menace. ‘You can be assured that I have my reasons for wanting to speak to him.’

‘Well, there’s no one I’ve seen entering by my gate,’ the man said shortly, and would have left, but Baldwin shook his head.

‘What does that mean? Hal, you say that no one entered by your gate, but the very way you say it seems to imply that you haveseen something — what?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Let me guess, then. You know about the two dead men. One was a local man, who had few enemies from what I have heard. Hecould have been killed by anyone — but more likely a stranger with a knife than someone who knew him. And then there was theother: a king’s messenger, no less. Someone with a pouch full of important notes for other people. Surely a man who woulddare to kill such a one would dare anything at all. He must be a most dangerous fellow.’