Michael Jecks - The Malice of Unnatural Death

Simon’s face clouded. ‘So he was an assassin? We had heard as much.’

‘Yes. But not a mercenary. He would only ever work for the king.’

Baldwin stood and walked about the room, a hand cupping his chin, the other wrapped about his upper body. He didn’t look at Newt as he asked, ‘Did he ever kill a man here?’

Newt cleared his throat. ‘I think so.’

‘Who, and when?’

‘He told me a long time ago that he had to come here when the Bristol men revolted against their tallage. You remember that?’

‘Of course I do. It was the outset of the dread years, wasn’t it? The city was in revolt from 1314 to 1316, when the wholeposse of the county was called out against the men of the city. Was it not Pembroke who had to lay siege?’

‘Yes. I think there were upwards of eighty who were outlawed. It was a disaster, especially coming on the heels of Bannockburnand other failures of the king’s. That was why … well, I was gaoled the year before, in 1315, because the king was waryof any comments that held his authority in contempt. And it was why Walter was sent down here a while afterwards.’

‘Why?’

‘If you knew Walter, you’d know that there was no point asking him something like that. He’d just be quiet, and you wouldn’t want to ask again. However, I have heard that a man died. A fellow called Piers de Caen.’

‘And this was when?’ Simon said.

‘It was the same year as the Bristol riots — the year sixteen. He was calming hotheads here because the king did not wantto see any more challenges to his authority. He couldn’t afford them. Christ Jesus, it was bad enough that he should havelost his greatest friend …’

‘Gaveston?’

‘Yes. So Walter was here, and afterwards, when it came to his leaving the king’s service because he was getting to be quitean old man, well, he thought of this city because he had liked the feel of the place when he had been here before.’

‘So what you’re saying is, he chose to retire to the place where he had pacified the people,’ Simon said with a knowing nod.

Baldwin shook his head slowly. ‘No, I don’t think that’s quite what he’s saying, is it, Robinet? You think he came here forslightly different reasons, don’t you?’

‘He liked it here. He felt safe.’

‘Yes. Because he could cow the people who lived here. Isn’t that right?’

‘I suppose that’s one way to look at it.’

‘Because when he was here, I don’t remember any rioting.’

‘There wasn’t any,’ Simon agreed. ‘Nothing here in 1316 or afterwards — the famine was kicking in by then, after all.’

‘That’s not what he meant,’ Baldwin said, turning back to them and sitting on the table’s edge. ‘No, our friend here is talkingabout a hired murderer who retired to the place where he felt secure because he reckoned he could kill others with impunity. That was how he “pacified” this city, after all, wasn’t it, Robinet? He killed Piers de Caen.’

‘I think so.’

‘And that was the friend you had?’ Baldwin spat contemptuously.

‘He was a friend to me,’ Newt said defensively. ‘All those he killed were enemies of the king. He was no murderer, but a professionalacting in the interests of the crown.’

‘A mercenary,’ Simon said with disgust.

‘No. A king’s man. A man from the king’s household. And honourable. He would only kill quickly and with the minimum of pain. I know that.’

Baldwin’s tone was dismissive. ‘You may do — I do not. Killers are killers, friend. Once a man gets a taste for slaughter,it is a hard habit to vanquish.’

Exeter City

Baldwin and Simon walked back towards their inn with the coroner.

‘My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut!’ Coroner Richard declared loudly as they passed the bloody stain in the street where Sarra had lain.

Baldwin was looking at the stain, and now he frowned and stared towards the undercroft. ‘Whoever killed Walter, they musthave invited him down there. Surely a professional killer like Walter wouldn’t have let the man get behind him?’

‘If it was an older man, perhaps then he’d do it,’ Simon guessed. ‘This necromancer is said to be tall and skinny. A haggardold man, from what we’ve heard. Surely a brave and brawny man would feel safe enough with someone like that behind him?’

The coroner was thinking. ‘If I were a mercenary killer like Walter, I doubt I’d let my own mother behind me. I’d be insidethe room and sidle round with my back to the wall. I certainly wouldn’t allow a man rumoured to be a paid assassin to getbehind me, no matter how old and decrepit he was.’

‘That is how I read it too,’ Baldwin said. ‘It makes little sense to me. Do you think that man was telling the truth, Simon?’

‘Yes. I trusted his word,’ Simon said. ‘He seemed quite rational and sensible to me.’

‘Certainly rational,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I wonder if he told us all the truth.’

‘What else could there be?’

Coroner Richard stopped and was gazing at Baldwin with his head set to one side. ‘You have an idea, don’t you?’

Baldwin continued walking for a few paces, then halted, his head bowed. ‘I think I have the beginnings of an idea, but I amsure of nothing yet. I have to consider things more carefully.’

‘In the meantime,’ Simon said, ‘I think that we ought to make sure that the woman who tried to kill the sheriff’s wife hasbeen captured. If she is still wandering the streets, others could be in danger.’

‘Yes,’ the Coroner agreed. ‘We should make our way to the castle as quickly as possible and ensure that the good lady arrivedhome safely.’

‘To check that she has suffered no harm,’ Simon agreed.

‘Oh, yes. And to see what they serve in the sheriff’s hall for dinner. It is a fish day, and I have heard that he does notstint when it comes to a good fish pie and wine,’ the coroner agreed unperturbably, a beatific smile fixed to his face.

Robinet stood watching from Langatre’s doorway as the three men disappeared east up the hill, and only when they were outof his sight completely did he dart back into the house, into the magician’s hall, and over to a table. There he found a knifewith a good oak handle. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. The blade was a scant two and a half inches in length, and black all over, unpolished from the forge, with only the edge keen and gleaming where it had been honed. Putting it on his forefinger, he found that the short blade balanced the heavy wooden handle nicely. It was ideal.

With it in his pocket, he peered out through the doorway into the street. He had worked in places like this often enough torecognise potential danger when it was visible. Today he could see nothing, and he soon nodded to himself and slipped out,his back to the wall for the first five paces, eyes scanning the street, where there was nothing to give him cause to shy. After that, he set off at a smart pace, up towards the Carfoix, and once there he turned southwards to the South Gate.

He knew that his friend had been grabbed from behind. He intended to see that no one had an opportunity to do the same tohim.

His old friend had been in that room for a specific reason. He reckoned that it was likely that the necromancer had invitedhim inside, or perhaps the man had left the undercroft, and the watcher had thought it safe to essay a short investigationinto what the magician was attempting. No matter. The man had killed a close friend. He would suffer for it.

First, he must find the evil bastard who had been there in the room. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do that yet, but he’dthink out a way soon, and then, when he had the man in his hands, he’d kill him very slowly indeed. He’d learn whether a necromancer could beg a demon to harm a man when his own fingers had all been cut off.