Priscilla Royal - Forsaken Soul

The Devil would not be put off by such a short distance, Thomas thought, but decided there was no merit in frightening the man further. If it was Satan, perhaps he could be of service. Sinner he might well be, but he still bore a monk’s tonsure. Oddly enough, he found himself eager to confront this tormentor of his and pushed his way through the crowd toward the entrance to the inn.

“Don’t go in there!” someone shouted at him.

“It is a monk from the priory. Prioress Eleanor has sent aid!”

“Brother Thomas!” another cried out. “Praise God and the holy priory for sending you to us!”

“May God forgive my sins!” A fat man collapsed to his knees as the monk passed. “Save us from the Evil One, and I will bring the priory an offering at daybreak. I swear it, Brother!”

Thomas hesitated a moment, recognized the man as one more prone to fair sayings than fine acts, and hurried on through the inn door. Shutting it carefully, he pressed his back against it, made the sign of the cross for protection, and looked around for imps or their fiendish prince.

There was nothing. He relaxed. How shabby an empty inn looked, he caught himself noting, and was oddly troubled by the observation.

Near the bottom of the stairs, he saw Signy standing beside her uncle and walked toward them. Their faces were pale; their staring eyes dark with fear.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Startled, Signy gasped and her hand flew to her heart. “How did word reach the priory so quickly?”

“It has not,” Thomas said. “I was sitting with old Tibia after she took a potion sent by Sister Anne. When I heard shouting, I rushed here to find the cause.”

The innkeeper grunted. “It’s well you did. Our crowner is in the loft alone, except for a corpse and a whore. Some claim Satan is flying about up there with his dark angels. Now that good King Henry is dead, the Prince of Darkness has little reason to show respect for a king’s man. What’s needed upstairs is a man of God to get rid of any rank spirit and save the crowner!”

“The Devil may be evil but he is not stupid,” Thomas replied. “King Edward is coming home from the Holy Land.” Looking up the stairs, he could see little and heard only the thud of footsteps mixed with muted speech. If Ralf was confronting Satan, they were both behaving in a most courteous fashion. “Satan knows how much God favors a crusader king and would face our crowner knowing that.”

“I am so grateful the herb woman left the inn before this happened!” Signy hugged herself to keep from shaking. “Is she well, Brother? Should I go to her now that you are here?”

“The drink caused her to fall into a deep sleep. Methinks she will be well enough until morning.” He turned to the innkeeper. “You said our crowner is in the loft with a corpse and a harlot. Then the Devil came? Or was this in reverse. I do not understand.”

The man puffed his florid cheeks out. “My business did not need this. It is hard enough to keep good customers with the common twists and turns of trade, but news of violent death in an inn scares people away faster than rotten meat.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow at the reply. If the innkeeper was now worrying more about trade than fork-tailed imps, he was recovering from his fright. Any conclusion that Satan had made a personal appearance here was also growing less likely.

“A man is dead,” the man continued. “When the news spread, someone claimed to have seen a black-winged imp with a bloody mouth fly out the door. My customers fled and now rumor is rife that my inn has been taken over by the Prince of Darkness.” The innkeeper waved at the crowd outside. “My trade suffers! The ale I bought turns stale, and the stew grows rancid. Those men outside should be drinking and eating in here.” He blinked, then began to grin at Thomas with new hope shining in his eyes. “Could you do an exorcism to scare the Fiend away, Brother? Done while the whole village could watch? Doesn’t the Devil flee in a great puff of smoke, or something like that, to prove he’s left?”

“Uncle, I think we might show some concern for the safety of our crowner-and the whore as well,” Signy said through clenched teeth.

The innkeeper’s expression did not suggest he was regaining much interest in either.

“Has anyone called for his sergeant?” Thomas asked.

The innkeeper shrugged and looked at his niece.

“Not yet,” Signy said. “Ralf ran upstairs as soon as he heard a scream. He has not come down or asked us to do anything yet.”

“He must be safe enough,” the innkeeper added. “I may have heard some curses but haven’t yet smelt burnt flesh.”

“Then I shall join him,” Thomas said, looking up at the loft.

“Take care, Brother,” Signy cried out. “I will send someone for Cuthbert.”

“If you get rid of the Devil while you are up there, Brother, spread the tale.” The innkeeper winked. “I will double my next gift to the priory hospital.”

Thomas nodded and started his climb upward. If the innkeeper even paid his expected tithe to the parish church, he thought, Prioress Eleanor would count it a minor miracle.

***

Thomas gagged as the stench from excrement and vomit hit his nose and bore into his stomach.

“Get out of here,” Ralf roared at the sound of the monk’s retching.

The harlot, Ivetta, cowered naked on a bed in a corner of the room. She held one arm across her breasts and a hand between her thighs. “It’s a monk,” she squealed.

Ralf turned around, his expression softening with both fondness and amusement. “What brought you here, Brother? Does the Virgin now send your prioress visions or is her new anchoress truly an all-knowing saint?”

Thomas swallowed hard, then coughed. “I was close by, sitting with old Tibia, and heard the shouting. What is going on?”

As the crowner rose from his crouch, he pointed to the corpse. “Martin, formerly a cooper,” he said as calmly as if he were making polite introductions.

The dead man lay on the floor, a dull, rough sheet twisted around his naked body. Both were spotted with yellow, brown, and blood-red stains. Considering the pattern of body fluids scattered around the room, the cooper must have violently flung himself about before he died.

“It was the Devil did it,” Ivetta whimpered.

“Or else you because he wouldn’t pay your fee,” Ralf snapped.

Thomas looked about for something to cover the woman, then spied a crumpled gown on the floor nearby and tossed it to her. “Why do you think it was Satan?”

She snatched the thing and fingered the coarse cloth as if finding some comfort there. “You should have seen Martin’s eyes. Just before he started to jerk about, they grew so big! They changed color from blue to black. He must have seen the Evil One!”

“If his eyes were big, maybe he did. The sight of you, in any light, would cause a man’s parts to shrink.” Ralf was back down on his knees.

She spat at him, then pulled the round-necked tunic over her head and let it fall carelessly around her body.

The crowner rolled the corpse over. “What think you, Brother? I smell no fumes from Hell. I’d swear the Devil had less to do with this crime than his handmaid.”

“The stench seems mortal enough, but I would not conclude much else from that.” Thomas continued to study the pale-faced woman in the corner.

“What handmaid, Crowner?” Ivetta cried, suddenly aware of what Ralf was suggesting.

“Did Martin refuse to pay his entry fee when he found the doorway fouled?”

Ivetta flew at Ralf, her fingers bent like eagle talons.

Thomas grabbed her before she did damage to a king’s man. “Be still, woman! You were witness to what happened. We must hear the details from you.”