Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘She may well be. The inconsistencies in her story certainly point to it. But why tell me something that would be contradicted immediately? Was she lying, or did she believe it to be true? The one problem that I cannot resolve is the motive.’

‘How could this thing happen?’ Murchad wondered. ‘A life at sea makes one always close to death, but never death in this fashion. Maybe this voyage is a doomed one. I heard that young religieux, Brother Dathal, saying as much. That this is like the voyage of Donn, god of death …’

Fidelma smiled thinly.

‘Superstition, Murchad; it imprisons the world with fears. Reason is that which opens the cage. There is a logical answer to every mystery, and we will find it. Eventually.’ She paused and then said: ‘Did you remain on deck all the while I was bathing?’

‘I did. I saw Gurvan tie the rope around you and then around the rail. I watched you dive into the sea. Don’t think that I have not tried to rack my memory to recall if I saw anyone go near the rope.’

‘Gurvan came and spoke with you at some point?’

‘Exactly as he said. He waited a while at the rail. I saw him raise his hand. Then Tola, who was walking on deck, engaged him in conversation. The wind began to freshen and he came to discuss it with me. I warned him to pull you in for I knew we would soon have steerage way.’

‘You did not notice anyone else on the deck near the rope?’

‘A couple of the crew were in the yards. I have already spoken to them while you were changing. They saw nothing. As we were expecting a wind, they were there to adjust the sail when it arose. There was someone else though …’ He frowned, ruffling the hair on the back of his head with his right hand. ‘I cannot say who it was.’

‘Surely you can describe the person?’

‘That I cannot say, for they were well for’ard and they had their hood-thing, you know …’

‘The cowl?’

‘Whatever you call it; the hood covered their head.’

‘So it was one of the pilgrims? Can you say whether it was a man or a woman?’

‘I couldn’t even say that, lady.’

‘Did you notice them go near the rail?’

‘They might have done so. There was no one else there at the time. The wind caught and I called on the crew. Gurvan went back to the rope at that time and realised something was wrong. The figure of the religieux had disappeared and I assumed that whoever it was had gone below.’

Murchad suddenly looked at her as though he had remembered something important.

‘I know they did not come back through the stern companionway.’

Fidelma was puzzled.

‘Where could they have gone then?’

‘Probably went through the for’ard hatch.’

‘But surely there is no access to the lower decks that way, is there?’

‘There is a small hatchway just outside your cabin door, but no one uses it. At least, none of the passengers would as it only leads down to the storage areas through which they would then have to make their way into the other areas of the ship.’

‘But there is a way of going below decks there and reaching the passengers’ cabins?’ When he confirmed it, she rose and said: ‘Let us examine it.’

They needed a light, for the small passage that separated Fidelma’s and Gurvan’s cabins on either side, and the head at the end of it, was dark. Fidelma went into her cabin to fetch a lamp. The furry black bundle of Mouse Lord, the cat, was curled up asleep at the foot of her bunk. Fidelma lit the lamp and joined Murchad who was levering up a small hatch from the floor. She had certainly not noticed it before. It was only big enough for one person to ease down at a time.

‘You say that this is not used often?’

‘Not often.’

‘And we can move from here the length and breadth of the ship?’ Murchad uttered an affirmative.

They halted at the bottom of the wooden steps in a small storage space. There was scarcely room to stand up. Fidelma raised the lamp and peered round.

‘Plenty of dust,’ she muttered. ‘I presume this is not often used as a cabin or even storage?’

‘Hardly ever,’ Murchad said. ‘The next cabin is where we keep our main stores.’

Fidelma pointed to a series of footprints on the floor.

‘Doubtless, Gurvan searched the space when he was looking forSister Muirgel on the second day out.’ When Murchad agreed, she added: ‘Then he would check after the storm in case of damage to the hull?’

‘Of course.’

She held the lamp close to the steps down which they had descended and bent down to examine them.

There were some brown stains on the boards and below the bottom step on the deck itself was a clear imprint of a foot.

‘What does it mean?’ asked Murchad.

‘I expect that you and Gurvan are the same size and build, aren’t you?’ Fidelma asked.

‘I suppose so. Why?’

‘Place your foot beside that print, Murchad. Beside it, mind you, not on it.’

Murchad did so. His boot was large by comparison.

‘That shows me that the print does not belong to Gurvan made at the time he discovered the body of Toca Nia.’

‘So?’

‘This is where the killer of Toca Nia came during the night. They moved silently through the ship and came up these steps. They disturbed me and I awoke, thinking, stupidly, it was rats or mice and pushed Mouse Lord out. But it was Toca Nia’s killer who went into his cabin and stabbed him in a frenzy of hate. So much so that blood spilt onto the cabin floor and their foot was covered in it. I noticed the footmarks and saw they led out into the passage, trying to separate Gurvan’s prints from them. They seemed to end and I thought the murderer must have wiped off the blood, not knowing of your hidden hatch. I now realise that it was by this route that they returned to their part of the ship.’

Murchad shook his head, perplexed.

‘But those stains can’t tell you much.’

‘On the contrary, the footprint at the bottom here tells me a lot.’ She pointed to the print with exhilaration spreading through her for the first time in days at finally finding a tangible piece of evidence.

‘What does it tell you?’

‘The size of that print tells me much about the person who killed Toca Nia. And now I am beginning to see a faint connection. Perhaps coincidences do not happen so frequently as we think that they do. The peson who killed Toca Nia is the same person who slaughtered Sister Canair back in Ardmore and stabbed Sister Muirgel. Perhaps …’ Fidelma fell silent, considering the problem.

‘I would be careful, lady,’ interposed Murchad anxiously. ‘If thisperson has attempted to kill you once, they may well try again. They obviously perceive you as a threat. Maybe you are close to discovering them.’

‘We must all be vigilant,’ Fidelma agreed. ‘But this person likes to kill in secret, of that I am sure. There is also one other thing that we may be sure of.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘Our murderer is one of only three people on this ship and that person, I believe, is insane. We must, indeed, be vigilant.’

That evening the winds began to change again. After the somewhat strained atmosphere at the evening meal, served as usual by Wenbrit, Fidelma went out on deck to join Murchad and Gurvan by the steering oar.

‘I am afraid we are in for another blow, lady,’ Murchad greeted her morosely. ‘We have been more than unlucky this voyage. Had the calm weather continued, we would be two days out from the Iberian port. Now we must see where the winds take us.’

Fidelma glanced up at the skies. They did not seem as bad as those harbingers of the storm during the first night out. True, they were dark-tinged, but not rushing across the sky as she had seen them on the previous occasion.