Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

‘Peter atte Moor was the father of the girl named Denise?’

‘Yes. Swet’s maid was third to disappear.’

Simon said sharply, ‘Third? We have only been told of two.’

‘Ah! You should speak to the Reeve again, master. Perhaps he forgot little Mary. Her parents died a while ago, so it wouldn’t be surprising, I suppose.’

Baldwin noted that. Another dead child. ‘How old was she?’

‘Same as the others, about ten or so, I think.’

‘Were there any travellers who were in the vill prior to each of these girls going missing?’ the Coroner demanded.

Adam shook his head. ‘No, there were few travellers then. Not enough food to go round.’

Vin nodded to each of Adam’s responses. He hated the interrogation, but he daren’t leave while they were talking, in case Adam gave something away. It was bad enough that Adam disliked Vin and might make some sly remark behind his back, about Vin always hating girls or something, but worse was the fact that Adam treated him as though he was soft in the head, the bastard.

‘Do you have any idea who could have wanted to kill these children?’ Coroner Roger asked.

Adam threw a sideways look at Vin, and there was a slight smile on his face as he opened his mouth.

Vin gabbled his words: ‘You already know!’

Baldwin blinked with surprise. ‘We do?’

‘It was a vampire, that’s what it was! A sanguisuga !’

Simon blenched, and the Coroner made a quick movement of his hand to ward off evil, but while Adam laughed, Baldwin merely looked intrigued.

‘Vampire? How did you know we spoke of such things?’

‘They’ve been talking to William Taverner,’ Simon said. ‘He must have overheard us last night.’

‘Yes. And Vin likes to imagine things like that,’ Adam said dismissively. ‘Spends half his time daydreaming. There’s no vampires here in Sticklepath.’

‘But there are rapists,’ Baldwin said. ‘What of this Samson?’

‘Rumours, nothing more,’ Adam said comfortably. ‘If I had any proof, I’d kill him myself. He’s a wife-beater, for sure, but a murderer? No. I expect the murderer was someone who hated the vill.’

As he spoke, Baldwin, who was watching him closely, saw a brief concentration in his expression. It was as though he had realised someone might have had a motive after all. ‘Such as whom?’ he asked.

‘I was only thinking that Ivo Bel has always hated this place, mainly because he can’t stand Thomas Garde, and he was here, I think, when Denise and Aline died. But again, there’s no proof.’

‘Where were you when the girls were killed?’ Baldwin said pointedly.

‘Me?’ Adam shrugged. ‘When Denise died, I was with Peter, her father. We were in South Zeal at the tavern, drinking with Drogo.’

‘What of you?’ Baldwin said, turning to Vincent.

‘I was on the moor. I lived up near Ivy Tor Water, with my father. My mother died when I was young and my father was a miner, a friend of Drogo’s, and when Denise died I was there with my father.’

‘And he can confirm that?’

‘No. He died years ago. Anyway, when Aline disappeared I was a fully-fledged Forester. I was with Drogo that night. I remember it clearly.’

‘You have a good memory,’ Baldwin said drily. ‘What of this third girl? What happened to her?’

‘Mary was an orphan. No one knew when she disappeared. I expect I was on the moors.’

‘So you have no alibi for the deaths, apart from Aline’s?’

‘I…’ Vin’s face reflected his confusion.

‘Don’t be hard on the boy,’ said Adam.

‘It’s a long time ago,’ Vin said, trying to remember, but his mind kept returning to that other night, when the Purveyor had been killed.

‘Very well,’ said Coroner Roger. ‘In the meantime, do you have any other suspicions as to who might have killed the children?’

There was a long silence, then Adam spoke.

‘That’s for you to find out, Coroner, isn’t it?’ he said with a cold smile.

The three left Adam and Vin a short time later, walking slowly on up the main roadway.

‘Vampires, my arse!’ Coroner Roger said.

‘The wall between the hall and the tavernkeeper’s room is thin,’ Baldwin said, ‘and I’ve never known an innkeeper yet who could keep his mouth shut.’

‘Yes,’ Simon said, ‘that must be it.’

‘Hey! That’s Miles Houndestail, isn’t it?’ Coroner Roger said, peering ahead intently.

‘Looks like him,’ Simon said.

‘I want to talk to him.’

‘Do you think he can tell you any more?’ Baldwin asked doubtfully.

‘As you suggested, I want to send someone to find out whether there was ever news of this Purveyor. That’s another ruddy missing person on our hands!’

Simon decided to leave them to their investigation. For his part, the murders were too long past to interest him; he couldn’t believe that they would discover the murderer, and after the excitement of the tournament he wanted rest. What’s more, he found the mention of vampires repellent. He knew such creatures existed, for men were daily warned of demons by priests, but to hear that a sanguisuga might actually be responsible for the deaths here was unnerving.

He strolled over to the spring at the foot of the sticklepath. Here, a narrow way led along the valley towards Belstone, and he idly walked down it, whistling tunelessly.

The sun was already high overhead and Simon could feel the heat seeping into him. In the bright sunshine it was hard to imagine the tale which Alexander had told of torrential rains and famine, yet Simon clearly recalled those terrible years. Down here, he thought, if the river were to flood, it would wash all along this valley, and then thunder into the vill and fields beyond.

He had reached the end of the flat section, where the ground became boggy and marshy. After this he remembered the path curled upwards, following the track of a spring, climbing away from the river, and then heading as straight as a ruler for Belstone. Rather than take that route, he sat on a convenient boulder and selected a smooth, flat stone, sending it spinning on the water. The river here was very fast and narrow, and his stone bounced once, then clattered onto the rock wall on the opposite bank.

So intent was he on his game that he didn’t notice the two at first. It was only when he glanced over his shoulder that he saw them.

They were approaching from Belstone, two young girls of maybe ten years or so. One was chubby, with a freckled, cheerful face and reddish hair, while the other was taller and more slender, with a heart-shaped face and regular, pleasant features. For some reason her dress was damp and badly stained. Simon recognised the shorter one as the girl Vincent had tickled earlier on.

They stopped when they saw him watching them, the chubbier one looking about with a quick anxiety, though the taller of the two appeared unconcerned. She studied Simon with a gravity he had not known in a young girl before. ‘You’re a stranger.’

‘Not in my home I’m not.’

‘Where is your home?’

‘Lydford, in the castle.’

She looked surprised. ‘I thought that was where the people were sent to gaol. Are you a prisoner?’

‘No!’ he laughed. ‘I am the Bailiff. Sometimes I have to put people into the gaol, but I never stay there myself. Who are you?’

‘I am Joan Garde, and this is my friend, Emma. We have been trying to see our friend Serlo.’

‘Is he a miner?’

‘No, he looks after the warrens.’

‘On the moors?’

‘Yes. He protects the warrens for Lord Hugh.’

Simon nodded. The girl’s face was as solemn as her manner. Perhaps she considered that this was the fitting way in which to address a Bailiff. All Simon knew was that it was novel to be treated with such respect. It was considerably more pleasing than the abuse he was used to receiving on the moors.