Michael JECKS - The Crediton Killings

It was the rhythmic bumping that did it, he thought as he clung to the wobbling woodwork, eyes wide in horror. He felt as if he was moving yards at a time, in toward the wall, then away, with such force he was convinced the top of the ladder must spring from the scaffolding and hurtle away, pinning him and the other two underneath it as it fell.

“What is it?” he heard Edgar hiss, and with a supreme effort he managed to raise a foot carefully and plant it once more on a rung. He dared not look down at his servant, or speak in case his voice carried to the other side of the church. And from that moment until he came to the top of the ladder, he loathed Edgar.

At the top, he sidled sideways to fetch up on a plank, and here for a moment he allowed himself to catch his breath, still staring at the wall of the new church. He became aware of the two men coming up, and soon his heart lurched as the planks bounced under the weight of the others. Stifling a curse, he turned to motion to them to keep still, when he caught a glimpse of the scenery, and was held spellbound with fascinated terror at the height. He felt paralyzed, like a mouse freezing into immobility under the gaze of a cat. It was only when Edgar tapped him on the shoulder that he came to and prepared himself for the next stage of the climb.

This ladder was lashed loosely to the scaffolding at its base, which at least offered some degree of security to the quailing Keeper. Once more the center section rocked and bounced, filling him with dread, convinced now that the whole structure, not merely the ladder but the entire scaffold, must collapse. He clenched his teeth as he crossed the threshold of panic and continued upward.

There was only one more ladder, and this was shorter, but smaller in size, and considerably older. Hugh was after him, and he tugged his dagger free and tested the blade meditatively while they waited for Edgar.

Hugh had never felt so cold and pitiless before. He had been involved in fights often enough, especially when thieves tried to steal his lambs for the pot when he had been a boy, but this was not the anticipation of a fight, this was the righteous determination to seek justice. Nobody had the right to take captive his mistress, yet this little man was holding her and threatening to kill her. Hugh was determined to protect her, and in so doing, the family of the master. If he had anything to do with it, Margaret would be safe, and the butcher would die for what he had done.

It was not something in his blood which made him murderous; it was the memory of what had happened to Rollo after his mother had died, and the thought of how poor little Edith would react to hearing that her mother, her devoted mummy, had died. This made him tingle with animal anticipation, pricking the ball of his thumb on the point of his blade to see how sharp it was.

Edgar looked from him to his master with a blank expression. Hugh, he could see, was in a black mood, a killing mood, while Baldwin was close to shivering with fear. He stepped so slowly and carefully he looked as if he thought he was going to fall through a plank at any moment. It almost made Edgar want to laugh – or weep with frustration.

“Why didn’t you arrest him?” The thin voice floated down in the stillness before twilight with a curious calmness. “I tried to help you, you know. I tried to show you what he had done. First adultery, then the girl in the chest. The pauper was an old flame of his, and then my wife was a lover of his as well. I mean – it could hardly have been more obvious, could it? But you ignored all the hints. He must have paid you a fortune to keep away from him! That’s what you do, isn’t it? Take money to make sure that those who can afford it, avoid the rope. How can you justify your corruption?”

“We didn’t know, Adam.” Simon cried, aware of the desperation in his voice. “We thought the first girl died during the robbery, and the second we just weren’t sure about. Then, when we found your wife, we were right to think it wasn’t him, weren’t we? It was you all along, after all. But this has nothing to do with my wife, has it? Why not let her go?”

“NO!” The scream made the blood turn to ice in Simon’s veins. “Why should I, eh? Why should I let you have a life again? Why should I let you enjoy your woman again, when mine has been taken from me? Why should you deserve her when my own angel, my precious darling, is dead? Why should I let her live when you have ruined my life?”

“But I haven’t,” Simon protested desperately, his hands held out. “All I did was try to help my friend seek out the truth. It wasn’t a deliberate attempt to hurt you, just a seeking out of the facts…”

“Liar! You took his money to protect him, you can’t fool me!” To Simon’s horror, he began to edge his way nearer Margaret. “The Keeper is known to be fair and decent, I can’t believe he’d have tried to cheat me of justice, so who else could it have been, eh? Who else was with him day after day, investigating the affair, poisoning his mind by lies and treachery? There was nobody else – but you! You made him believe Sir Hector was innocent, that he was not the killer, that he hadn’t enjoyed my wife. It was all you!”

“Adam, look, why don’t you let me explain, let me tell you how it really was?” Simon pleaded.

“You – explain? But you’re a liar! How could I believe a word you told me?” Adam jeered. “The only one I could believe is the Keeper. He’s at least honorable, and maybe he should know the truth, so he can hold you in…” His voice faded as he surveyed the area before the church. “Where is he?” he screamed suddenly. “Where is he, the Keeper? He was here before, I saw him. Where’s he gone?”

“Nowhere. He just went to…”

“Now you’re lying again! You always lie – you’re corrupt! He’s gone, hasn’t he – but where to? Is he false too?” The tone of his voice had risen, and now he was screeching like an alewife. “Is he corrupt as well? He is, isn’t he?”

With mounting despair Simon saw his wife give him a wan smile as the butcher got behind her, and put the point of his knife at her throat.

“Please, please don’t hurt her! Look, I’ll come up myself – take me instead, don’t hurt her. She’s done you no harm, it’s me you want, so take me! Let me come up, I’ll bring no weapon, and you can do what you want with me. I’ll…”

“No! No! No! I want to see you grovel, I want to see you in agony. I want you to realize what my life has become, to suffer like I’m suffering. My wife is ruined and dead, and the man responsible is free still, and it’s your fault – all your fault! Well, watch this, Bailiff. Let’s see how bravely your own wife dies!”

From the bottom of the ladder, Hugh heard the conversation. Ignoring the others, he rushed up it; reaching the planking, he sprang forward, his dagger grasped firmly in his fist. He took in the situation at a glance; the butcher stood with his back to him on the opposite wall. Hugh sprinted to the corner, and then approached along the shorter wall. He was too far to attempt to throw his knife yet, so he grabbed his purse, sliced through the cords which bound it, and hurled it with all his might at the butcher’s back.

Adam snarled like a terrier distracted from its prey, and turned, his teeth bared. He shook a fist, and was about to turn back to Margaret, but Hugh now was close enough. He tossed his dagger up lightly, catching it by the very tip of the blade, then hurled it, roaring as he pounded along the ramshackle planking.

Dropping his own knife, Adam stared angrily at the bone handle which protruded from his breast. He muttered, and caught at the handle, as if to tug it free, but a thin dribble of blood spat from his lips, and he seemed to have lost all energy. His fingers were heavy, so very heavy, and it was hard simply to grip the knife. He gibbered in impotent rage, letting his arms fall as Hugh came closer, and took a step back. With a hideous screech of blind terror, he stumbled too far and fell over the edge.