Darkwalker

CHAPTER 4

“I still don’t understand why they wouldn’t have reported it to the constable,” said Kody, his gaze drifting over the gallery of skeletal white poplars flanking the road to North Haven. The trees offered little protection from the cold gusts blowing down from the hills; icy blades of wind sliced through the ribs of the forest, whistling eerily. The horses bowed their heads against the chill, their progress watched hungrily by a murder of crows that sheltered in the branches above, flapping and cackling. Must be carrion nearby, Kody thought.

Lenoir still hadn’t said anything, so Kody continued. “If my son’s body was stolen, I’d want to find out who did it and why.”

“Perhaps there are circumstances surrounding the incident that the victims do not want known,” said Lenoir. “Or perhaps they did tell the constable, but he did not trust the Metropolitan Police with the information.”

I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s because half the force is corrupt, and the other half is incompetent. Kody sighed inwardly, pushing the bitter thought aside. It wasn’t that bad. But it was getting harder and harder to be optimistic about the Kennian Metropolitan Police, and working with Lenoir wasn’t exactly a morale booster.

“Whatever the reason, Sergeant, I do not want a repeat of yesterday’s incident. Unless someone can provide us a motive, or at least a solid lead, it is virtually certain that we will never find this child’s body. The crime scene is far too old, and the trail will have gone cold long since. So do not be too hopeful.”

God forbid anyone should be hopeful, Inspector.

Their horses crested a hill in the road, and the shambling outline of North Haven rose from the earth like a corpse from its grave. It slumped and careened at all angles, its crude construction slowly yielding to the ravages of the relentless Braelish winters. As they got closer, the impression of decay and neglect only grew stronger. Crumbling, desiccated mud walls propped up thatch roofs scabbed over with moss, the dwellings separated from one another by desultory little fences of woven sticks. The main road remained dry and hard-packed beneath their horses’ hooves, a sign that it rarely saw wagon traffic. That didn’t surprise Kody. North Haven was barely larger than Brackensvale, and every bit as provincial.

Maybe that explained the mistrustful stares of the townspeople they came across. As they rode down the main street, people turned to gaze up at them, their expressions dark and forbidding. Crowds stopped talking as they passed. A mangy-looking dog scampered out from a nearby yard and followed them for a while, barking loudly and nipping at the heels of the horses until Kody threw a crab apple at it, sending it slinking off into the trees. In all, it wasn’t the warmest of welcomes.

“This is why city folk never leave Kennian,” Kody said under his breath. “You’d think we were an occupying army, the way these people act. What’s their problem, anyway?”

“You have answered your own question, Sergeant. City folk almost never set foot in the villages, and when they do, it does not tend to be good news.”

“Bit of a chicken-and-egg thing, isn’t it?” Kody said, eying a blacksmith warily. The man had stopped working as they drew near, and there was something vaguely threatening in the way he held his heavy iron hammer.

Lenoir smirked. “Perhaps you should explain that to them. I’m sure they would appreciate your insight.”

The constable met them in the village green. He looked nervous. And so he should, Kody thought disapprovingly. A felony had gone unreported, which meant that the constable was derelict in his duty. He was supposed to report weekly to the Metropolitan Police—or immediately, if the crime was serious. Lenoir had said that a few weeks had already gone by since the local boy’s body was stolen. Either the constable hadn’t known about it, or he had failed to report it. Neither possibility reflected well on him.

“Good morning, Inspector,” Constable Brier said wanly, taking the bridle of Lenoir’s horse. “Your message was cryptic, and a bit sudden too. The messenger left not two hours ago—I haven’t had time to learn much.”

“The message contained all the relevant information, Constable,” said Lenoir. “We are here to investigate a crime that should have been reported—when? How long since the boy’s body was stolen?”

Brier’s barely restrained nervousness tumbled out of him now. “I heard nothing of it, Inspector! Your message took me completely by surprise!”

Lenoir raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? That is disturbing, Constable, since I am told the entire village talks of the matter.”

Brier turned a deep crimson. He opened his mouth, but apparently he didn’t know what to say, because he closed it again.

“Let us get started, then,” said Lenoir, and Brier nodded numbly. Fetching his own horse, he led the way back onto the main street.

There were three churches in town, and the first they visited wasn’t the right one, as its priest was quick to inform them. When they got to the second, larger church, they could tell right away they were in the right place. Where the first had been busy, with several market stalls out front and a steady stream of parishioners through the main doors, this church was all but deserted. With its crude stone construction—blocky and impersonal, overgrown with ivy—it looked like a neglected tombstone.

The priest came out into the courtyard to meet them. “I heard your hoofbeats on the flagstones. I have been expecting you, after a fashion.” He wore a weary expression, but his manner was friendly enough as he showed the officers where to tether their horses.

“What do you mean, you have been expecting us?” asked Lenoir when they had dismounted.

The priest sighed. “I knew this matter could not long escape the attention of the Metropolitan Police. It is simply too horrible.”

“Why didn’t you report it, then?” Brier snapped. “We could have raised the hue and cry!”

The priest eyed Kody and Lenoir apprehensively; he was probably wondering whether they would arrest him. “Can you imagine what it is like to have something like this happen at your church? My parishioners should think this a holy place, not a place of evil. I wanted to keep word of the incident to myself and the parents, not have it become known throughout the Five Villages.”

Brier pointed an accusing finger at the priest’s chest. “That was not your decision to make!” He would have said more, but Lenoir raised a hand, and the constable subsided.

“You must have known that would be impossible, Brother,” said Lenoir.

“Apparently so, as you see. Since news of the theft became known, not a single family has come to lay their loved ones to rest. They think this place is defiled.”

Lenoir frowned. “Defiled?” Either he didn’t know the word, or he was simply astonished at how provincial these people were.

In case it was the former, Kody explained, “The outer villages are superstitious. People out here favor supernatural explanations instead of reason.”

The priest’s expression hardened. “Ah, yes, of course. Well, I trust your reason will provide a ready explanation for what has happened here. Mr. and Mrs. Jymes will no doubt be comforted that the superior minds of Kennian are involved in locating their son’s body.” Kody felt himself flush as the priest turned away, heading for the cemetery.

“Somehow, Sergeant, I do not think you have struck a blow for intervillage relations,” said Lenoir.

The priest showed them the plot where the boy’s body had been. “It was stolen in the night, of course. Only one day after the burial.”

“How old was he?” asked Lenoir.

“Called to God at nine years,” the priest intoned gravely.

Kody felt a jolt. Could it be a coincidence? “The boy in Brackensvale was also nine, Inspector.”

Lenoir didn’t seem to hear. He gazed at the grave site, visibly annoyed. “The evidence has been destroyed.”

The priest was unapologetic. “You would not have found anything, Inspector. Footprints and the work of a spade—nothing more.”

“How did the boy die?” Lenoir asked.

“Fever.”

“And his parents, where are they?”

“Not far from here,” Brier said, eager to help. “I can take you there, if you like.”

They remained in North Haven until late afternoon, but they didn’t learn anything useful. So Lenoir said, anyway, but Kody thought they were overlooking an important detail.

“The two boys were the same age,” he pointed out as they rode back to Kennian. “That must be significant.”

“Why must it?” Lenoir asked indifferently.

“Well, it can’t be coincidence.”

“Of course it can, Sergeant. The corpse thief is obviously interested in fresh bodies, ones that have not yet decomposed. My guess is that we are dealing with a philosopher of some kind, someone who is using the bodies for research purposes. He looks for a dead child, and then he digs it up. Two children aged nine died recently, so he dug up two children aged nine. It is not significant.”

As a rule, Kody didn’t see much point in arguing with people who’d already made up their minds—and that went double for Lenoir. But he wasn’t willing to let this one pass, not without a fight. “With all due respect, Inspector, wasn’t it you who taught me that every detail is significant?”

“I also taught you not to allow yourself to be distracted by them. You must consider the motive, Sergeant. If you cannot explain why the crime has been committed, you will never solve it. You must focus on the whole of the thing, find the story behind it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Maybe there is no pattern here, but maybe there is, and we have to want to see it. Whether it’s a constellation or just stars depends on who’s looking.”

Lenoir sneered. “Such affection you have for that hackneyed saying of yours. You do realize it makes you sound like a romantic fool?”

They fell into a cold silence. If I’m a romantic fool, Kody thought bitterly, you’re a lazy bastard. Lenoir didn’t want to acknowledge a pattern because that would mean they had a lead, and they would be obliged to follow it. If Kody was right, they could bide their time until another nine-year-old boy died, and then watch the grave until the thief appeared. But as usual, Lenoir seemed perfectly uninterested in solving this case.

Kody didn’t know how much longer he could cope without his frustration boiling over. He’d specifically requested to serve under Nicolas Lenoir, since the man was something of a legend. Lenoir had done a lot to professionalize the city’s police force—in fact, he’d practically founded the Metropolitan Police ten years before, remodeling it after the renowned Prefecture of Police in his native city of Serles. That done, he’d gone on a brief but spectacularly successful rampage against Kennian’s complex criminal networks. He and Sergeant Crears (now Constable Crears) had broken up the largest thieving ring in Kennian’s history, recovering almost a million crowns’ worth of goods and arresting the city’s most notorious crime lord. Crears was promoted, and Lenoir received a commendation from the lord mayor.

But those days were long gone. Having secured his place as the top inspector on the force, Lenoir no longer felt the need to exert himself. He still hauled in the occasional big fish, but mostly he just went through the motions. He was a brilliant detective; Kody had seen flashes of his genius on plenty of occasions. But mostly he was cynical and indifferent, and Kody had a hunch that wasn’t the worst of it. Instead of propelling his career forward, working as Lenoir’s deputy had frozen his progress, ensuring that he never had the chance to break a major case. Quite simply, Lenoir was holding him back.

No more.

He broke the silence. “I understand this case probably isn’t worth your attention,” he said coolly, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to look into it a little further.”

Lenoir glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “As you like, Sergeant, but it is a waste of your time. You will not find anything.”

Maybe not, Kody conceded inwardly, but at least I’m willing to look.