Forsaken Soul

Chapter Sixteen

“If you want information, Crowner, talk to Will or Hob.” The innkeeper scowled as he recounted the dead rabbits lying on the table in front of him. “Ask the whore too. I’m a busy man.”

Ralf shoved the carcasses to one side and leaned toward the man. “The night of Martin’s death. I want details from you.”

Clearly annoyed at the interruption to his concentration, the man separated the rabbits once more, pointed a pudgy finger at the first one, and started yet another count.

“Answer my question. I’m not here to watch you pretend King Edward is stopping for his first good English meal since leaving on crusade.”

The innkeeper’s resigned sigh was as huge as he was. “Martin made the same arrangements he always did when he had Ivetta to himself for the night. He paid for the upstairs room and a proper meal to go with it. Something to break his fast the next morning as well, although he never got to that this time, did he? Now there’s a difference for you!” The innkeeper moved the carcasses to one side and dumped a basket of fish in their place. “Twelve rabbits,” he shouted to somebody. “Skinny. Tell Hanry to bring me fatter ones, or I’ll buy elsewhere.”

Ralf was sure the conies were poached but had usually ignored this one practice on the assumption that most lords were in little danger of running short of rabbits to feed upon. “Did the harlot come with him or later?”

“Later.”

“You got your share first?”

“I own the room, not the whore. He paid me what I asked when he made his arrangements. Ask her when he gave her whatever he thought she was due-or what, if that means anything to you.”

The crowner glanced at the fresh, glistening trout. The innkeeper had never cheated on the quality of what he served at the inn, giving fair value for anything sold. He might bluster and rant about prices and business above all else, but he was an honest enough man. Ralf decided he would probably tell him the truth despite his obvious reluctance.

“So Martin went up to the room alone?”

“Aye. He paid and climbed the stairs.”

“The harlot came next? No one else?”

“You think I have the time to spy like a woman on her neighbors? I’ve a business to run, something you seem to have forgotten.”

“You keep your eyes honed well enough for anyone who might cheat you of a tiny silver farthing or cause trouble.”

The innkeeper solemnly considered that for a moment, then his features relaxed as if he had concluded the observation was a compliment. “Hob and Will arrived, then the whore. The brothers often joined Martin upstairs for ale.” He snorted. “And more if the cooper was feeling generous.”

“Who served the food and drink?”

“My niece. Perhaps you might find some answers there, if you sing sweetly enough.”

Ralf’s face grew hot. “I am investigating a murder, not playing minstrel.”

Glaring at the king’s man, the innkeeper growled like an apprehensive dog. “She has yet to kill a man, Crowner, although she might have had cause-one time or another.”

Ralf swallowed a retort.

The man swept the fish back into the basket. “On her way to deliver the fare, she stopped to talk with me. She did not like that I rented the room upstairs to men who pay to swyve Ivetta.” Shrugging, he continued, “Not that I fault her, but the coin was reliable and Ivetta is clean. No one has claimed to have caught any sickness from her. Had anyone complained that they had done so, I would have banned her.”

The crowner nodded.

“While we talked, she put the tray down. Perhaps someone dropped the poison in the food then?”

“Did your niece always serve them?”

“Aye. She knows our inn depends on its reputation for good service given in exchange for good coin. She might not like doing it, but she understands business.”

“Did she say anything later about what she saw that night?”

“I didn’t ask her. Look, my niece has never been happy about this agreement. I do not want to start a quarrel so I never bring it up. See no point in inviting her woman’s squall. Now that Martin’s died, the whoring upstairs is done. It’s one thing to rent a room for a purpose I can turn my back to, but I don’t want the reputation of running a brothel. Ivetta can whore from now on in her own hut, if she can find the custom without her bawd.”

“Whatever you may have wished, your niece chose to confront you about the arrangement anyway. Was that a common practice of hers or had something different happened to cause it that night?”

“Nothing odd. That’s just a woman for you, continuing to argue about settled matters.” Shaking his head, the innkeeper lugged the fish basket over to the door. “These are ready to gut,” he shouted.

A man as tiny as the innkeeper was huge rounded the corner. With ease, he hoisted the basket onto his shoulder and disappeared in the direction of the inn’s cookhouse.

The fish had looked good, Ralf thought, his stomach issuing an appreciative rumble. Maybe he’d return for the evening meal. “Where did your niece put her tray down?” he continued.

“At the table near the door.” The innkeeper waved for the crowner to follow him into the public room, then pointed out the specific place.

“And who passed by while you talked?”

“My back was to it. Ask Signy if you want details.”

“No one was sitting there? On such a busy night?”

“You were near. Why don’t you ask yourself if you remember anyone?”

Ralf walked over to the innkeeper and jabbed a finger into the man’s chest. “Mock and you may find your inn is filled with my men often enough to frighten away anyone with the slightest fear of the king’s justice.”

The man stepped back. “No need, Crowner, no need! I have told the truth. I saw nothing, remember nothing, and am too busy to care what anyone is doing. Were I to notice such things, I might be crowner instead of you.” He yelped as Ralf shoved him. “A jest! ‘Twas a jest!”

Ralf did not step away. His teeth were so close to the innkeeper’s nose he could have bitten it off.

The man bent back as if he feared that was exactly what the crowner had in mind. “For God’s sake, I know nothing more about what happened that night. The harlot screamed. I ran to see what had happened. My niece has told me nothing. Ivetta has lost her bawd and has not returned here. Martin is dead. Business has suffered. What more do you think I can tell you?”

“Hob and Will? Did they quarrel with Martin and did they do so often?”

The innkeeper blinked. “Quarrel? You know the three well enough to answer that yourself. You are all of an age.”

“I have not been here for many months. Things change. Answer me.”

“They haven’t. They fight when they are drunk, and then buy each other ale the next night. Sometimes Will stayed to share Ivetta. That angered Signy more than when Martin had the whore by himself because it meant she must serve refreshments more than once.”

“Were they sharing the whore that night?”

“Martin slipped me extra and ordered more food and wine when they did. I never knew until then. Don’t think it was always planned. That night I knew only that he was with Ivetta, and he died before he could pay me the additional. And he was good about that. He was an honest man about it.”

“How about Ivetta? Did she have any quarrel with the cooper?”

The man laughed. “He never beat her. She ate well enough and drank more. Her clothes were no worse than any harlot might expect. Many wives would be happy with a man like Martin, let alone a woman of her trade. And, unlike a spouse, Ivetta didn’t have to make his clothes or cook his meals. Why would she want to kill him?”

“I’ll be back,” Ralf said. He shook his head in frustration as he walked away.

The innkeeper shouted after him: “When you do, bring some of the king’s coin. Leaving that corpse upstairs cost me two day’s business!”