The Night Wanderer

TEN

Wherever Sheriff Picot’s patrols were that afternoon, they weren’t in the little passage behind Mistress Judith’s garden. Jack and I climbed over the wall in exactly the same place as we had done the night before, and I noticed Henry looking on, wide-eyed in wonder at the sight of his senior officer doing something that was, in the normal course of events, very definitely against the law.

With old Adela being cared for by relatives we knew the house would be empty. With any luck, we would be able to take our time.

We sprinted across the knot garden and slipped inside the house. Jack closed the door behind us, pausing for a few moments to listen, but all remained quiet. If anybody had heard a noise that shouldn’t be there, he or she had the good sense to shut themselves inside their own house and ignore it.

In the clear light of a sunny afternoon, the scullery and its workbench were far more readily visible than they had been by the flickering light of a candle flame. The same applied to the storeroom, and the illumination improved when Henry pushed the door right open and wedged it in place.

I stood quite still and took a long, slow look at the shelves. As before, I had the strong impression that the contents of the upper shelves had been disturbed, and the more I stared, the more it looked just as if someone had removed something, then hastily rearranged the various glass and pottery vessels to disguise the fact. Something occurred to me. I stood up on tiptoe, but it didn’t make me tall enough. I turned to voice my request, but Henry, who had been watching me closely, had anticipated my need and was already handing me a small three-legged stool. I nodded my thanks, climbed up and looked right along the top two shelves.

I’d been silently praying that Mistress Judith’s housekeeping routine hadn’t extended to a weekly clean of the shelves that were up high and out of her reach, and my prayer was answered: it hadn’t. On the topmost shelves there was a clear pattern in the dust that showed where vessels had been stored until very recently. Those that now remained no longer stood where once they had.

‘Something has been taken,’ I said softly. I looked round, expecting Jack and Henry to be exploring the rest of the storeroom, and jumped when I discovered they were right behind me.

‘Can you tell what’s missing?’ Henry whispered.

I made a rueful face. ‘Well, it’s much harder looking for something that’s not there than something that is,’ I said, ‘but I do have an advantage in that I know pretty much what an apothecary usually keeps on her shelves.’ Already I was picturing my aunt Edild’s store, visualizing the contents.

Jack gave a sort of groan. I guessed he’d realized what we were going to have to do. Henry wasn’t far behind, and, with the eagerness of youth, he said excitedly, ‘You’ll need writing materials. I saw quill, parchment and ink horn back there’ – he pointed to the scullery – ‘so shall I fetch them?’

‘Yes, please.’

Quite soon, I had made myself comfortable in Mistress Judith’s prettily carved chair, quill in hand. With my eyes closed, once more I brought Edild’s storeroom to mind. I wrote down everything she keeps on her shelves. I worked as swiftly as I could, but still I sensed Jack’s impatience. I ignored it.

When I was done, I said, ‘I’m ready. You can start.’

So Jack and Henry began working their way along the shelves, picking up bottles, pots and jars, finding labels where there were labels to find and reading them out for me to note down. Where there was nothing to say what a vessel contained, they would open it, bring it to me and I would have a look, or, more usually, a sniff. The task was slow and laborious, and we only had the faintest, most optimistic hope that it would lead anywhere.

We stopped for a short break. Bending over my piece of parchment and concentrating so intently was making my head ache, and it was good to stand up, stretch and take some good deep breaths. I glanced at Henry, who was standing in the scullery, gazing out through the little window on to the knot garden.

‘I was surprised to discover that he can read,’ I murmured to Jack.

Jack too looked at the lad. ‘He was raised by the monks,’ he replied. ‘They discovered he was bright and hauled him out of the monastery farmyard, where he’d been shovelling muck, then taught him to read and write instead.’

‘Why isn’t he still a monk?’

Henry had heard our voices, and turned to look at us. He was smiling, and clearly not at all offended that we had been discussing him. ‘I ran away,’ he said, the smile widening. ‘The monks were too ready with the beatings and, besides, I didn’t like the idea of celibacy. Know what I mean, miss?’ He gave me a cheeky wink. From a fully-grown man it might have been offensive. From Henry, it was delightful.

‘How right you were,’ I murmured. ‘Just think of all those poor girls who would have been left bereft and pining if you were still scribbling away in a cold scriptorium.’

Henry opened his mouth to reply, but whatever pertinent and probably rude remark he was about to make never came, for Jack, perhaps detecting rather too much frivolity in his team, ordered us back to work.

It was evening before I found what we were looking for. I found what the missing item was, at least, although I had no idea why anyone would go to such lengths to steal it; if indeed it had been stolen, and was not simply an item that Mistress Judith elected not to keep.

I was fairly certain she would have included it among her stores, however, for I had come across it on Gurdyman’s higgledy-piggledy shelves and Edild kept no more than a very small amount, maintaining that in general its toxicity outweighed its usefulness. Quite a lot of substances, I’d found, were common to healers and to… well, whatever Gurdyman was. Wizard, magician; I never quite know.

Gurdyman was very wary of this stuff and Edild kept it high on her top shelf, out of reach of curious hands. Both my mentors had warned me of its perils.

As we prepared to leave Mistress Judith’s house – Henry was on watch at the end of the garden, crouched on top of the wall and checking to make sure the alleyway was clear – I said to Jack, ‘I would wager that it was a consignment of the same stuff that was stolen from Robert Powl’s secret store. I was wondering if it would be an idea to go and check through his parchments, but then I realized that if it’s suddenly so precious and sensitive that he had to hide it away, he’s not likely to have kept any record of having had it in his possession.’

‘Yes, the same thing occurred to me,’ Jack said. We were outside now, and he was carefully securing the door. He sighed. ‘We’ll just have to hope that Walter or one of his men has discovered a link with one of the other victims.’

We were the last to arrive back at the tavern down on the quayside. Walter, Ginger, Fat Gerald, Luke and the man whose name I didn’t know were tucking into a generous bowl of stew, hunks of bread in their hands, mugs of ale close by. They all rose when Jack, Henry and I came in.

‘Don’t stop,’ Jack said. ‘Is there any more?’

There was, and the tavern-keeper quickly brought three more bowls and some extra bread, followed by three more mugs of ale. I was ravenously hungry, and the food and the ale were both excellent. The tavern-keeper – who seemed to be an old friend of the lawmen – tactfully melted away once he had ascertained we had all we needed.

When everyone, even Fat Gerald, had at last had enough, Jack asked each man for his report, beginning with Luke; Jack’s first concern, it seemed, was to see what progress Gaspard Picot was making.

‘He’s made a score of arrests and he’s promising a couple of floggings in the morning,’ Luke said lugubriously, ‘although the word is that, since he’s named no names, it’s just piss and wind. Excuse me, miss.’ He turned to me, touching his forelock. ‘Fact is, he’s come up with nothing better than this notion of keeping all the townsfolk inside their houses and hoping that’ll stop the killer. Naturally, people aren’t taking kindly to being prevented from carrying on with their everyday lives, and Sheriff up at the castle is now drowning in hundreds of requests from people demanding special leave, and a sheriff’s escort, to go about their legitimate business.’ There were several quiet chuckles at the idea of Sheriff Picot’s discomfiture.

‘But Gaspard hasn’t been questioning the victims’ families and acquaintances?’ Jack asked.

‘Not that I’ve heard,’ Luke replied.

Jack turned to the others. ‘What about those of you who have been doing just that?’

Walter was the first to respond. ‘Ginger and I have been finding out about the young priest,’ he said, ‘and neither of us saw any of Gaspard’s men, or heard anything to suggest they’d been sniffing around.’

Jack nodded. ‘Gerald? Matty?’ So that was the last man’s name. ‘Any evidence of Gaspard’s interest in either Gerda’s or Mistress Judith’s friends?’ Both men shook their heads.

Jack absorbed that in silence for a moment. I wondered what he was thinking. Then, turning back to Walter, he said, ‘What did you find out about the priest?’

‘He was an outsider, new to the town, studious, quiet, kept himself to himself,’ Walter said. ‘Liked his books better than his fellow men, according to his master at St Bene’t’s. I was allowed to have a quick look at his cell in the priests’ lodging house, and you’d have thought nobody lived there. Narrow little bed, sparse amount of blankets, big wooden cross on the otherwise bare wall, and that was about it.’ He jerked his head in Ginger’s direction. ‘Ginger has something to add, though.’

‘Go on, Ginger,’ Jack commanded.

‘I managed to catch one of the other young clerics milling around the church,’ Ginger said, ‘and I got him away from his fellows in the hope that it’d encourage him to open up. It turns out that our priest – his name was Osmund – had got into trouble more than once because he was late for offices or stayed out after lock-up. He’d taken his punishments without complaint – and they were pretty tough – but, according to my source, even the threat of harsh discipline didn’t seem to stop Osmund’s unexplained absences.’

‘Did your informant have any idea where he went?’

‘He did,’ Ginger said with a grin. ‘He has an insatiable interest in his fellow man – most fortuitous, as far as we’re concerned – and one evening he followed Osmund.’ He paused, looking round to ensure he had everyone’s attention. ‘He went down to the river.’

We all thought about that for a while. Then Jack said, ‘Matty, what did you discover?’

Matty closed his eyes as if it helped him remember, then said quickly, ‘Mistress Judith had been bothered because she’d had several orders for one particular substance, although nobody could tell me what it was, and she was having difficulty finding a reliable source. She did know Robert Powl, and he frequently brought consignments into the town for her, but, again, nobody knew if it was him who was transporting the stuff she had a problem finding.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘If you see what I mean.’

‘We do,’ Jack assured him. He looked around at the group of intent faces. ‘Well, thank you all. We have a picture, of a sort, although I could wish for more detail.’ He fell silent again, frowning. Finally he said, ‘This is what I think: a certain group of people in the town have all at once discovered a need for some substance that is rare and possibly hard to come by. It appears to be something that is obtained from an apothecary. Mistress Judith – a good businesswoman – decided to fulfil that need, and no doubt make a worthwhile profit, and she found out where to obtain it. She put in an order, and asked Robert Powl to bring the consignment on one of his boats.’

He stopped, his frown deepening. Then he said slowly, ‘Now there are two possibilities: either someone else wants all the supplies of this substance for himself for some reason, and is prepared to kill to obtain them, or else someone disapproves of the activities of those who are using the substance, and is therefore killing both them and everyone connected with its acquisition.’

‘What about Gerda?’ Fat Gerald said, his deep, slow voice thrumming in the quiet room.

‘Yes, Gerda,’ Jack said. He met Gerald’s anxious eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

Walter had been studying Jack closely. ‘You haven’t yet told us what you found out, master,’ he said.

Jack grimaced. ‘I haven’t, and now I will.’ He glanced at me, then back at Walter. ‘We already knew that something had been stolen from Robert Powl’s barn, and it now looks as if Mistress Judith’s storeroom also has an item missing.’ He hesitated. ‘We can’t know for sure, but it looks as if the missing substance is cinnabar.’

‘Cinnabar?’ Ginger echoed. ‘What’s that?’

Jack turned to me. ‘Lassair?’

‘It’s a mineral which looks like reddish, dusty rock,’ I said. ‘I believe it’s mined in Egypt.’

‘And brought all the way here?’ Fat Gerald sounded incredulous.

‘Yes,’ I said.

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘It’s used to make quicksilver and it has certain applications in healing, although it’s poisonous and you have to know what you’re doing.’

‘So why is someone stealing it?’ Ginger asked. ‘The victims aren’t being poisoned, they’re dying because their throats are ripped out.’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

I could have added, but I’m just beginning to have an idea. That idea, however, was so dim and cloudy in my mind that I didn’t.

We now knew, or believed we knew, what was at the root of the thefts, and in all likelihood of the murders, too. But why it should be, and what the killer was hoping to achieve by those brutal slayings, as yet we had absolutely no idea.

Full night had come on while we had been talking. Looking up and noticing this, swiftly Jack dispersed the men. He warned them to be careful, for the night watch would by now be out in force and he didn’t want any of them to be picked up and punished for being out after curfew. Studying his expression as he watched them leave, however, I didn’t think he was seriously worried; they were a canny bunch.

We gave them a little while to get well away, then we too slipped out of the tavern and into the darkness, heading off along the quay towards the Great Bridge, and the castle and the deserted village beyond. But before we had even got as far as the bridge, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a patrol. There were at least ten, maybe a dozen men, and they were crossing the bridge from the castle side. They were armed, booted – their marching feet rang out in unison as they went over the bridge – and with dismay we realized they were coming our way. Even as we drew back into the deep shadow of a warehouse, we saw the leading pair wheel off to their left and down on to the quay.

Jack took my hand and said very softly right into my ear, ‘Back away from the water. Be very quiet.’

He didn’t really need to tell me.

We crept down the narrow gap between the warehouse and its neighbour, edging steadily away from the light of the patrols’ flaring torches, bright as midday in the darkness. Presently I felt grass beneath my feet. We were out in the open, behind the buildings that line the quay, on the edge of the patch of pasture and woodland between town and river.

For a moment I thought we were safe. But then the lights told me otherwise: the men of the patrol were being thorough for once, investigating down between the quayside buildings to the open space beyond.

Jack grabbed my hand again and we ran. My satchel banged against my hip bone, and somehow it spurred me on.

We came to a stand of alder, and used the welcome shelter to pause and catch our breath. But it wasn’t much of a hiding place, and if the patrol ventured out across the fields they would very soon think to check among the trees.

Then I had an idea. Leaning close to Jack, I said, ‘We could hide by the sacred well.’

He looked at me, his expression quite cross. ‘There’s nowhere to hide there!’ he hissed. He was right, for, although the well is quite a special spot to me, it really is pretty much just a well; a hole in the ground with a slatted wooden cover and a small construction built over it like a little roof. It’s a rarely frequented spot, and only a few of the townsfolk bother much with it nowadays.

‘I know someone who lives just the other side of it,’ I whispered. ‘He’s a friend of Gurdyman’s and I’ve visited him once or twice. We could hide in his outhouse, and if the worst comes to the worst and the patrol follow us there, I’m sure he’ll take us in and swear we’ve been there all along.’

Swiftly Jack thought about it. Then he nodded, muttered, ‘I hope you’re right,’ and we were off again.

We passed the sacred well, with its lone oak tree spreading out sheltering, protective branches. I wished there was time to stop, for it’s a healthy, restorative place and always seems to make you feel better, even on a brief visit. I gave a dip of the head in its direction, and muttered some words under my breath. Then we were past, hurrying on.

Very soon, the lonely little dwelling of Gurdyman’s friend Morgan loomed up ahead. Like Gurdyman, Morgan is a magician; a strange old man who lives mostly in a world of his own, but who is kind and gentle. I’d always rather liked him. It was a small house, low to the ground, and gave the impression that it was doing its best to look inconspicuous. Beyond the house there was a smaller building constructed on the same lines, where Morgan stored his reserve supplies. Neither house nor store showed a light, but then it was late now, and more than likely that Morgan and his young assistant – a spotty, stuttering youth with nervous yellow eyes who goes by the name of Cat – had retired for the night.

I was planning to go round the house and creep into the store. ‘We’ll hide in there,’ I said, pointing. ‘He’ll never know.’

But as we drew level with the house, we saw that the door was partly open. There was a dark shape lying across the threshold, with something dumped down on top of it…

I thought I heard a high, eerie humming in the air.

I smelt a familiar metallic smell.

With a muttered exclamation, Jack stepped over whatever lay in the doorway and pushed open the further door, into the living quarters. Soft light spilled out from the hearth. It looked as if the fire hadn’t long been made up.

Two earthenware mugs stood beside the hearth, steam rising from their fragrant contents.

With huge reluctance, I looked down.

Morgan lay at my feet. Cat was splayed across his body, as if perhaps he had tried to protect him. Both were dead, their throats torn out.

The humming increased its intensity. It seemed that the air was stiff with chill.

I couldn’t move. I stood sick with horror, trembling.

Then Jack took hold of my arm. ‘Come inside the house,’ he said firmly. He pulled me with him. ‘We must check to see if anything is missing, and we must be quick.’

I had forgotten about the patrol. I looked up and saw their lights, still along the quayside. I nodded. ‘Very well.’ My mouth was almost too dry for speech.

Morgan kept many of his supplies inside the house, and hastily, frantically, my eyes raked along the neatly ordered shelves and worktops. Something on the broad stained workbench caught my eye: an experiment, I guessed, that Morgan had been working on. I was puzzled. Why on earth would he be doing that?

There was a sound from outside.

Someone – something – was out there but it wasn’t the patrol. I’d only just seen the lights of their torches, back on the quayside, and they couldn’t possibly have got here so quickly.

The high humming had risen to a pitch that hurt the ears. It was now accompanied by a sort of low, vibrating, drumming sound, as if the air was disturbed by huge blows struck by some unnatural, unknown means. Then, horribly, through those sounds there threaded a weird, inhuman laugh.

And instantly I remembered what old Adela had said about what Mistress Judith had done when she peered outside her house: she laughed.

Oh, oh, supposing it wasn’t Mistress Judith who had laughed? Supposing it was the Night Wanderer? And now he was right outside, his evil magic affecting the very air, his terrible laughter filtering inside like a poisonous miasma?

Then, from within my satchel, I felt an answering thrumming. My fingers suddenly strong and capable, I undid the straps and reached inside. Loosened the strings that hold the soft leather bag closed, I thrust my hand within.

The shining stone was hot to my touch, and, as if it felt the vast sense of threat and was fighting back, it too was throbbing. In the blink of an eye it showed me an image – a line of symbols, swirling and twisting, out of which a word formed which seemed to say animal, or perhaps anima. There was no time to decide, for the symbols vanished. I felt the waves of power coming off the stone and into my head came the wordless, furious, urgent message: we had to get out.

It was my turn to grab Jack. I did so, my fingers closing on his upper arm like a vice. Not caring who or what heard me, I yelled, ‘We must go! Now!’

Perhaps the shining stone was working on him, too. Perhaps it was simply that he trusted me; or, more likely, recognized desperation when he heard it. Together we leapt over Morgan and Cat – I sent them a swift message asking their forgiveness for abandoning them, and I thought I heard Morgan’s gentle spirit murmur back, Hurry! Save yourselves! – and I made a silent promise to return when I could and see them safely into the ground in a way they would have wished.

Jack and I ran. Over the humpy, hillocky grass at first, tripping and stumbling, holding tightly to each other’s hands, my free hand always on the stone, feeding from it, heartened and strengthened by it. And oh, we needed all the help it could give: something awful seemed to press down on us, and I felt that at any moment that clawed hand with its long, sharp, cruel and bloody talons would reach out for us, wind itself around my neck, take out my throat.

Aghast with dread, I sobbed as I ran.

Then grass gave way to smoother ground, and our pace became more even. Ahead were the houses that lined the road leading up to the Great Bridge from the south-east: somehow, by pure luck, we had stumbled upon the old, half-forgotten track leading from the road out to the sacred well.

There was purity and deep, ancient goodness in the very stones of that track. Had it called out to us as we fled from evil? Had the shining stone guided us? I had no idea and, as we reached the first of the houses and both saw and heard the blessed signs of human presence, I didn’t care.

My hand was still clutched around the stone. It had gone still and quiet: I sensed it was telling me we were safe.

Safe, anyway, from the terror that stalked out in the fields.

Jack edged forward between two of the houses and peered out into the road. ‘All clear,’ he whispered. Light from a small high window fell on his face as he turned to me. He was as pale as I felt.

Treading softly, we emerged on to the road. Keeping as much as possible to the shadow of the houses, we hurried along to the Great Bridge. Looking over the parapet, we could see the lights of the patrol, at the far end of the quay. I was just thinking that they hadn’t got very far when I realized that time had become confused. Only a very short time had passed since we first saw the men of the night watch.

We reached the far side of the bridge and soon, with great relief, plunged off down the alley that wound round the castle rise and led to the deserted village. It seemed to embrace us; as I’d remarked to Jack, it was a good place.

His house, at the far end of the lane, was like a haven. He closed and barred the door, poked up the fire, fed it with small and then larger pieces of wood, and put water on to heat. He went through into the far room and came back with a thick, warm blanket, which he wrapped round me. I hadn’t realized that I was shivering so much that my teeth were rattling.

He made the drinks – hot, sweetened with honey, infinitely comforting – and we stood side by side, close to the hearth, revelling in its warmth. Then he said, ‘Tomorrow at first light, I shall take you back to Aelf Fen.’

I swallowed too fast, scalding my throat. ‘I’m not going.’

He looked at me, his green eyes steady. ‘I believe you must.’

‘I can’t!’ I snapped. ‘I have work to do here, I have people I need to treat, I must make sure Adela is all right, I need to ensure that Morgan and Cat are buried according to their own rites, and I must look after Gurdyman’s house. Or had you forgotten he’s missing?’

The last bit was uncalled-for, but I was very distressed, although I hadn’t worked out precisely why, and it is so often the human instinct to hit out under such circumstances.

Jack went on looking at me. ‘It’s not safe here,’ he said.

‘No, I know that!’ I cried. ‘People are scared, they’re in danger, there’s widespread panic looming because of the Night Wanderer, and I can help! I’m a healer, Jack, and it’s what I do, look after people when they need it!’

He cast down his mug and took hold of me, his big hands hard on my arms. ‘You’re not only a healer, you’re a wizard’s pupil!’ he yelled back. He shook me, and my teeth rattled all over again. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, you and I just discovered the bodies of another wizard and his pupil, recently dead, bloody, and missing their throats!’

A horrible image floated before my eyes, and I had no choice but to see it. I wanted to weep with pity, with dread, with fear. ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ I said in a tiny voice, but I think he was so agitated that he didn’t hear.

‘You have to leave!’ he shouted, shaking me again. ‘You, more than anybody, are in danger!’

‘I-’

‘Don’t you understand?’ he yelled. ‘I will not have you risk your life! I can’t bear it!’

I stared up at him, at the naked fear in his bright eyes. The fear wasn’t for himself, and suddenly I understood quite a lot of things.

I didn’t know what to do. ‘I can’t-’ I began.

He gave a sound of violent impatience, then he wrapped one strong arm around me, pulling me tightly to him. He took my jaw in his hand, turning my face up to his, and then he kissed me, long and hard, full on the mouth.

If I say it was a shock or even a surprise, I’d be lying. My passion rising as fast as his, I kissed him back. He broke off to nuzzle into my neck, under my hair, touching the skin with tender lips, then he kissed me again, his body hard against mine leaving me in no doubt of how much he wanted me. Oh, I wanted him, too, and I melded myself to him, arms round him as powerfully as his around me.

As suddenly as he had begun, he stopped.

Stepped away from me, confusion and a sort of shame in his face, hands stretched palm forward towards me as if warding me off.

‘I’m sorry, sorry,’ he muttered, turning away. ‘I have brought you here for sanctuary, and I have violated your trust, contaminated my duty.’

I was amazed. ‘No you haven’t!’ I said, almost laughing. ‘I was kissing you back, wasn’t I? I-’

But he wasn’t listening. He had picked up the blanket that had fallen to the floor and was wrapping me up in it, covering my head and overshadowing my face, almost as if he was desperate to hide me from his passionate, desiring eyes. Before I could protest, he took hold of me by the shoulders, turned me round, away from him, and pushed me into the far room. ‘Go to bed, Lassair,’ he muttered. Then he hurried out again. I watched in amazement as he slid a bench across the opening; was he trying to keep me in, or himself out? I smiled, but only very briefly. It wasn’t really funny.

I sank down on to the bed. I realized all at once that I was totally exhausted. I took off my boots and my coif and loosened my hair, already tumbled and tangled by Jack’s fierce caresses. I lay down and drew up the covers.

I needed comfort. I needed him, but I knew I wasn’t going to have that need answered.

I noticed that he had put my satchel in the room. I opened it and took out the shining stone, taking it out of its bag and holding it tightly, close to my heart. ‘I’m sad,’ I whispered to it. ‘I need a friend.’

Strongly into my mind came the reply: You have a friend.

Was it referring to itself, I wondered, or to Jack?

And he’s just out there.

Now I really did smile. I’m sure it was only my overwrought imagination – I’d been through quite a lot, after all – but, even if it was, the remark was perfect. I turned on my side, the stone still clutched in my hands, and let myself relax into sleep.