The Night Wanderer

THREE

It was not long after sunset, but already the streets were deserted. Lights flickered in some of the windows as we hurried along between the huddling houses, and at one point someone who had presumably heard our approaching footsteps reached out and firmly closed the shutters.

The body had only been discovered last night, and already fear was spreading like a contagious miasma.

As we crossed the Great Bridge, the quays stretching out on either side of the river down to our right, Jack, who had been pacing ahead, fell into step beside Gurdyman and me. ‘Sheriff Picot is talking of imposing a curfew,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘but I think there will be no need.’

How right he was. Glancing down at the river, I noticed that even the ships’ captains and crews, usually sociable in the evening and often to be seen assembled around a makeshift hearth or a brazier, drinking, sharing their food and chatting, were nowhere to be seen. The craft that lined the quays were closed up, their occupants safely inside.

Jack led us on past the new priory on our right and shortly after we turned off the road towards the castle, up on its hill. Well, we call it a hill, but by any other than fenland standards, it’s more of a shallow rise. The main entrance was imposing, leading over a wooden drawbridge to a gateway with a heavy iron grille and a couple of guards outside. However, we were not, it seemed, to go in that way. Jack dived off down a narrow little alleyway that ran around the base of the rise – it was bordered by the huge rampart surrounding the castle hill on the left and by stone walls on the right, and was in fact more like a tunnel than an alley – emerging after fifty or sixty paces into a small open space surrounded by hovels, animal pens, storerooms and a ramshackle stable.

‘This used to be the workmen’s village,’ Jack said softly. ‘When the castle was built, the masons, carpenters and their teams lived here.’

Gurdyman nodded. ‘And this is where Sheriff Picot has instructed that the corpse be stored,’ he murmured.

It made sense, I realized, for a man determined on stopping gossip and rumour in their tracks to remove the source to a place where men didn’t have to walk past it, look at it and smell it every day. Nevertheless, it seemed a little hard on the unfortunate Robert Powl.

‘He’s not in one of the pig pens, is he?’ I asked with a nervous laugh.

Jack turned to me. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s a little chapel. I put him there.’

He paused to strike a spark and set the flame to the lantern he had brought, and set off again, Gurdyman and I following close behind. It was very dark in the deserted village, the looming, overhanging walls blocking out what remained of the last light. The chapel crouched over on the north-east side of the settlement, slightly apart from the nearest row of hovels. Jack shouldered open the wooden door – it had warped, and stuck on the stone of the step – and, holding up his light, ushered us inside.

Not only had he managed to find somewhere that was in itself fitting to receive a corpse, he had also given the place a good clean. At least, I supposed it must be he who had tidied the accumulated detritus of years into a neat pile in the corner and swept the floor. From what I knew of Sheriff Picot, such an action would not have occurred to him.

The body lay on planks draped with white cloth and set on two wooden trestles. Another, similar cloth had been drawn over it, covering it entirely. Around the throat, the cloth already bore dark stains.

Jack went over to the walls on either side of the corpse – the chapel was only about four or five paces wide – and lit flares stuck in brackets. Light flooded the small space, and, as if taking this as his cue, Gurdyman stepped up to the body. With calm, efficient movements, as if he did this every day, he folded back the sheet and smoothed it across the chest.

Robert Powl’s dead face stared up at us. He looked different, and I realized it was because someone had taken off his hat. The top of his crown was quite bald, and rounded like an egg; perhaps that was why he had worn his hat so determinedly drawn down across his brow.

Gurdyman beckoned me forward, and I went to stand beside him. I looked into the dead eyes. They were wide with horror, and a muddy hazel in colour. One was a little bloodshot.

‘Could we not shut his eyes?’ I whispered to Gurdyman.

He leaned down over the body, peering closely. ‘There is a theory,’ he remarked, ‘that a murdered person’s eyes reflect the face of the killer, but I do not subscribe to it myself.’ With a deft touch of his thumb and forefinger, he lowered the eyelids. Straight away I felt better. Not much better, but a little.

Gurdyman was inspecting the wound. Instinctively I had stepped away, but he reached for my hand and drew me back. ‘Come and look, Lassair,’ he said gently. ‘There is nothing here to harm you, and I am beside you.’

His calm voice gave me confidence. Gathering my courage, I looked right into the wide, open, bloody wound.

It was no wonder they’d all been saying some ferocious animal did the damage. As well as the sheer size of the gaping hole, I now made out the clear marks of five sharp claws, or talons, four over to the upper left, where the worst damage had been done, and one coming in and up from the lower right. It really did look as if a giant hand, or paw, was responsible. Dread went through me, and a sort of superstitious shiver, as if, once I’d admitted the possibility into my mind that such a creature existed, it followed that it must be lurking outside, waiting…

I moved a little closer to Gurdyman.

Jack had gone to stand on the opposite side of the trestle table. He, too, seemed to be transfixed by that wound. ‘Could it-’ He stopped. Then: ‘I am not saying I support the theory of attack by some large wild animal, but if this were so, could the damage have been done by teeth?’

‘Interesting,’ murmured Gurdyman. ‘So, instead of talons having made the marks, we are suggesting it was teeth? A row of four incisors and canines in the upper jaw, let us say, and one protruding fang in the lower?’ He leaned right down over the body, a hand holding back his garments to keep them out of the gaping throat.

‘It wasn’t a serious suggestion,’ Jack said.

Gurdyman didn’t answer. After a moment, he said, without turning round, ‘Will you hold up your light, Jack? Yes, yes, that’s right, just like that.’

For what seemed like an age, there was silence, other than some faint squelchy noises as Gurdyman, who had extracted a small pointed silver instrument from some hidden pocket inside his robe, probed. I felt ill, and I had the strange sensation that the middle section of my legs wasn’t there. I think I made some soft sound, for Jack’s head flew up and instantly he was hurrying round the table, one arm around me.

‘Step outside,’ he said, ‘you’ve gone deathly white.’

‘No, I’m all right.’ I will not faint, I commanded myself. I managed to give him a smile.

He didn’t look convinced. He stayed exactly where he was, at my side, where he could catch me if I fell.

So total had been Gurdyman’s absorption in his task that he had missed the small drama. Looking up now, an expression of mild surprise on his face on observing that Jack no longer stood where he had before, he said, ‘I cannot support the teeth theory, but nevertheless I am very glad you raised it, Jack, for it compelled me to investigate more closely.’ He held out the silver instrument, on the tip of which was a tiny object, stuck to the fine point with a gout of flesh, or perhaps dried blood. ‘And look what I found inside the deepest cut!’

I made myself take a couple of deep breaths. ‘What is it?’ I managed to say.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Gurdyman admitted. ‘I need to examine it back in the crypt.’ He frowned at it thoughtfully, then carefully wrapped both instrument and find in a small piece of linen and stowed them away. ‘Now, what else is there for sharp eyes to observe?’

The faintness was passing, and now I took on the role of student, helping my mentor as he stripped off the garments and carried out a careful inspection of the rest of the body. Not that we learned anything, for, other than the normal scars, swellings, and marks of ageing that can be seen on anyone past youth, there was nothing to see.

We dressed the corpse again, and Jack drew the sheet up over the dead face. We turned to go, Gurdyman and I waiting by the door while Jack extinguished the torches. At the last moment, Gurdyman looked back at the body. ‘No other marks,’ he said very softly.

‘Yes, we have just established that,’ I said.

‘Do you not see the significance?’ he said, his face eager as he waited for my response.

I visualized the body. One great wound, nothing else…

‘He didn’t struggle,’ I said, appreciating all at once what Gurdyman meant. I had already suspected as much – and mentioned it to Jack – on the grounds that Robert Powl hadn’t drawn his dagger. ‘He didn’t have time to put up his hands or his arms to protect himself. He didn’t try to run away, for there was no bruising or marking to indicate that his assailant held on to him.’

‘And so?’ persisted Gurdyman.

‘He was taken completely by surprise,’ I said.

‘Which suggests?’

Now I saw the scene in my mind. ‘It’s likely he was jumped on from behind. Either that, or else the killer was so well concealed that his victim didn’t see him until he was right there on the path in front of him, claws reaching for his throat.’

‘Well done,’ murmured Gurdyman.

As we followed Jack’s light back through the deserted village, round the castle’s foot and back towards the great bridge, Jack said quietly, ‘I wonder what business took Robert Powl out to that lonely stretch of river bank?’

It was a great relief to be back in the twisty-turny house. Jack left us at the door – it had been fully dark for the return journey and he had drawn his sword – and urged us to bolt it. We didn’t really need to be urged.

Gurdyman wandered off along the passage that leads down to the crypt. ‘Go to bed, child,’ he said over his shoulder.

‘Don’t you need my help?’ I knew what he was going to do, for already he was reaching inside his robe for the cloth-wrapped pick and whatever was stuck to its point.

‘No,’ he said firmly.

With some relief, for, despite my resolve to be the ever-alert pupil, I’d really had enough for one night, I slipped away.

‘It is a fragment of horn, or claw,’ Gurdyman said in the morning. We were standing in the little inner court, the early sun pouring in, and he held up the object for me to look at. He had cleaned it, thankfully, and I saw a small pointed piece of hard matter, shaped somewhat like a steeply sided cone. It did indeed look just like the broken-off tip of a horn or a claw.

‘It’s a great shame,’ mused Gurdyman.

‘But isn’t it just what you expected?’

‘Yes, precisely!’ he said eagerly. ‘I expected it to be what it is, but I hoped it would be made of wood, or even metal.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Because then you’d have had proof that this killing was the work of a human hand, wielding some frightful weapon, and not a savage animal.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Gurdyman agreed. ‘We might even have gone on to conclude that our killer had designed and manufactured his weapon purely with this murder in mind, to make us think an animal was to blame.’

‘But he was too clever,’ I said slowly. ‘Instead of satisfying himself with sharpened wood spikes or metal blades, he used a substance that has animal origins.’ I looked at Gurdyman. ‘You are quite convinced a human is behind this?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed. ‘Now we – or, rather, your friend Jack Chevestrier – must begin to work out the motive.’

‘He-’ I began.

But Gurdyman held up his hand. ‘Enough, Lassair. We have done what he asked of us, and already I have sent a message to tell him of my findings.’

‘A message! But surely the whole aim is not to spread panic, and if the messenger tells anyone else that you found a bit of horn in the body, it’ll only fuel the gossip!’

Gurdyman sighed. ‘Child, it was a written message, not a spoken one. For one thing, I very much doubt the man to whom I entrusted it can read, even if he would be so foolhardy as to break the seal. For another, I was very discreet, and only said that my discovery did nothing to help the situation.’

‘And Jack will know what you meant?’

‘Of course he will,’ said Gurdyman robustly. ‘He’s a thoughtful and intelligent man, which is more than you can say for anyone else in Sheriff Picot’s organization, including Sheriff Picot.’ Before I could respond, he said, ‘To work! We have much to do.’

We worked hard all that day and the next. I hoped constantly that there would be a visit from Jack; wouldn’t he want to discuss that fragment of claw, and the mind behind the creation of the dreadful weapon it had come from? Surely he would have found out much more about Robert Powl, and want to talk over with us what lay at the heart of the killing.

He didn’t come.

On the third day, the killer struck again.

Very early the following morning, before Gurdyman and I had had a chance to put our noses out of doors, Jack came at last. Any pleasure I might have derived from seeing him was quickly subsumed by fear; I knew just by looking at his expression that something terrible had happened. He wouldn’t go out into the sunny little court – I guessed he feared being overheard, although the high walls made it unlikely – but spoke to us in the dark, narrow passage behind the closed door.

‘There’s been another death,’ he said shortly. ‘Same method.’

‘Who is the victim?’ Gurdyman asked.

‘Someone who works at one of the lodging houses on the quayside.’

Lodging houses was the polite description. They were drinking dens and brothels, there to fulfil the needs of sailors a long way from home, although by no means used exclusively by them. My healer aunt Edild, my first teacher, had enlightened me on the subject of the diseases that spread in such places, and on occasions I had treated townsmen who had come to seek me out under cover of night, bitterly regretting the brief pleasure that had led to such painful and humiliating consequences. Not that it was for me to judge, and my aunt had always impressed on me the importance of courtesy and kindness, no matter what the ailment. I had also learned to be extremely discreet; it was a healer’s first duty, and I would have kept my mouth shut even without the extravagant payment some of the town’s leading citizens pressed upon me.

‘Where was he found?’ Gurdyman was asking.

‘On the river, perhaps half a mile downstream from the quay.’

Near to the road that led off towards Ely and the fens, I calculated. ‘Close by water again,’ I said softly.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ Jack agreed.

‘The man was known to you?’ Gurdyman asked.

Jack hesitated. He glanced swiftly at me, then away again. ‘It wasn’t a man.’

Neither Gurdyman nor I spoke.

‘It is an even worse abomination, I think,’ Jack said eventually, ‘for a woman to have been killed in this brutal way.’

‘And why?’ Gurdyman said. ‘Robert Powl was a wealthy man, and, although we assume he wasn’t robbed, it is reasonable to postulate that his murder is somehow connected to his business affairs, or his importance in the community. But of what significance can a lowly tavern maid have been?’ It was chivalrous of him to assume that the woman had been a maid and not a prostitute, and for all I knew, he was right in that assumption.

‘I can think of nothing that links them, yet,’ Jack agreed, ‘save for the vague fact that both earned their livings from the river traffic; Robert Powl by providing a fleet of transport, Gerda by what she offered in the lodging house.’

I wondered if he was being deliberately ambiguous.

‘Perhaps,’ I said hesitantly, still working on the thought, ‘all that they have in common is that both were out by the river, alone, unobserved, when their assailant felt the compulsion to kill.’

Both Jack and Gurdyman turned to stare at me. Gurdyman’s face wore a thoughtful, appraising expression. Jack looked horrified.

‘You appear to support the wild-animal theory after all,’ he said, ‘for isn’t that – an opportunist attack on a vulnerable victim – just what such a creature would do?’

I shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

‘What were they doing out on the river bank, alone?’ Gurdyman asked. ‘Robert Powl’s presence there I can understand, for, being the first victim, there was nothing yet to fear. But this Gerda must have known about the first murder-’

‘They talk of nothing else down by the quay,’ Jack said lugubriously.

‘-and so why, then, would she be so foolish as to venture out?’

Neither Jack nor I could come up with an answer.

‘I intend to go straight down there now,’ Jack said after a short pause. ‘I’m hoping someone will be able to tell me something: she had a message summoning her to go and meet someone, perhaps, or a man she was with asked her to venture outside, or she heard a noise and went to investigate, or-’ He shrugged.

He had, it seemed, come to tell Gurdyman and me about Gerda’s murder before we heard a doubtless far more lurid and inaccurate version elsewhere. It was good of him, and I thanked him as I saw him out.

He turned to look intently at me. ‘Please, don’t go out unless you have to.’

‘We have to eat,’ I pointed out gently.

‘Of course, but keep to the well-frequented places.’ He paused. ‘And I know I’ve said this before, but don’t listen to the gossip.’ He went on looking at me for an instant, then gave me a sort of salute and strode off up the alley.

When, in the mid-afternoon, I went out for food, I found the marketplace humming. Probably everyone was out doing their provisioning while it was full daylight, and while there were plenty of people about. The pie stall on the corner was doing a brisk trade, and I was lucky to find anything left to buy. Not that it amounted to much; not enough, anyway, so I ventured further into the throng and managed to purchase a loaf, cheese, a string of somewhat soft onions and a small bag of apples.

I had turned for home, resolving to do as Jack had urged and not stop to listen to what everyone was saying. But then there was a minor mishap – a little boy managed to evade his mother’s grasping hand, and, revelling in his sudden freedom, he sped away through the crowd and tripped up an elderly man, who fell heavily and banged his head. Lots of the stall-holders know me by sight, and I couldn’t have escaped even if I’d wanted to. Even as I put down my basket and crouched down beside the old man, someone was yelling, ‘Find that healer girl! She was here a moment ago, I just saw her!’

The elderly man had a lump on his head and was a little dazed, but otherwise unhurt. I sat with him for a while, holding his hand, and presently helped him to sit up.

‘Ooooooer, I feel dizzy! I need to rest here a bit longer!’ he moaned, clutching on to me and managing to squeeze my breast.

I bet you do, I thought. But he was my patient, he probably did feel dizzy, and the squeeze could have been accidental.

‘You mustn’t get up until you feel better,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘Will you?’ He looked at me with trusting eyes, and I could see how grateful he was.

‘Yes,’ I said. Then, leaning closer so that only he, and not the small circle of goggle-eyed people standing round us, heard, I added, ‘But just you keep your hands to yourself, or I might change my mind.’

He gave a delighted chortle of laughter. But, all the same, he folded his hands chastely in his lap.

The small drama was over and our audience melted away. So it was only then, as the throng cleared a little, that first I saw the man standing on a box in the middle of the market square and then, as he flung his arms wide and launched into his tale, heard him.

I knew him by sight. He was one of those who earned a crust with their storytelling, turning up on feast days and market days, wherever there is a crowd to be entertained, and acting out the old tales, myths and legends. I’d often stopped to listen to him, for he was good, and had the ability to hold his audience’s rapt attention.

I had a feeling I knew precisely what today’s tale would be about; there was, after all, only one thing people would want to hear.

Jack had told me – warned me – not to listen. But, detained there still tending my randy old man, it seemed I didn’t have a choice.

This was the story I heard.