The Night Wanderer Read online

  ‘I’m not entirely sure what the sheriff intends me to do instead,’ Jack went on, ‘since he hasn’t issued any orders and, in fact, has totally ignored me.’ A brief spasm of anger crossed his face. ‘Since I therefore have nothing else to do, I intend to pursue my own enquiries, and if anybody wishes to join in, they’d be very welcome. I must add,’ he went on before anybody could speak, ‘that such a course of action could result in a severe reprimand from the sheriff, even though I would of course make it perfectly clear that anyone who helped me was carrying out my orders, and had no knowledge of the fact that I had been removed from the investigation. If anyone prefers not to risk trouble, he may leave and there will be no repercussions. On that you have my word.’

  He waited. Nobody moved. I saw a sort of joy fleetingly flare in his eyes, as if he had doubted the men’s loyalty and trust in him and had fully expected them all to get up and leave.

  He was a very modest man.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Very well,’ he said after a moment. ‘Let me share my thoughts with you, and we’ll decide on a course of action and work out who does what.’ He paused, took a breath and then said, ‘It seems to me that the only hope we have of finding out the killer’s identity, and of stopping him from further attacks, is to work out how he has been selecting his victims, and why they have to die. Of course,’ he added, perhaps forestalling the question I could see in the expressions of at least one of the men, ‘it may be that these are random slayings and the work of a madman, but I hope and pray that is not so. I don’t believe it is’ – he leaned forward, as if he couldn’t contain his urge to share his conviction – ‘for already common threads are emerging. Robert Powl, the first victim, brought goods of all kinds into the town, and something was stolen from the barn next to his house. Gerda, the second victim, was known to have numbered among her clients men who worked on the river, possibly for Robert Powl. Mistress Judith kept an apothecary shop, and almost certainly obtained supplies from Robert Powl’s consignments; her shop, too, may have been robbed. The fourth victim, the young priest—’ He broke off, hands spread. ‘I have no idea what could connect him with the others.’

  ‘We need to find out,’ Walter said. ‘We need to ask around, see where he lived, if his quarters have been searched and if anything’s missing.’

  ‘We should discover what sort of a person he was,’ added the ginger-haired man, ‘and what he did when he wasn’t priesting.’ There were a couple of quiet chuckles.

  ‘Yes, good,’ Jack said. ‘Walter and Ginger, you get on with that. Gerald’ – he turned to a fleshy, brawny man still quietly getting on with eating what remained on the table, on others’ platters as well as his own – ‘you’re a good friend of Margery’s girls.’ Gerald grunted an assent. ‘Lassair has spoken to them, but they hadn’t much to offer in the way of helpful information. I’d like you to find out, if you can, who poor little Gerda saw regularly, whether she had any favourites, if anyone ever gave her presents, if she met anyone outside of her work.’ How careful he was, I thought, not to disparage her; I wondered how many other senior lawmen – for it was becoming clear that he must be senior, both because the person Sheriff Picot had replaced him with was the sheriff’s own nephew, and also because of these men’s attitude to him – would have spoken of a dead prostitute with such kindness and respect.

  Gerald grunted again. He looked at Jack, eyes raised, and Jack nodded. ‘Yes, off you go,’ he said. ‘You too, Walter and Ginger. We meet here at sunset to report our findings.’ I wondered if Gerald was slow-witted. I watched as he got up from the board, every movement careful and studied, and then flexed his huge arms. He had enormous fists and, if they weren’t weapons enough, a knife in his belt and a heavy stick that he picked up from the floor under the board. If he found the man who had killed Gerda, I didn’t think that man would last very long.

  Three men remained. One, the sallow-faced Luke, was ordered to mingle with the lawmen under Picot’s command; another was dispatched to seek out friends, neighbours and associates of Mistress Judith and ask a few careful questions. The last man was a boy, really, of about fifteen. He had an open, friendly face with an intelligent, alert look, a gap where a front tooth was missing, bright blue-green eyes and a shock of pale hair. He reminded me a little of my childhood friend Sibert, back home in Aelf Fen, and I liked him at once.

  ‘Don’t forget me, master!’ he said cheerfully to Jack. ‘What shall I do?’

  Jack looked at him, assuming a frowning, critical look which I didn’t think fooled the boy for an instant, if his broad grin was anything to go by. ‘Ah, what’s-your-name,’ Jack murmured – both the lad and I knew he was teasing – ‘yes, now I remember, Henry. You, my lad, are coming with me.’

  Henry, looking as if his prayers had just been answered, leapt to his feet. Jack looked enquiringly at me, and I too stood up. ‘We three,’ Jack said solemnly, ‘are going to make our way to Mistress Judith’s storeroom, where we shall do what Lassair and I were hoping to do last night, before the young priest died, which was to search through all the shelves and, by thinking very hard and putting our heads together, try to work out which of the items that ought to be there are missing.’

  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 kne
w 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.