The Night Wanderer Read online

  No; Jack and I were better far away from here.

  I put my silent pleading for understanding into my eyes, and Jack picked it up. ‘Very well,’ he said coolly. He looked both apprehensive and just a little resentful. ‘We’ll lock up here and go back to the house.’

  He reached out to pick up the emeralds, no doubt thinking that they’d be safer in his keeping than left here, where anybody breaking in would see them. But I cried, ‘No! Leave them!’

  He looked questioningly at me – something else I’d have to explain – but did as I asked.

  He locked the door again and tucked the key away. Then he strode off up the little passage and I hastened to follow.

  I wished that the walk back to the deserted village, and Jack’s house, was twice or three times longer than it was. I knew I had to talk to him. However it had come about, he and I were working together now, and it would be neither right nor fair to keep back things that were at the heart of what was happening.

  Had the secrets been mine, I believe I would not have hesitated to share them with Jack. I knew by then that I could trust him; that he was a good man. Moreover, had he been in possession of all the information he ought to have been, his clever, agile, lawman’s mind would undoubtedly have begun instantly to see links and hints that I’d missed. He knew so much more about the town, its inhabitants and how the place operated than I did, and, who knew, he might have been able to go straight to the murderer – the Night Wanderer – and apprehend him that very night.

  But they weren’t my secrets.

  I hadn’t actually been sworn not to divulge what I was only just beginning to glimpse behind the veil. I knew, thought, as I knew my own name, that these deep matters were not for sharing. My problem, then, was that, knowing it was my absolute duty to help Jack discover what was really happening here and bring it to an end, I was bound by another, equally profound honour, not to reveal any more than was strictly necessary.

  If only we were walking back to Aelf Fen, and I had most of the night to decide what to say …

  We didn’t pass a soul on the way home. We heard shouts and a brief clash of metal in the distance – perhaps one of the patrols was encouraging some unruly citizens back to their beds – but the town seemed otherwise deserted, and a deep silence hung over the village. Not even a rat stirred in the ditches.

  It was a relief to get inside and watch Jack bar the door. Even as he turned to poke life into the fire, feeding it with small kindling and then larger logs, I was framing my opening words. He put water on to heat and sat down. I crouched beside him.

  Then, without giving myself any time for second thoughts, I said, ‘You remember Lord Gilbert?’

  Jack looked surprised, as well he might. ‘The lord of your manor. Yes, of course. Fat and rather lazy, with a clever wife.’

  I smiled briefly. That pretty much summed up Lord Gilbert. ‘I can, of course, only be here in Cambridge with his permission, and he’s given it because he believes what I’m learning with Gurdyman will make me a more useful inhabitant of Aelf Fen. Isolated villages like ours need a good healer, and, while my aunt Edild is an excellent teacher, Lord Gilbert has been convinced that Gurdyman’s breadth of knowledge is wider, and he likes the idea of his village healer having wisdom above the usual run.’ I paused, thinking very hard. ‘Gurdyman is a well-travelled man,’ I went on, carefully weighing my words, ‘and, in his youth, he travelled in a land called Al-Andalus, which I think is in Moorish Spain, where he encountered the wise Arabs who were the inheritors of all the wisdom of the Greeks and the Persians, and so he knows all manner of things that nobody else does, at least, nobody in England.’ Gurdyman had told me this with such conviction that I believed him. ‘One of his main interests is medicine, and he’s taught me enough already that I can see how incredibly advanced Arab doctors are in their knowledge compared to us in the Christian north, and—’ Careful, I warned myself. ‘Anyway, I’m just telling you this so you’ll realize that Lord Gilbert’s not being misled, and I really am learning a great deal of the healer’s art from Gurdyman.’ I paused, feeling rather as if I was about to dive into deep water. ‘But—’

  ‘But that’s not all he’s teaching you,’ Jack said quietly.

  I felt myself blush. ‘What do you mean?’ I hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, but I was on the defensive.

  Jack sighed. He stoked the fire, checked on the water, then said, ‘Lassair, your Gurdyman is a very private person, discreet, subtle and quite clever enough to perceive that if the inhabitants of this town knew what he really was they’d flush him out like a rat from a sewer and drive him far away.’

  ‘He’s not!’ Stupidly I denied the accusation before Jack had made it. ‘He’s good, and no threat to anybody! He’s quite harmless, and – and—’

  Harmless? Even I baulked at that.

  Into the abrupt silence Jack said calmly, ‘He may well be good but he certainly isn’t harmless. The fact that he doesn’t do harm isn’t because he can’t but because he doesn’t choose to, which emphasizes his goodness.’

  Jack waited for me to comment, but I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Now I have been quietly studying Gurdyman,’ he went on after a while. ‘Not that it’s easy, for he is a recluse and extremely careful who he chooses for friends. But I keep my eyes and ears open and I’ve spent a lot of time with you—’ I must have made some faint sound of protest, for he said swiftly, ‘Oh, don’t worry, you have been very discreet and barely said a word about him, but you can’t help what you are, and you reveal all the time that someone other than your village aunt has been teaching you.’

  ‘Edild is a fine woman!’ I protested. ‘She’s—’

  But Jack held up a hand. ‘I know, Lassair. I’m not demeaning her, I’m merely stating that your mind has been opened and developed far beyond the range of anything she, or anybody else come to that, could do.’ Reluctantly I turned to look at him. ‘Gurdyman is extraordinary,’ he said gently. ‘You cannot know how much I envy you, being his adept.’

  I felt as if my heart had stopped. Then it gave a powerful, almost painful lurch. I whispered, ‘You know, don’t you?’

  He gave me a very sweet smile. ‘Of course I know.’

  It was as if a careful, secure construct that I’d built around myself had come tumbling down. I’d imagined, in my fond arrogance, that the land into which Gurdyman was leading me – that fascinating, wonderful, dangerous, mysterious, magical and frequently terrifying land – was like a foreign country which, when I left it and returned to the everyday world and the doltish, blinkered people who inhabited it, left no sign on me to show I’d ever been away. I’d thought myself so special, hugging my growing store of arcane knowledge and, yes, my increasing array of skills, believing everyone I encountered thought I was a simple village girl who was learning to be a healer.

  But not everyone had been fooled.

  ‘Do – do they all know?’ I whispered. I could hardly bear to ask.

  ‘No!’ Jack replied instantly. ‘Oh, no. You’re that healer girl. Renowned as trustworthy and hard-working, I might add, and your reputation grows.’

  ‘But that’s all?’ He nodded. ‘You swear it is so?’ I pressed urgently.

  ‘I swear,’ he said solemnly. Then: ‘I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Lassair. You have learned well from Gurdyman that the other studies you undertake with him are not to be advertised; that to speak of them is potentially dangerous, for both of you.’ He looked straight into my eyes. ‘I will never do anything to put you at risk.’

  Perhaps it was just the emotion of the moment that had made him speak with such quiet, powerful intensity.

  He, too, must have felt the awkwardness. He got up, tested the water again and then set about mixing drinks for us. He took longer than usual about it, and I guessed he was giving us both time to recover.

  When once more we were seated side by side beside the hearth, he said, in very much his normal voice, ‘So, we now suspect that Morgan too w
as robbed, probably of cinnabar and maybe also of his hidden stash of emeralds. We know too that although the thief or the killer – perhaps both, and perhaps they are one and the same – must have been desperate to find Osmund’s secret workroom, they didn’t succeed, for the emeralds are still there.’ He glanced briefly at me. ‘I am guessing that you have a fair idea what these people – Osmund, Morgan and Cat, maybe your own beloved Gurdyman – have been up to. I’m surmising that it’s an experiment of some kind, and that it is somehow extremely important. Perhaps it holds out the promise of vast wealth; perhaps its riches are spiritual. Robert Powl, I suggest, was shipping certain very special ingredients into the town, and somehow he came to understand that what he carried – in all innocence, probably – was a great deal more valuable than he had imagined. Perhaps he sold some of these substances before he realized; Mistress Judith seems to have had them in her store.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Our thief, then, is motivated simply by greed. Our killer, for some reason of his own, doesn’t want the experiments to continue. Or, as I just said, maybe thief and killer are the same, united in a single evil man – or woman – who operates under the Night Wanderer disguise.’

  I put down my mug and dropped my face into my hands. All at once I was exhausted. I’d come all the way from Aelf Fen that day, discovered Gurdyman was still worryingly missing, been surprised and jumped almost out of my skin when Jack burst in on me, thought I was safely indoors for the night at his house only to be dragged out again to revisit the scene of gentle Morgan’s and innocent, pitiable Cat’s deaths and then creep along in the shadows to investigate poor Osmund’s pathetic hidden workroom.

  Now, back once more in the warmth and security of Jack’s house, I’d been brought face to face with the fact that he knew far more about me than I’d thought he did, and then, on top of that, he seemed to be asking me to conduct a full analysis of the Night Wanderer’s crimes. It was too much; far, far too much.

  And through it all I kept seeing Morgan’s and Cat’s bodies, the young apprentice thrown across his master as if he’d given himself in a futile attempt to save the beloved old man’s life. Jack knew that Gurdyman was engaged in the same work as Morgan – how many others knew too? Did it mean what I was so very afraid it meant, that Gurdyman was also in danger? Already dead? Hrype had told me he was safe, but that had been days ago, and, besides, I didn’t think Hrype was above lying if he felt it was for the right reasons.

  I didn’t know how I would even begin to cope with it if Gurdyman suffered – had already suffered – the fate of the Night Wanderer’s other victims.

  I held my emotions at bay for as long as I could, but anxiety, fatigue and grief were overcoming me and I had nothing left with which to fight. A sob broke out of me, and very soon I was crying in earnest.

  Jack’s arms went round me, and he made an inarticulate sound of dismay and sympathy. ‘There’s no reason to believe he’s been harmed,’ he said gently. How did he know? I wondered wildly. ‘Every other victim has been left in plain sight, almost as if the killer wants them to be quickly found, so why should he suddenly change his habits?’

  It made sense but I was too far gone to appreciate it. ‘We can’t know for sure!’ I wept.

  Jack’s arms tightened, and all at once I was pressed to his chest. I could hear the fast drumming of his heart. ‘You would know, Lassair,’ he whispered. I felt the touch of a kiss on the top of my head.

  It’s funny how the body works. I’d been weary beyond measure, sick at heart and full of sorrow, but abruptly I was filled with something totally different.

  I turned in his arms, raised my head and, putting my face up to his, kissed him. He tried to hold back – he muttered something but I didn’t listen – then, with a sort of sigh, he gave up the struggle.

  I was no expert in love. Something happened that night between Jack Chevestrier and me, though, which I knew even then I would never forget, all the days of however long my life would be. I think I already knew he loved me, and there was something in his total absorption in me, his very evident wish for my joy, his care, his skill and the extraordinary, shared moment of ecstasy that we experienced, that informed me quietly how deep that love might go.

  It sounded a very small note of warning.

  I didn’t listen to that, either. I was far too wrapped up in him: in his beautiful, solid, strong and muscular body, in the vast relief of the warmth, comfort and safety I felt emanating out of him to enfold me.

  Eventually we lay quietly, side by side in his bed. I was still in his arms – I was hugging him too, and I couldn’t let go of him – and my head was pillowed on his chest. He didn’t speak, and neither did I.

  There were no words to say.

  SIXTEEN

  I woke alone. It was early – I could tell by the light – and the house was cold. Dragging a blanket off the bed, I wrapped myself in it and went into the main room. Jack wasn’t there, and the fire was out. Just for a second I thought, He’s gone. He regrets what happened last night and can’t face me. I won’t see him again.

  Only for a second. This was Jack. He wasn’t that sort of man.

  Hastily I washed and dressed, then set about building the fire. I put water on to boil and looked through Jack’s supplies till I found oats for porridge. Then I tidied the bed, leaving everything neat. I packed my own belongings back in my satchel. You wouldn’t have thought anyone but Jack had ever been there.

  The food had been ready for only a short while when he came in. He looked at me – it was only a brief glance, but I read a great deal in it – then, the smile remaining on his face, said, ‘I thought you’d still be asleep. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke – oh, good, is that porridge?’

  He sat down beside me, reaching for the bowl I was holding out. His manner was so natural, so unstrained, that it was as if we’d shared a house and a bed for years.

  ‘I was worried and it woke me,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘As soon as dawn broke, I went out to see Walter and the lads down in the tavern.’ He glanced at my bowl. ‘You’ve nearly finished, and so have I – as soon as we’re done, we need to go back there. Ginger’s suffered a very bad beating.’

  ‘What!’ I leapt up. ‘Why didn’t you say so straight away?’ I demanded, already gathering up my shawl and reaching for my satchel. ‘While we’ve been calmly eating, I could have been tending that poor man!’

  Jack too was on his feet. ‘It hasn’t taken very long to consume a bowl of porridge,’ he said calmly. ‘We’ll be better able to help Ginger, and tackle whatever else this day throws at us, with food in our bellies.’

  He was right.

  As we hurried off through the deserted village and out on to the road, he told me briefly what had happened, and why he had been worried. ‘When Ginger and I did our second search of Osmund’s cell—’

  ‘When you found the key,’ I put in.

  ‘When we found the key, yes. I had the sense that someone was watching us, but we both had a good look round and didn’t spot anyone. I forgot about it, which I shouldn’t have done, and then I remembered it early this morning. I couldn’t suppress the thought that something was wrong, and that was why I went down to the tavern on the quay. Ginger was dumped on the doorstep only a short time before I got there.’

  ‘Do you think someone saw you coming out of Osmund’s cell with the key, and beat him up to make him reveal what it opened?’

  ‘They might have seen Ginger and me but they wouldn’t have seen the key,’ Jack said. ‘It was I who found it, and it was well concealed. He’d fixed it to the back of a small stone relief of the Madonna and Child that hung over the bed. I slipped it inside my tunic and didn’t tell Ginger about it.’

  My mind leapt to understand. ‘So whoever beat up Ginger knew the key was there.’

  Jack gave me a smile. ‘That’s what I think, too.’

  ‘And Ginger knew nothing about the key, so of course he wouldn’t know what it was for. Oh, no!’ The full horror of that str
uck me like a blow. ‘He couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know, so there was no way to stop the pain!’

  I grabbed Jack’s hand and broke into a run.

  Ginger lay on a low narrow cot in a little room at the back of the tavern, stripped to the waist. His face was bloody, he had two black eyes and, I thought at first glance, probably a broken nose. There were bruises all over the ribs on his left side. He was bleeding from cuts to both forearms and also from a deeper gash across his abdomen.

  Walter crouched beside him, and the other men hovered anxiously in the doorway.

  Walter looked up as we hurried into the foetid little room. ‘I’m right glad to see you,’ he said, eyes on mine. ‘I was going to send for his old mother, but the other lads said why add to his pains?’ One of the men gave a small laugh.

  I knelt beside Ginger. He was unconscious. I felt all around his head, looking for the swelling that is often such an ominous warning sign. There were a couple of lumps, one on the left side of the crown, one just under the hairline above his right eye. Neither was very large, but I would watch them carefully. He was lucky – if anything about receiving such a violent beating could be called lucky – in that neither blow had landed on the temples. Edild told me that the area of skull there is the weakest part.

  I ran my hands down to Ginger’s face. Swellings and cuts on the eyebrows, the nose definitely broken, the jaw, as far as I could tell, intact, although heavily bruised. I felt his shoulders, arms, ribs. Broken ribs, probably – the bruising was extensive – but, as with his nose, there wasn’t much to be done about that. The cuts on the forearms were fairly superficial, but his left wrist was broken, as was his little finger.

  ‘Is there any damage to his lower body?’ I asked.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ Walter replied.

  I checked anyway. I suspected someone had kneed poor Ginger in the testicles, which had probably hurt more than all the other injuries put together. Otherwise, below the waist he seemed undamaged.