“And were they the ones that gave you the black eyes?” asked the sheriff, gesturing with his spoon.
“Aye.”
“Can you prove it?”
Thomas shook his head. “They attacked Timothy’s wagon. George and Eileen will vouch for that, but as for the rest…” he sighed. “I didn’t see who beat me up. It was dark and they caught me off guard. No one was around when Timothy died, but I’m certain it’s the same ones who did it all.”
“And Timothy said they were working for the bishop,” said the sheriff, using a biscuit to soak up some of the grease from his plate, “which, of course, no one else heard him say but you.”
“Aye,” said Thomas, “but all three of us heard one of them say ‘his Grace’ was waiting for Timothy when they attacked his wagon.”
The sheriff turned to George and Eileen, who nodded their confirmation. “Humph.” He cleared the last of the food from his plate and stood up. “Well, then, we’ll just have to ask the bishop about it.”
“If we can find him,” said Thomas. “He was heading to Berrytown when he left Elmvale. He should have passed through here two days ago.” “I don’t know about that,” the sheriff said, “but one of his men rode into town last night to secure rooms at the inn. Apparently he’ll be arriving today.”
***
Thomas was certain they’d attract a crowd from the moment the sheriff led them back into town. If the sight of three strangers had turned heads the night before, the return of those three with fresh injuries, two dead bodies, and the sheriff as an escort would probably cause whiplash. To his surprise, no one came out on the street to see them. In fact, there was no sign of anyone. The houses were quiet; the streets empty save for a stray dog that shied away, smelling death.
“Where is everyone?” asked George. “The place is empty.”
“I was with you,” said Thomas. “I have no idea.”
“Well, they can’t have all vanished,” said Ailbe. “Maybe they—”
She was cut off by the rumble of voices lifted together in not-quite unison. It took Thomas a moment to sort out the sounds enough to realize it was prayer.
“From the inn, sounds like,” said the sheriff. “Guess the bishop made it in.”
He led them towards the inn. The rumbling became recognizable words as they grew closer; responses chanted to the bishop’s prayers. When they reached the street with the inn, they found it filled with people. The bishop himself was in front of the inn, standing on something that raised him high enough to be seen above the crowd. He was resplendent in his green and white formal robes, his gold jewellery glittering in the sunlight. He was also not alone. Several other priests and what looked to be several courtiers stood behind him, watching and listening. Randolf, dressed in his customary black, stood to one side, glaring at the crowd. Thomas, remembering the man’s speed from the night before, felt a shiver run up his back.
“Now go in peace,” the bishop said, ending the service with the ritual words, “And may the love of the High Father, greatest of the Four, be with you!”
He waved a blessing over the crowd, then stepped off the platform and temporarily out of sight. The crowd started to break up, but stopped at the sight of the sheriff, leading his corpse-laden horse. The voices that had been in prayer moments before started muttering speculatively to each other. Several people called out questions. The sheriff ignored them. A few of the mutterers had been at the inn the night before, and they started passing out what little they knew about Thomas and his friends.
“Your Grace!” the sheriff called, just before the man could vanish into the inn. The bishop turned and saw the group walking towards him. A flicker of some emotion—annoyance, perhaps—passed over the bishop’s face, then vanished. The sheriff walked forward, the crowd parting before him.
Before the inn was a small stage of the sort that was set up for travelling players. Between it and the inn were a half-dozen guards, dressed in the grey livery of the Church of the High Father. The sheriff motioned Thomas and the others to stop a fair ways back from the inn, then led his horse forward. Two guards stepped in his way as he closed in.
“Let him pass,” said the bishop, stepping forward to meet him. Randolf stayed right behind his master, his hand resting almost negligently on the hilt of his sword. The sheriff came forward and the bishop held out his ring. As protocol dictated, the sheriff bowed and kissed it. “The young man I see with you has a reputation for causing trouble,” the bishop said before the sheriff could speak. “What has he done this time?”
A retort leapt to Thomas’s lips and he locked it away, letting the sheriff take the lead.
“Defended himself, it seems,” the sheriff said. “Last night, he and his friends were set upon by four men who intended to do murder.”
“Indeed?” The bishop said. “I find it rather surprising how murder follows this one around.” He locked eyes with Thomas. “Only two days ago there was a murder in Elmvale. A travelling juggler, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” said the sheriff. “He told me about it.”
“Indeed?” the bishop kept his eyes on Thomas. “How brave of him.”
The mockery in the bishop’s tone was subtle, but Thomas caught it, and he had no doubt that the sheriff had as well. He kept his eyes level, meeting the bishop’s and doing his best to look calm. The bishop stared at him a moment longer, then turned back to the sheriff. “I fail to see, however, Sheriff, why this young man’s brawling should be
my
concern?”
“I’ve been told that these two might have worked for you,” the sheriff gestured at the bodies on the horse. “I’d appreciate if you’d have a look at them.”
“This hardly seems the place,” said the bishop.
“I appreciate the timing is difficult.” The sheriff gestured Shamus forward. “However, the sooner we get the matter resolved, the better.”
Together, the sheriff and Shamus pulled the bodies off the horse and laid them out on the ground. The crowd buzzed and drew closer. Heads craned to see the men on the ground, and from the protests, several children were being led away.
The bishop stepped forward and surveyed the bodies. “And these were supposed to have worked for me?”
The sheriff nodded. “And the two others who got away.”
The bishop shook his head. “I would never hire such men,” he said. “Though I believe I have a third of this company in my care.”
The sheriff, who had been maintaining a bland countenance until that moment, looked suddenly interested. “Do you, now?”
“My familiar found him on the side of the road, this morning. He had been stabbed repeatedly.” The bishop looked once more at Thomas, then down at Thomas’s rapier.
The sheriff followed the bishop’s gaze. “I see.”
“We have engaged a room for him to die in peace.”
Thomas ignored them both and fixed his eyes on Randolf. The man’s hand was still on his rapier, and his eyes were on Thomas. There was a hint of a smile on the familiar’s face that made Thomas’s blood run cold.
“You expect him to die, then?” The sheriff’s voice brought Thomas’s eyes back to the bishop.
The bishop nodded. “His wounds are severe. We were surprised he lived the night. I’m sure his attacker thought he would die, or he would have finished him off.”
“This morning?” the sheriff said. “That would be on the road from Elmvale, then.”
“From Fog Glen,” corrected the bishop. “We left Elmvale two days ago. We were supposed to be here yesterday, but were delayed.” The bishop turned to Thomas again and smiled, cold and smug. “There was a young woman there whose soul was in peril. I… assisted her.”
Thomas felt his gorge rise. The poor woman would have had no chance at all. He wondered what her gift had been, and if she was still alive.
“And all your servants were with you in Fog Glen?”
“All of them,” the bishop said. “Why? Do these folks claim to recognize one of my men as their other attacker?”
The sheriff looked back at the three, and for a moment Thomas expected to be asked who he recognized. The idea of having to accuse Randolf without proof made Thomas very nervous. He had no doubt the man would immediately challenge him to a duel, and Thomas doubted he’d come out as victor.
The sheriff only shook his head. “No. They will need to have a look at this one you found, though.”
“Of course,” said the bishop. “If you will follow my familiar?”
The bishop raised a hand. Randolf bowed slightly, then turned his back and walked toward the inn.
“Stay here,” the sheriff said to Shamus, then gestured the others forward and followed. Randolf moved just quick enough to make Thomas have to hurry to catch up. Eileen, leaning on her brother, couldn’t maintain the pace, and fell behind.
The familiar led the small group inside, then up the stairs to the rooms above. He didn’t look back, just led them to a small room at the end of the hallway, opened the door and stood to one side. The sheriff glanced into the room, then turned and waited for the rest to catch up. Thomas, hard on his heels, stopped as well. Ailbe was the next up.
The sheriff gestured into the room. “See if there’s any hope.”
Ailbe squeezed past the others and went into the room. Eileen came up the stairs a moment later, supported by George. The walk had been tiring enough for her, Thomas knew. He imagined the stairs had been no fun at all. Thomas met them at the stairs and offered her his arm. She grabbed it, and used it to help pull herself up the last stair, wincing at the effort. Her walk had a definite wobble to it.
“Are you all right?” asked Thomas, realizing it was a stupid question the moment it left his mouth.
“I can stand,” Eileen let Thomas go and reached out to the wall to steady herself.
“You can lean on me, if you like.”
“No.”
She kept moving down the hall, using the wall to stay upright. George followed behind, a concerned frown on his face. Thomas watched and found himself feeling very alone, and very guilty.
It’s not my fault,
he told himself.
If she had stayed home she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.
He didn’t believe it. He should have made her stay home. George too. The problem was, having them around was so much better than being by himself. They had listened to him and went along with his ideas, even if they thought he was crazy.
Ailbe stepped back into the hall, wiping her hands on a length of cloth. “He’s dying,” she said. “I’m surprised he lasted this long.”
“Can he talk?” asked the sheriff.
“Not even if he was awake.” Ailbe finished wiping her hands, leaving streaks of red on the fabric. “One of the wounds is in his throat.”
“Handy,” grunted the sheriff. He turned to Eileen. “I need you to have a look at him and tell me if he’s the one.” He held out an arm. “Come on, lass.”
Eileen took his arm and a deep breath. He led her into the little room. There was a long silence. Thomas, leaning around George to see, watched as she looked down at the man. She stared a long time.
“It’s him,” she said at last. She turned away from the bed and stumbled back to her brother, who wrapped her in his big arms. She shook in his grip, tears coming down her face. “Bastard,” she whispered. She heaved in a breath, clutched at her stomach from the pain the motion caused. “Bastard!”
Thomas watched, feeling stupid and useless, as her brother gently led her away.
“Thomas,” the sheriff gestured him in with two fingers. “I need you to look, too.”
Thomas followed the sheriff into the little room. The man on the bed was on his side, bandages wrapped around his throat and torso. A pile of cloths and a bowl of water lay near his head, though there was no sign of anyone there to care for him. The man was drawing ragged, gasping breaths, as if getting air past his injury was a near-impossible task. His eyes were closed, though his face was too contorted in pain for Thomas to believe he was asleep. His bandages, clothes, and the bedspread beneath him were stained deep red with his blood. Thomas looked at it all, and still only felt numb.
“So, lad,” said the sheriff. “Is this your handiwork?”
Thomas, staring at the man on the bed, took a moment to realize he was being accused. The anger that burned behind the numbness flared up. “No. I told you, I didn’t get the chance.”
“The bishop said he had all his people with him,” the sheriff’s voice was low, meant only for Thomas’s ear. “Are you calling him a liar?”
Thomas glanced to the door, knowing that Randolf was just on the other side of it. He shook his head. “I couldn’t prove it if I did.”
“What I wonder,” said the sheriff, “is why he would do this? What does he need to hide so badly that he would kill one of his own?”
The answer to
that
, Thomas knew, would get him into more trouble than anything else.
The man on the bed opened his eyes. His wheezing gasps changed pace, becoming harsher and more desperate. His lips and tongue moved, forming words that had no sound to give them life.
“Ailbe!” the sheriff pulled Thomas out of the room. Ailbe went in, the bishop’s familiar on her heels. Thomas stood in the door and saw Ailbe putting her gentle hands on the dying man’s face, calming him. Randolf stood right behind her, watching.
“You didn’t answer me,” the sheriff said, watching from the doorway of the room. “Why would the bishop do such a thing?”
“Thomas,” Ailbe interrupted. “Take George and Eileen back to the house. She needs to rest.”
“I need an answer,” said the sheriff, his tone adding the ‘
now.’
“Get it later,” snapped Ailbe. “I need your help here. Thomas,
go!
”
The sheriff looked ready to argue the point, but went in to help Ailbe. Randolf was pushed out, leaving him and Thomas alone in the hallway. He stared at Thomas, a sneer on his face and one hand resting on his sword. Thomas bowed to the man and backed away until he was out of sword range. Then, using the opportunity Ailbe had given, he escaped the inn.
He was nearly running by the time he reached the yard. Eileen and George were already there. Eileen was wiping at her tears. Her brother stood with one protective arm around her, looking angry. Thomas told them what Ailbe had said. George nodded and offered Eileen his arm. She took it and the two started walking slowly back to Ailbe’s house. Thomas fell in beside them. No one spoke. Thomas wanted to say something—anything—to bridge the gap that was starting to grow between them. Nothing he could think of seemed any good, though, so they walked in slow silence back through the woods.