Chadde released Ranulf’s wrist, and Ranulf slid his sword back into its scabbard, his mouth a thin line bracketed by his beard as he scowled. Chadde turned to the corpse, her own frown returning. “So these stab wounds are caused by the casting of the spell?”
“Yes.” Finished scrubbing, Laurel shook the water from his paws. “The pattern of the wounds is the spell; the death of the unfortunate the empowering of it.” He walked over to me and, with a sigh, I offered a corner my cloak. “The fact that the wounds are frozen tells two things,” Laurel continued, drying his paws. “First, the caster of the spell has the water aspect.”
Lord Ranulf’s dark eyes rested on me as he snarled.
“If Rabbit had cast the spell, he wouldn’t have needed the death to complete it,” Laurel said, his voice as mild as Thadro’s. “He’s more than powerful enough not to need any, hrmm, outside help.”
“Really?” Beollan asked, interested. “More powerful than you?”
“Yes,” Laurel said. Done with my cloak, he dropped it and I handed him his coat.
“What’s the second thing, Master Laurel?” Chadde asked, still staring down at the corpse.
“That the unfortunate was kept alive until the last stab. The freezing of the wounds kept him from bleeding out, no?” Laurel picked up my dagger again. “Here—” He pointed with the dagger tip to a wound. “This one was the final one, piercing the heart.” Still using the dagger, Laurel lifted Menck’s wrist, and we could see abrasions and bruising. “He has the same marks on his other wrist and both ankles. He was tied down as he was slowly killed. It was someplace private, honored folk, where no one would hear his screams. Then they dumped the body where it was found, not bothering to bring the unfortunate’s cloak or shoes. Why should they? He certainly had no need of them.”
“What’s wrong with the money and jewels?” Beollan asked abruptly. His thin face was all angles and sharp planes as he returned his attention to the minihoard on the body slab. The rest of us did too, attracted by the glitter of sudden, intense wealth.
Laurel dropped my dagger back in the bowl and, extending a claw, he swished the water. “Certain metals and stones have an affinity for the talent, honored Beollan. The more precious they are, the greater the affinity.” He glanced at the pile of the certainly precious metal and gems. “Whoever killed the jailer didn’t realize that he had them with him or they would’ve made certain to remove them first.”
“Why?” Ranulf asked, also studying the stones and coins. Despite the spark and twinkle of the gems and gold, they seemed duller than they should’ve been, as though a coating of dust lay over them. The Marcher Lord reached for a coin to examine it more closely.
“Because both Menck’s extended death and whatever was conjured with it have left their mark on them,” Laurel said. “I suppose you could say that they’re cursed.”
Ranulf stopped midreach, and everyone took a collective step back from the slab.
“Permanently?” Beollan asked from his new vantage point.
“That remains to be seen,” Laurel said. “Sometimes curses can be lifted. Sometimes, no.” Finished cleansing my knife, he handed it dripping to me, taking his staff back at the same time. “However, right now we need to discuss the disposition of the unfortunate’s body.”
” ‘Disposition’?” Thadro asked.
“It should be burned with the appropriate death rituals,” Laurel began, but Chadde, Beollan and Ranulf all started talking at once.
“No,” Chadde said.
“Impossible,” Beollan stated.
“Sacrilege!” Ranulf growled.
“They’re right, Laurel,” I said, drying my dagger on my cloak. “You can’t do that here.”
Laurel’s brows crooked. “There was no problem burning honored Basel’s body.”
Trooper Basel had been the Mountain Patrol’s cook. He had turned into a White Stag when the troop had translated in the Royal City—and was then murdered by Lieutenant Slevoic ibn Dru because he had witnessed one of the Vicious’ attempts against my life. We built a funeral pyre for Basel, as Laurel had then pointed out that to have the Stag’s body parts ending up in apothecaries’ potions or other places would not have been good. And now Laurel was saying that bad things were associated with Menck’s death, too. But, however true that was, in the northern marches folk had very strong ideas about burying their dead.
“That was in Iversly,” I said as Jeff nodded in agreement. “It’s very different here. The only ones burned are those convicted of witchcraft or other, like depravity. Not burying him in hallowed ground would not only declare him anathema, but also would taint his family and even the town.”
“That is true,” Chadde said. “And while he was most definitely criminally corrupt, we have no proof that in this instance Menck was anything more than a victim—” The peacekeeper broke off as Laurel flung up a paw, his ears swiveling. The cat snatched my dagger from me and used it to pick up Menck’s clothes, covering the coins and jewels with them.
We stared at him in surprise, then steps sounded outside in the small courtyard. All of us turned and a few moments later the mayor walked in, accompanied by the head of the town’s merchant guild, Master Ednoth. I felt my spine relax and beside me Jeff let out a small breath of relief. Menck’s gruesome corpse and the talk of curses and death magic were making us jumpy.
“My lords and—” Mayor Gawell’s gaze went to Laurel. “Laurel Faena, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “His Majesty was kind enough to send a messenger to tell me that he’d asked you to aid our peacekeeper.”
I frowned at how Gawell, having accused me of being hell’s spawn, seemed to take Laurel—the talking and upright-walking mountain cat—in stride. There was also a very slight crease between Thadro’s brows as he looked at the mayor. Then the Lord Commander’s face went politically blank.
“We need all the help we can get,” Ednoth said, his fringe of hair a little mussed as though he’d just gotten out of bed and had hurriedly smoothed it down. “Murder’s not something that we’re accustomed to; the last one we had was so long ago.”
I glanced at Chadde to see how she felt about Master Ednoth’s dismissal of her abilities, but the peacekeeper appeared her usual calm self.
“Very true.” Gawell gave a massive sigh that seemed to suck most of the air from the room. He expelled it with a cough, though, as he also had sucked in the acrid aromas still emanating from Menck’s clothes. The mayor walked over to the slab that contained the head jailer’s body and looked down at his kinsman, his face in the flickering torchlight seeming more irritated than sorrowful. “However, I am not surprised that Menck was killed. Grieved, but not surprised.” He shook his head, looking even more irritated as his mouth tightened, his eyes going over the pile of clothes. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
“His purse was missing, your honor,” Chadde said, her voice matching her calm face.
I started at Chadde’s statement, then, before I could be elbowed by Thadro, became still. Beside me Jeff began to turn his head to stare at the peacekeeper, then checked himself. Fortunately, both Mayor Gawell and Master Ednoth were focused on Menck’s remains, so they didn’t see either of us. Nor did they see the long look Laurel gave Chadde before putting down my dagger and becoming busy making sure everything was put away properly in his carrypouch. Ranulf managed to keep his attention on the corpse, but his fingers drummed on his sword belt. The only ones who didn’t respond to Chadde’s misdirection were Lord Beollan and the Lord Commander. Beollan turned his head to survey the mayor and merchant, while Thadro simply remained as he was before, expression, body stance and all.