‘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 knew 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.
‘Yes,’ I said.
He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘It’s used to make quicksilver and it has certain applications in healing, although it’s poisonous and you have to know what you’re doing.’
‘So why is someone stealing it?’ Ginger asked. ‘The victims aren’t being poisoned, they’re dying because their throats are ripped out.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
I could have added, but I’m just beginning to have an idea. That idea, however, was so dim and cloudy in my mind that I didn’t.
We now knew, or believed we knew, what was at the root of the thefts, and in all likelihood of the murders, too. But why it should be, and what the killer was hoping to achieve by those brutal slayings, as yet we had absolutely no idea.
Full night had come on while we had been talking. Looking up and noticing this, swiftly Jack dispersed the men. He warned them to be careful, for the night watch would by now be out in force and he didn’t want any of them to be picked up and punished for being out after curfew. Studying his expression as he watched them leave, however, I didn’t think he was seriously worried; they were a canny bunch.
We gave them a little while to get well away, then we too slipped out of the tavern and into the darkness, heading off along the quay towards the Great Bridge, and the castle and the deserted village beyond. But before we had even got as far as the bridge, we heard the unmistakable sounds of a patrol. There were at least ten, maybe a dozen men, and they were crossing the bridge from the castle side. They were armed, booted – their marching feet rang out in unison as they went over the bridge – and with dismay we realized they were coming our way. Even as we drew back into the deep shadow of a warehouse, we saw the leading pair wheel off to their left and down on to the quay.
Jack took my hand and said very softly right into my ear, ‘Back away from the water. Be very quiet.’
He didn’t really need to tell me.
We crept down the narrow gap between the warehouse and its neighbour, edging steadily away from the light of the patrols’ flaring torches, bright as midday in the darkness. Presently I felt grass beneath my feet. We were out in the open, behind the buildings that line the quay, on the edge of the patch of pasture and woodland between town and river.
For a moment I thought we were safe. But then the lights told me otherwise: the men of the patrol were being thorough for once, investigating down between the quayside buildings to the open space beyond.
Jack grabbed my hand again and we ran. My satchel banged against my hip bone, and somehow it spurred me on.
We came to a stand of alder, and used the welcome shelter to pause and catch our breath. But it wasn’t much of a hiding place, and if the patrol ventured out across the fields they would very soon think to check among the trees.
Then I had an idea. Leaning close to Jack, I said, ‘We could hide by the sacred well.’
He looked at me, his expression quite cross. ‘There’s nowhere to hide there!’ he hissed. He was right, for, although the well is quite a special spot to me, it really is pretty much just a well; a hole in the ground with a slatted wooden cover and a small construction built over it like a little roof. It’s a rarely frequented spot, and only a few of the townsfolk bother much with it nowadays.
‘I know someone who lives just the other side of it,’ I whispered. ‘He’s a friend of Gurdyman’s and I’ve visited him once or twice. We could hide in his outhouse, and if the worst comes to the worst and the patrol follow us there, I’m sure he’ll take us in and swear we’ve been there all along.’
Swiftly Jack thought about it. Then he nodded, muttered, ‘I hope you’re right,’ and we were off again.
We passed the sacred well, with its lone oak tree spreading out sheltering, protective branches. I wished there was time to stop, for it’s a healthy, restorative place and always seems to make you feel better, even on a brief visit. I gave a dip of the head in its direction, and muttered some words under my breath. Then we were past, hurrying on.
Very soon, the lonely little dwelling of Gurdyman’s friend Morgan loomed up ahead. Like Gurdyman, Morgan is a magician; a strange old man who lives mostly in a world of his own, but who is kind and gentle. I’d always rather liked him. It was a small house, low to the ground, and gave the impression that it was doing its best to look inconspicuous. Beyond the house there was a smaller building constructed on the same lines, where Morgan stored his reserve supplies. Neither house nor store showed a light, but then it was late now, and more than likely that Morgan and his young assistant – a spotty, stuttering youth with nervous yellow eyes who goes by the name of Cat – had retired for the night.