‘Very well,’ Jack conceded. ‘So, of our six victims, two we know to have been robbed, or at least to have had their premises searched.’ He paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. ‘We come again to poor little Gerda,’ he said. ‘I went back to Margery’s the day before yesterday to talk to the girls again, specifically to ask if Gerda’s room had been searched and if anything was missing, but I think we can discount robbery in her case. For one thing, she didn’t own much more than the clothes she stood up in, a change of personal linen and a little silver chain with a pendant, and, although it was missing when she was found, nobody thought it was worth very much, if anything. One of the girls – Madselin – said it looked old and was worn very thin. For another thing, she didn’t have a room of her own but simply a bed in a dormitory with the others, and, since the dormitory is very rarely empty, it would have been almost impossible for anyone to go in and search it without someone noticing. And, again, why would anyone bother when Gerda didn’t have anything to steal?’
Poor Gerda. It didn’t seem to have been much of a life, yet the women I’d spoken to all said she was a happy, cheerful little thing, affectionate and kind, her sweet nature unaffected by the life that circumstances had forced her to lead. She hadn’t been local, and what family she had seemed to have abandoned her.
I said suddenly, ‘What was the pendant?’
‘Hmm?’
‘What was it? A cross? A medallion?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jack admitted. ‘Margery didn’t say. Do you think it’s important?’
Yes I do, I wanted to say, because the question just popped out of my mouth without my having thought about it, as if someone – something – else wanted to know the answer.
But I didn’t know Jack well enough to tell him about the strange forces that increasingly seemed to be lined up on my side; forces which, I strongly suspected, originated from the shining stone.
‘I think it would be interesting to find out,’ I said carefully.
‘Then we will,’ Jack said. ‘We should also discover if the dwellings of our other three victims were also searched, and if anything was taken. We must visit Morgan’s house, and also the young priest’s room.’
‘But I thought your friend Walter already checked the priest’s cell? He said it was as if nobody lived there, and there was just a bed and a cross on the wall.’
‘Yes, quite right,’ Jack agreed. ‘Do you recall what else he and Ginger found out?’
‘Yes.’ I concentrated, bringing the details to mind. ‘His name was Osmund, he wasn’t local, he hadn’t been in the town long, and he was hard-working and kept himself to himself. He was frequently late for the offices but being quite harshly punished for it didn’t make him improve. He was known to go down to the river, and I can’t remember if anybody found out what for or why, although it seems to be a question begging for an answer.’
‘It was Ginger who found out about the connection with the river,’ Jack said, ‘and he too thought it ought to be followed up. He spoke again to his young cleric, who admitted that he hadn’t followed Osmund very far, only to where the path goes down towards the river, but he was able to say which direction Osmund took. Ginger and I went out last night to see what we could discover, but we didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Osmund can’t have gone far, because his friend said he was back in time for the evening office and for once he wasn’t late, so his purpose in going to the river remains unclear.’
‘Was the place he went near to Robert Powl’s house?’
‘No, not very.’
‘Or Margery’s establishment?’ Young clerics were, I was sure, visited with the same temptations as other men.
Jack grinned. ‘No.’
‘Maybe he went to meet someone. Or perhaps he finds the smooth flow of the water soothing.’ I clenched my fists in exasperation. ‘I don’t know!’
‘It’s flimsy, I agree,’ Jack said. ‘Which is why Ginger and I also made a surreptitious visit to the priests’ house and had a good look round Osmund’s cell.’
‘Oh, well done! And what did you discover?’
‘Not much,’ Jack admitted, ‘for it was as sparse and tidy as Walter said. But we found this.’ He reached inside the purse at his belt and held up a big iron key.
‘That looks very like a door key!’ I exclaimed. ‘Do we conclude, then, that he had another room somewhere?’
‘It appears that he did, but so far I have no idea where it is.’
But from somewhere deep in my mind a memory surfaced, and I thought perhaps I knew. I saw a dark passage between two big buildings, and at the end a low door. ‘Robert Powl’s warehouse,’ I said.
Jack frowned. ‘But we looked there. It wasn’t locked, if you remember.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t mean the main building. There was an alleyway going along between Robert Powl’s warehouse and the next one, with a door at the far end. I thought the door must be the way into the neighbouring building, since access to Robert Powl’s was through the open area facing the quayside, and why would you need another entrance?’
‘Unless it was to a separate part of the warehouse,’ Jack said slowly.
‘One that had to be kept locked,’ I added eagerly, ‘and whose key was found in the possession of a secretive and reclusive young priest who’s just been murdered.’
FIFTEEN
Jack stood. He looked down at me expectantly.
‘What?’ I demanded.
‘We should get going!’ he said, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious.
I had a feeling I knew the answer to the next question, but I asked it anyway. ‘And just where are we going?’
He had put out a hand and was hauling me to my feet. ‘It’s not that late and the quayside may well still be quite busy, so we’ll leave seeing if you’re right about this’ – he held up the key – ‘till last. First, we’ll head out across the fields and see what we can discover in Morgan’s house.’
There were still signs of activity up at the castle, so Jack led us out of the deserted workmens’ village via a different path; one that passed a row of one-room wattle-and-daub dwellings quietly sinking back into the earth, their poor-quality thatch in tatters and many of the roof supports missing. Good timber isn’t that easy to come by in the fens, and people in need are always ready to help themselves.
We went round the eastern side of the priory, emerging on to the road just before the Great Bridge. We waited in the shadows while a patrol came across, presumably heading back to the castle. The guards’ muttering voices sounded unnaturally subdued: this was a town under the influence of evil, and people – even well-armed guards marching in a phalanx of a dozen – were jumping at their own shadows.
When the guards had gone, Jack and I sprinted across the bridge and past the quay, running on down the road until we could branch off across the fields. Now, at last, we were out of the danger of being spotted by Sheriff Picot’s patrols, and we ought to have felt a release of anxiety. But we were hurrying towards another, far worse peril, for ahead of us was the sacred well, and close beside it the house where the two latest victims of the Night Wanderer had been slain.
I wished, as my frightened thoughts circled round and round in my head, that I could say the last victims, but I was almost sure there would be more…
Presently Morgan’s house materialized before us. It was a clear night, with enough moon to give good light, and a soft mist was rising up out of the grass, so that the low, humpy shape of the little dwelling seemed almost to be floating. The door still stood open, but no bodies now lay across the threshold.
Impulsively I said in a furious whisper, ‘They might have shut the door!’
Jack didn’t answer, save by a brief, companionable hand on my shoulder.