‘Do you like him?’
‘Does it matter?’
A chuckle. ‘Not as long as he stays away from the York Tavern.’
‘Agreed.’ In truth, Owen could not imagine Michaelo having any interest in frequenting a common tavern.
They approached the masons’ lodge, where Hempe had stationed a man to talk to the stoneworkers as they arrived for the day’s work in the minster yard. At this time of year only the most skilled were retained, with a few apprentices to fetch and carry.
‘Have any noticed strangers lurking about the past few days?’ Hempe asked his man.
Blowing his hands, as if to remind his boss that he had been out in the cold all morning, the man shook his head. ‘Most say they pay no heed to folk coming and going as long as they keep clear of the work in the Lady Chapel and stay out of the lodge. No one’s bothered them of late.’
‘Most say. Someone said otherwise?’ Owen asked.
‘Young one there says he felt someone watching him yesterday and early this morning when he came in.’
Owen walked over to the youth in the dusty hat who had been watching them.
‘Hire me. I would be more help than that cotton-eared cur.’
‘Where was the watcher?’ Owen asked as Hempe joined them.
‘More than one.’ The lad pointed to a part of the minster roof, and on the ground behind the Lady Chapel.
‘They were there this morning?’ Hempe asked.
‘Only one. On the ground.’
‘You are happy here in the stoneyard?’
A sigh. ‘I want to carve faces. But it takes years.’
Owen grinned. ‘You sound like my son when he became apprentice to my wife. But his duties have quickly become far more to his liking.’
‘If you decide that chasing down those who break the peace sounds better than helping to build this great minster, come and find me,’ said Hempe. ‘You have been helpful.’
The lad beamed as they headed toward the Lady Chapel. Beneath the overhang they found that the melting snow coming off the roof in icy chunks obliterated any sign of watchers.
Owen continued on round the corner and through the door. The activities of the day had begun in earnest within, the chapter at prayer in the choir, canon lawyers and their clerks at work in the transept, priests saying masses in the nave chantry chapels. Another one of Hempe’s men guarded the door to the chapter house.
‘Any activity?’ Hempe asked.
‘Clerks curious to hear more about the deaths, a mason wanting access to his tools, accused us of keeping them from their work. I told him to see you, Captain.’
‘He had no key?’
‘We were told not to let anyone past until you said so.’
‘Welcome news,’ said Hempe.
‘Good man,’ said Owen. ‘Now if you will open the door.’
‘No need, Captain.’ He stepped aside. ‘It’s not locked while a guard is present.’
‘I trust you will ensure that it is not left unattended, not even for the moment it might take to step outside and relieve yourself?’
A blush. God help them. ‘Yes, Captain.’
Within, morning light flooded the circular room, though it was as cold as the rest of the vast interior of York Minster. Access to the upper reaches was by a small door to the left inside the main entrance, the stone steps narrow, unlit. ‘We need your man’s lantern.’
Hempe fetched the light. ‘What are we looking for?’
‘Other than a small chunk of wood out of the handle of a dagger, anything that might suggest a struggle, someone lurking a long while – candle wax, fresh piss.’
‘Stonemasons piss elsewhere?’
‘I said fresh.’
‘Right. Whose dagger? The fallen man’s had no chip.’
Owen told him of the dagger Michaelo had taken from their guest, moving off before he could ask more questions.
The steps opened onto a large area surrounding heavy wooden beams supporting the ceiling below. Colder here, his breath now smoking. Owen threw an end of his cloak over his shoulder and crouched to light the floor. Recently swept, and done well. Lighting a corner he saw that the sweeper had reached there. He doubted that last night’s intruder would be so thorough. ‘The masons are a tidy lot.’
‘So whatever we find, it likely belongs to the lad or the man who fell.’
Owen said nothing as he moved farther and crouched again. He repeated that all the way to where the ladder led up to the roof. Almost at the bottom of the ladder, he found the piece of wood near the archway. Standing up, he searched the stone of the arch, and found a fresh scar – with a dark smudge that might be blood, at about the height he expected. The hand that drew the knife had been grabbed and slammed into the stone to release it. Owen recalled Lucie’s description of the woman’s right hand. So she had tried to defend herself?
‘Found something?’ Hempe asked. ‘Connecting the lad to what happened up here?’
‘About the lad,’ said Owen. ‘This is to be shared only with those who must know in order to assist in our search for the truth.’
Hempe stepped close, studying Owen’s face in the lantern light. ‘What is it?’
‘A young woman, not a lad.’
A tired chuckle. ‘They might pretend not to lie with women, but churchmen are not so innocent as to make such a mistake.’
‘They are when the woman does all she can to appear a man.’
Hempe grunted. ‘Such an effort speaks of trouble left behind.’
‘It does.’ Holding the lantern high over the ladder, Owen said, ‘Ready for the cold?’
‘I am already frozen, so it matters not a whit.’
As they began to climb, Hempe said, ‘I did not want to say in front of Master Adam, but Ronan was called Neville’s summoner. Some wondered whether he would still play that role now.’
‘Sniffing out sin? But that was never Neville’s duty, was it?’
‘Which is why I find it of interest. Murder of an informer – not surprising.’
Having reached the top, Owen searched for something on which to hang the lantern, found it, then called down, ‘Opening the hatch.’
Hempe looked away. Owen pushed with his left hand, turning his blind side to the rush of accumulated snow. There would have been far more last night. He hoisted himself up onto the walkway, staying in a crouch as he moved far enough for Hempe to join him. He was not at ease on precipitous ledges since losing half of his sight.
‘Bloody–’ Hempe caught his breath as he rose to full height. ‘It would not take much to topple over.’
‘No.’
‘Even worse at night.’
‘Can you see where Ronan lay from here?’ Owen asked.
Hempe shielded his eyes from the pale sunlight and looked round, shook his head. ‘Not from here. Maybe farther over.’ He turned right, walking as if it were nothing to balance on the slippery edge of oblivion.
Owen cursed his own cowardice.
‘No. Trees in the way.’ Hempe turned back. ‘You thought someone might have been watching, witnessed the attack?’
‘It was a thought.’
‘And just fell?’
‘Or someone took care of the witness.’
‘The woman?’
A possibility. But the woman’s condition suggested she might simply have taken the opportunity to save herself from her attacker. ‘Theo frightened someone out of the chapter house. Two men? Too early to say.’
‘I will circle round,’ said Hempe, moving on.
More snow, then melt. There was little he could tell from prints, but Owen crept over to the place where he guessed the body would have gone down and examined the stones for anything other than snow and ice. Blood would have been helpful. But he found nothing.
‘Snow, slush, nothing else up here,’ Hempe declared behind him.