"She?" Terwen asked.
Alleyne nodded stiffly, his right hand kneading his neck; there were fresh bruises on his face as well. "From the sound of her voice when she called for the police-which meant that we couldn't chase her, since we were too busy explaining things to your people, Detective."
"Things were completely shambolic," Hordle said. "Like chasing a bloody rubber ball, it was." He turned to Eilir, who spoke to him in Sign, then turned back. "Eilir says she was about her size and build, but that she couldn't get close enough to see anything else."
"Well, there is blood on the ground outside the window," Terwen said. "And on the barbed wire, and on the rooftop across the alley. That does tend to corroborate your story: which doesn't mean it's very convincing. I still have a dead body with a knife in it, and it's your employee's knife, Mr. Hatfield, and you were imprisoning the victim without legal authority. You may have noticed judges are getting more sensitive about stuff like that this last little while, Bill."
"That bastard was from the Protectorate, not a Corvallan citizen," Hatfield said stolidly.
"Well, why were you dragging him around?" Terwen asked, turning on the Dunedain leaders.
"He led a bandit attack on our territory," Astrid said, making a dismissive gesture. "We brought him here to explain that to your Faculty Senate, with the rest of the evidence."
"Evidence?"
"There," she said, pointing.
One of the younger Dunedain helpfully stepped over to a leather trunk stacked against the wall, one of a set designed to go on either side of a pack-saddle, and flipped it open. A few of the spectators stepped back at the spoiled-meat smell, not overwhelming in the cold weather, but fairly strong. The glassy stares of the dead bandits stared out into the room, bloated, smiling with the rictus that draws back the drying lips.
"Oh, Astrid, Eilir," Juniper murmured under her breath. "You girls just cannot resist a dramatic gesture, can you?"
She put her hand in Nigel Loring's. Even then, and despite what must be a chorus of devils beating out a tune on the inside of his skull, Alleyne Loring noticed and smiled.
"Thirty-two dead bandits, and we didn't lose one of our own," Astrid said proudly. "And this orcb from the Protectorate was leading them against us."
Terwen sighed himself. "You know, Lady Astrid, I actually believe every word you've said. The problem is there's no proof of anything, including who those heads belonged to."
Astrid looked at him, her silver-veined blue eyes puzzled. "But we wouldn't have killed them if they weren't bandits and evildoers," she pointed out.
Eilir made a clicking sound with her tongue. Astrid looked over at her, and the other signed: There's that paper that the monk gave us.
"Ah!" Astrid said. "I'd forgotten that: "
It was in another box, a smaller steel one they used for money and documents. Terwen looked it over; the writing was a fine copperplate, but a little unsteady due to internal application of Brannigan's Special. He held it up to the gray winter daylight from outside, checking that it had the Abbey's watermark-Mount Angel made its own paper too, at least for official documents.
"Well, this corroborates your story," he said. "Mind if I show this to the chief of police? Thanks. OK, you two"-he pointed a finger at Harry and Dave, sitting with numb expressions on overturned buckets-"don't try leaving town, or I will definitely bring charges and you go to the lockup pending trial. There'll have to be a judicial hearing, as it is."
He turned to the Mackenzies and Bearkillers. "You folks know what I did before the Change?"
"No," Mike Havel said. "You weren't a student, like everybody else in this town?"
"Nah, I was a cop. Sometimes I think that's a disadvantage. I may : will need to talk to you all again. Please notify me if you're leaving town before this is settled."
"This is bad," Juniper said again, as he left.
"It was bad when we arrived, Juney. This just makes it worse," Havel said, and looked at his sister-in-law and her companions. "You couldn't, just maybe, have told the rest of us what was going on?"
"We didn't expect Lady Sandra to have Sir Jason killed," Astrid said, a slightly defensive note in her voice. "He was her own liege man: well, her husband's baron's liege man. We thought she'd try to rescue him. All she'd have to do would be to get him out on the street and we couldn't take him back."
Signe snorted. "Anyone who underestimates Sandra Arminger's: focus: is going to be sorry and sore," she said. "She's just as smart as the bastard she married, and a lot more clear-headed."
"And sir: " Alleyne said. "Perhaps we were being a trifle vain, but we thought the four of us could intercept whoever she sent and Sir Jason as they left. We also felt that a larger party would have been too likely to be detected. We wanted to catch someone, after all, not deter them from trying at all."
"Yeah." Havel nodded. "That's the way I'd have bet, too. Sandra's got a real pro working for her. Pity you didn't kill her."
"Wait a minute," Signe said. They all glanced over at her. "I've got an idea."
She spoke for five minutes. When she finished, Astrid frowned and spoke. "But what if Lady Sandra doesn't buy it?"
"Then at least we'll be able to see who she uses to contact them. She'll have to investigate."
Astrid smiled sweetly. "Oh, I think I have an idea about that too. A fail-safe. We have to be careful. But I think I know the right bait, if it was Tiphaine Rutherton."
Mike Havel glanced back and forth between them. After a moment, he began to laugh. "I see why the Larssons stayed on top of the heap all those generations."
Chapter Eight
Corvallis and area, Oregon
January 12th, 2008/Change Year 9
"M atti!" Sandra Arminger said, holding out her arms.
"Oh, puh-leeze," Astrid muttered under her breath. "Raica pedeth!"
No, Rudi Mackenzie thought. She really means it. Yeah, she's showing it off, too, for those guys -his eyes went to the Corvallan officials, who were looking uneasy- but she's really sad and upset too.
It was odd, the way other people had trouble telling each other's feelings. They were pretty obvious to him, most of the time.
Mathilda ran to her mother. They were in a seldom-used public room, some sort of meeting place in one of the town government's buildings, empty except for windows and chairs and a table, gloomy, dead light fixtures still in the particle-tile ceiling, with a bare, fusty smell of stale linoleum and dead insects. Rudi didn't like it; he'd grown up in buildings made of honest logs and planks, and preferred the feel of wood. He stood a little closer to his own mother.
This old stuff is creepy, he thought, shivering slightly, and focused on the people instead.
Sandra Arminger's cotte-hardi and headdress made a splash of silver and pearl gray and white, the silk and linen and wool warm despite the restrained colors. Mathildas sumac red jacket and plain kilt were a contrast to it as she hugged her mother. For a long moment they embraced, and then they spoke together in low tones. When the girl turned to beckon him, her face was wet with tears.
"Hello, young lord," Mathilda's mother said, after he'd walked over and bowed.
She extended a hand, and he took it and kissed it courteously, bending a knee slightly; it was polite of her to treat him like a grown-up. When he looked up their eyes met; hers were dark and deep, like wells full of cleverness and hidden thought; Rudi could feel them probing at him, as if she could see inside him, or was trying to. He smiled, and saw her mouth quirk up at one corner in response.
"Lady Sandra," he said formally. "I'm happy to meet you."
"My daughter tells me you've been a good friend to her," the woman said.
Rudi's smile grew into a grin, and he put an arm around Mathilda's shoulders for a momentary squeeze. "Sure!" he said. "Matti's cool. We're best friends."
"Ah!" her mother said, and her eyes warmed, losing a little of that knife-keen look. "Now isn't that nice? She needs a friend, being so far from home. Could we talk a little more?"