‘Ay,’ he said, suppressing a feeling of sickness at being so high over the street. ‘I was wondering about them marks.’
Carey went along the platform again. ‘Where did they find the knife?’
‘Just about here, sir.’
‘Right. Help me make a hole.’
‘But sir…’
‘Don’t argue, Sergeant. I don’t need a warrant.’
‘But they just had the roof done, sir.’
‘So they did, Sergeant.’
Carey had drawn his poignard and was digging away among the rushes. Reluctantly Dodd took out his own knife and helped. The hole was rather large when the Courtier finally hissed softly through his teeth and started pulling something from the thatch.
It was a man’s linen shirt, crackling and stiff with brown crumbling stains.
‘Och,’ said Dodd and then. ‘The silly bastard.’
Carey looked at him quizzically and gave him the shirt.
‘Why?’
‘Should ha’ burned it, that’s why. What’s he want tae keep it for?’
‘Couldn’t bring himself to waste a shirt. Or was going to but hasn’t had the chance yet.’
Dodd shook his head. Carey led the way back along the platform and started down the ladder, but Dodd stopped by the small window and peered in between the shutter slats.
‘Sir,’ he said softly. ‘Come and look at this.’
Carey came back, peered between the shutters as well. It was hard to be sure in the half-light, but there were two people standing in the little room. One was John Leigh, the other the girl with long red curls. They were murmuring too low for Carey to hear. The girl shrugged and spoke sharply. John Leigh nodded and held out what looked like a heavy purse. The girl reached to take it and in that moment, John Leigh dropped the purse, grabbed her wrist and hit her hard on the jaw. She reeled back and slumped. Then John Leigh was on her with his hands round her neck, silently squeezing the life out of her.
Dodd’s mouth was open. Carey stepped back, lifted his boot and kicked the shutters hard, kicked again. Dodd remembered something, left him to it, and slid down the ladder to the next level.
It was a horrible shock to John Leigh when a boot suddenly started splintering the wood of his window shutters and then burst apart the lead flushings of the expensive little diamond window panes.
Foolishly he let go of Julia Coldale’s neck, and started back, staring wildly. The head and one shoulder of the Deputy Warden shoved through the tattered window, causing glass to fall and shine in the rushes.
‘Get away from that girl,’ ordered Carey.
He can’t get through the window, thought John Leigh; it’s too small for him. Without really thinking things through, he reached for Julia Coldale again. There was a loud hammering downstairs. She was making crowing noises and blindly trying to crawl away from him; he grabbed her shoulder, pushed her back, clipped her jaw again and started strangling her once more. Something hard hit his ear painfully, drawing blood. He looked up, saw Carey with two more diamond panes in his hand, taking aim to throw them at him, his dagger in his left hand. He did throw them, John Leigh ducked, but didn’t duck fast enough and was hit on the cheek. He let go of Julia to put his hand up to the cut and another piece of glass hit him on the forehead.
There were footsteps on the stairs, but John Leigh had picked up his wife’s sewing table and was using it as a shield against the rain of missiles from Carey. The door was booted open and there stood Sergeant Dodd, breathing hard, a drawn sword in each hand.
‘Now,’ said Dodd sadly between pants. ‘Ye’d best do as the Deputy tells ye, Mr Leigh.’
Leigh’s teeth showed like a cornered dog’s. He drew his own dagger, dropped the sewing table in a mess of pincushions and thread spools, and picked up Julia, turned her about so he could put his blade to her neck. Her legs weren’t supporting her and she didn’t look as if she was breathing.
‘Stay away, Dodd,’ he shouted wildly. ‘Or I’ll cut her throat.’
Dodd stopped, partly because Julia Coldale was between him and Leigh and it was always hard to put a sword through two bodies at once. The girl made a loud snoring noise and then another, started coughing and gagging.
‘Matilda,’ roared John Leigh. ‘Matilda, come and help me. Matildaaa!’
There was no answer. Dodd stood there, a sword in each hand and no way to use either of them while Leigh kept his knife to the girl’s neck.
‘Get back,’ whispered Leigh hoarsely. ‘Get back through the door.’
‘Now listen,’ said Dodd regretfully. ‘Ye canna make it work. We both saw ye trying to kill the girl an’ I dinna care why and nor does the Deputy. But ye willnae hang if ye dinna kill her, see, so why not let her go and save us all trouble and sweat?’
The girl was gagging and whooping pitifully, still not able to stand. She must be an awful weight on his arm, thought Dodd, taking one considered step back. Leigh followed, facing him, his hand with the knife trembling dangerously.
I wonder what the Deputy’s up to, Dodd thought to himself.
‘Where will ye go?’ he asked Leigh reasonably. ‘What will ye do? Ye’ll be at the horn for sure and could ye live in the Debateable Land?’
‘Other men have,’ said Leigh desperately. Julia slipped against him and he hefted her up again, sweat on his face.
Dodd shook his head. ‘Fighting men,’ he said. ‘Wi’ all the respect in the world, sir, ye’re not a fighting man. Have ye a sword? Harness? A helmet? D’ye have horses? Can ye use a lance? My brother-in-law Skinabake Armstrong has his pick o’ men to join his gang, sir, and he’ll no’ take a Carlisle draper.’
The knife was shaking hard now. ‘I can learn,’ croaked Leigh.
‘Ay, ye could,’ said Dodd, consideringly. Behind Leigh something white appeared at the little window. ‘But could ye learn fast enough? The prime raiding season starts in August, after Lammastide, and we’re well into July already, sir.’ He raised his voice. ‘Ye’d have a lot to learn, ye ken. Are ye in one of the Carlisle trained bands, or did ye pay another man to take your place? Ay, I see ye had a substitute-and why should ye no’, ye’re a busy man, a prosperous merchant, an’ there’s nae reason in the world why ye should waste yer time out on the race course playing about wi’ pikes and arquebuses and the like…’
Carey barked his shoulders painfully, easing them through the window, then snagged his shirt on a piece of glass and had to free it. He caught the beam above the windowseat with the tips of his fingers and hefted himself through as quietly as he could, with his knife in his teeth and his tongue and lips as far back from its edge as he could grimace. He sucked his stomach in as far as it would go and prayed devoutly as he hauled his hips through past the points of the broken window panes. And then his knees were in, he could drop to the ground quietly, while Dodd droned impassively on about civic duties and Leigh’s own children. Carey was a head taller than Leigh. So with the back of John Leigh’s neck and his expensively furred brocade gown only a pace in front of him, Carey took his dagger lefthanded from his mouth, reached over the man’s shoulder to clamp Leigh’s wrist in his right hand and brought the hilt of the poignard down as hard as he could twice on the back of Leigh’s head.
Leigh grunted and collapsed, dropping his knife as well. Julia Coldale fell too, then picked herself back up onto her hands and knees and was sick. She looked up at Carey, past his hairy calves and his bare knees and his now ragged white shirt to his face, made a soft croak and fainted.
Dodd looked at him impassively and handed his sword back.
‘I’ll go and fetch in yer suit, shall I, sir?’ he asked.
‘If you would, Sergeant,’ said Carey.