He had been tense ever since leaving Brackensvale. Everywhere he went, people felt hostile. He knew he must be imagining it, yet he could not shake the feeling that his guilt was as obvious as the beard on his face. People stared at him accusingly, as if they knew. Children especially—they looked frightened whenever he came near, as though they expected him to do them harm. He could not long linger in a crowded place such as this before he began to sweat, sure that at any moment the Metropolitan Police would descend upon him. If they caught him, he would swing for what he had done—or worse.
The gravedigger stood up abruptly, his chair scraping along the floor loudly enough to draw looks from the other patrons. Slamming a few coins on the table, he grabbed his cloak and headed for the door. Outside, it was cool and quiet, and he took deep, grateful breaths. His head seemed to clear some. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders, his gaze moving briefly over a man standing in the shadow of a doorframe. He felt a moment’s annoyance that his solitude should be interrupted again so soon, but when he looked up from fastening his cloak, the man was gone. Good.
He weaved a little as he made his way down the street, but there was no one to see. It was late, and the windows that faced the street were dark. The streetlamps struggled against a moonless night, doing little to illuminate his way. That was just as well too. He had always preferred to abide in darkness.
As he walked, he became dimly aware that the sound of his own footsteps was echoed by those of another somewhere behind. He turned, angry words on his lips, but there was no one there. Strange—he was sure he had heard something.
He turned into a narrow alley. His footing was uncertain, obliging him to keep his gaze trained on the ground as he walked. Suddenly, a shadow spilled across the stones in front of him, liquid black, flitting from right to left. He looked up at the rooftops in time to see movement.
He froze, and there was a moment of stillness. Then the air exploded in whirring and flapping as a clutch of pigeons burst forth from the eaves. The gravedigger’s cry of shock dissolved into a string of curses at the filthy creatures.
Just ahead, the end of the alley was marked by a shaft of pale light from a nearby streetlamp. But the way was not free: standing silhouetted against the glow was a man. It was the same man, the gravedigger realized, that he had seen in the doorway near the alehouse. Little of his face was distinguishable in the darkness, but his eyes were clearly visible, shining as though lit from within. They were an uncanny shade of green, vivid like those of a cat, only brighter.
There was something in those eyes, something that caused a cold sliver of fear to slide itself like a blade into the gravedigger’s ribs. He checked his stride and turned, retracing his steps up the alleyway. He moved as quietly as he could, straining to listen to the darkness behind him. Footsteps sounded, echoing closely in the narrow confines of the alley. The gravedigger quickened his step, listening carefully. Sure enough, the footsteps behind increased their pace.
A sob of terror clutched at the gravedigger’s throat, and he burst into a run.
He made for the river, taking random turns in an effort to break his pursuer’s line of sight. But he did not know the city well, and soon the street disgorged him onto a bridge. It was horribly exposed, but he had no choice: he pounded on, his head bent low as he sprinted. Only when he reached the far edge of the bridge did he look up, and what he saw stopped his heart. There, waiting for him at the other end, was the man with the flashing green eyes.
It was impossible, unnatural. The gravedigger’s knees buckled, and he sank slowly to the ground. “Please,” he sobbed quietly as the green-eyed man approached. “Please.”
The man stood over him now, expressionless. The gravedigger’s last thought was that he looked like an avenging angel.
So beautiful.
CHAPTER 6
“Brier and I canvassed most of the town,” Kody was saying, “and nobody could recall seeing a stranger around before we arrived. But then, just as I was getting ready to give up, a laundry girl told us that she had seen an Adali man ride in the night before. She couldn’t tell us much about him—apparently, she didn’t see his face—but she did say he was wearing a purple riding cloak, the traditional embroidered kind. Pretty distinctive, wouldn’t you say? Anyway, she said it was almost dark when he arrived, so he would have had to find a place to bed down for the night.”
Lenoir was only half listening to the sergeant’s babbling. The other half of his attention, the more interested half, was devoted to spinning a copper coin on the surface of his desk. He let it whirl until it began to wobble, whereupon he slapped it flat and took it up again, flicking it between his thumb and forefinger to set it off anew. He was not normally given to such fidgeting, but this routine of Kody’s had been going on for days, and Lenoir was at his wits’ end. He had reminded the sergeant how many times—a dozen?—that a crime unsolved after the first two days was likely to remained unsolved forever. But still Kody was undaunted, riding out to Brackensvale or North Haven day after day in a fruitless attempt to turn over some useful clue in his hunt for the corpse thief.
“The innkeeper denied seeing any Adali, but of course he would. Bad for business if word got out that he let such folk sleep in his beds.”
“That is one explanation,” said Lenoir. “Another might be that he had not in fact seen your Adal.” The coin set forth again.
Kody frowned as he watched its progress across the desk. “Yes, well . . . So that’s the latest from North Haven. The bit from Brackensvale is even more interesting: apparently, the gravedigger from the boy’s cemetery is missing. Nobody can be sure exactly how long he’s been gone—guess he wasn’t missed—but even the priest can’t recall seeing him since the boy’s body went missing.”
He paused, seemingly waiting for his listener to comment. Lenoir merely slapped the wavering copper piece down. Kody flinched; Lenoir could see the muscles in the sergeant’s jaw twitch.
“Am I keeping you from more important matters, Inspector?”
Lenoir met his eye for the first time since the conversation began. “Yes, Sergeant, you are. And keeping yourself from them as well.”
Kody nodded slowly, his jaw still taut. “Really. So nothing I’ve just told you has any value, then?”
“The value of a piece of information lies in our ability to make sense of it, to determine its significance. Otherwise it is just a distraction.” Lenoir leaned over the desk, arms crossed. “So, tell me, Sergeant, what is the significance of what you have just told me? Your Adali stranger in North Haven, your missing gravedigger in Brackensvale—what do they mean? What has one to do with the other? We do not know the fate of either, so how will they help us find the corpses?”
“I don’t . . . I haven’t . . .” He floundered. “I just need more time—”
“Would you search the Five Villages for a man in a purple cloak, Kody? Would you abandon your search for the bodies to look instead for the missing gravedigger? Begin a new investigation that may or may not be related to the one you are supposedly pursuing?”
Kody’s face flushed, and his hands balled into fists. Lenoir knew the sergeant wanted to hit him, was a heartbeat away from leaping across the desk. But as always, Kody’s discipline won out and he merely took a long, shaking breath.
Lenoir rose from the desk and fetched his coat. “You have not got a constellation here, Sergeant Kody,” he said, heading for the door, “and it’s time for you to grow up and quit stargazing.” He did not wait for a reply, but left Kody sitting alone in his office.