Lenoir still hadn’t said anything, so Kody continued. “If my son’s body was stolen, I’d want to find out who did it and why.”
“Perhaps there are circumstances surrounding the incident that the victims do not want known,” said Lenoir. “Or perhaps they did tell the constable, but he did not trust the Metropolitan Police with the information.”
I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s because half the force is corrupt, and the other half is incompetent. Kody sighed inwardly, pushing the bitter thought aside. It wasn’t that bad. But it was getting harder and harder to be optimistic about the Kennian Metropolitan Police, and working with Lenoir wasn’t exactly a morale booster.
“Whatever the reason, Sergeant, I do not want a repeat of yesterday’s incident. Unless someone can provide us a motive, or at least a solid lead, it is virtually certain that we will never find this child’s body. The crime scene is far too old, and the trail will have gone cold long since. So do not be too hopeful.”
God forbid anyone should be hopeful, Inspector.
Their horses crested a hill in the road, and the shambling outline of North Haven rose from the earth like a corpse from its grave. It slumped and careened at all angles, its crude construction slowly yielding to the ravages of the relentless Braelish winters. As they got closer, the impression of decay and neglect only grew stronger. Crumbling, desiccated mud walls propped up thatch roofs scabbed over with moss, the dwellings separated from one another by desultory little fences of woven sticks. The main road remained dry and hard-packed beneath their horses’ hooves, a sign that it rarely saw wagon traffic. That didn’t surprise Kody. North Haven was barely larger than Brackensvale, and every bit as provincial.
Maybe that explained the mistrustful stares of the townspeople they came across. As they rode down the main street, people turned to gaze up at them, their expressions dark and forbidding. Crowds stopped talking as they passed. A mangy-looking dog scampered out from a nearby yard and followed them for a while, barking loudly and nipping at the heels of the horses until Kody threw a crab apple at it, sending it slinking off into the trees. In all, it wasn’t the warmest of welcomes.
“This is why city folk never leave Kennian,” Kody said under his breath. “You’d think we were an occupying army, the way these people act. What’s their problem, anyway?”
“You have answered your own question, Sergeant. City folk almost never set foot in the villages, and when they do, it does not tend to be good news.”
“Bit of a chicken-and-egg thing, isn’t it?” Kody said, eying a blacksmith warily. The man had stopped working as they drew near, and there was something vaguely threatening in the way he held his heavy iron hammer.
Lenoir smirked. “Perhaps you should explain that to them. I’m sure they would appreciate your insight.”
The constable met them in the village green. He looked nervous. And so he should, Kody thought disapprovingly. A felony had gone unreported, which meant that the constable was derelict in his duty. He was supposed to report weekly to the Metropolitan Police—or immediately, if the crime was serious. Lenoir had said that a few weeks had already gone by since the local boy’s body was stolen. Either the constable hadn’t known about it, or he had failed to report it. Neither possibility reflected well on him.
“Good morning, Inspector,” Constable Brier said wanly, taking the bridle of Lenoir’s horse. “Your message was cryptic, and a bit sudden too. The messenger left not two hours ago—I haven’t had time to learn much.”
“The message contained all the relevant information, Constable,” said Lenoir. “We are here to investigate a crime that should have been reported—when? How long since the boy’s body was stolen?”
Brier’s barely restrained nervousness tumbled out of him now. “I heard nothing of it, Inspector! Your message took me completely by surprise!”
Lenoir raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? That is disturbing, Constable, since I am told the entire village talks of the matter.”
Brier turned a deep crimson. He opened his mouth, but apparently he didn’t know what to say, because he closed it again.
“Let us get started, then,” said Lenoir, and Brier nodded numbly. Fetching his own horse, he led the way back onto the main street.
There were three churches in town, and the first they visited wasn’t the right one, as its priest was quick to inform them. When they got to the second, larger church, they could tell right away they were in the right place. Where the first had been busy, with several market stalls out front and a steady stream of parishioners through the main doors, this church was all but deserted. With its crude stone construction—blocky and impersonal, overgrown with ivy—it looked like a neglected tombstone.
The priest came out into the courtyard to meet them. “I heard your hoofbeats on the flagstones. I have been expecting you, after a fashion.” He wore a weary expression, but his manner was friendly enough as he showed the officers where to tether their horses.
“What do you mean, you have been expecting us?” asked Lenoir when they had dismounted.
The priest sighed. “I knew this matter could not long escape the attention of the Metropolitan Police. It is simply too horrible.”
“Why didn’t you report it, then?” Brier snapped. “We could have raised the hue and cry!”
The priest eyed Kody and Lenoir apprehensively; he was probably wondering whether they would arrest him. “Can you imagine what it is like to have something like this happen at your church? My parishioners should think this a holy place, not a place of evil. I wanted to keep word of the incident to myself and the parents, not have it become known throughout the Five Villages.”
Brier pointed an accusing finger at the priest’s chest. “That was not your decision to make!” He would have said more, but Lenoir raised a hand, and the constable subsided.
“You must have known that would be impossible, Brother,” said Lenoir.
“Apparently so, as you see. Since news of the theft became known, not a single family has come to lay their loved ones to rest. They think this place is defiled.”
Lenoir frowned. “Defiled?” Either he didn’t know the word, or he was simply astonished at how provincial these people were.
In case it was the former, Kody explained, “The outer villages are superstitious. People out here favor supernatural explanations instead of reason.”
The priest’s expression hardened. “Ah, yes, of course. Well, I trust your reason will provide a ready explanation for what has happened here. Mr. and Mrs. Jymes will no doubt be comforted that the superior minds of Kennian are involved in locating their son’s body.” Kody felt himself flush as the priest turned away, heading for the cemetery.
“Somehow, Sergeant, I do not think you have struck a blow for intervillage relations,” said Lenoir.
The priest showed them the plot where the boy’s body had been. “It was stolen in the night, of course. Only one day after the burial.”
“How old was he?” asked Lenoir.
“Called to God at nine years,” the priest intoned gravely.
Kody felt a jolt. Could it be a coincidence? “The boy in Brackensvale was also nine, Inspector.”