“Could you redo these knots?” he whispered to Lucy. “I’ll try to help the Khur.”
She nodded, her expression struggling between sympathy and laughter. She beckoned to Challie, and they put their heads together over the prostrate man.
Ulin turned back to the gnome and the Khur. Patiently, he showed Notwen how to cut a workable piece of thread, wash the needle in strong alcohol, and clean the wound.
The gnome watched avidly and did his best to help. While he worked, he talked in a fast, enthusiastic stream of comments and questions. “This book says to use horse hair in an emergency, but there weren’t any horses nearby, so I used this thread we make from cotton. Can you really use spider webs to stop bleeding? And marigolds to make an astringent? Why are you stitching his muscle together before you stitch the skin? Do you make bows, too? Do you need some wound powder? I made some following a recipe in this book. It called for the mold on old bread. It’s supposed to stop infection. Have you ever trained with the Mystics? Do you know how to use the power of the heart? I don’t, but I’d like to try.”
Ulin tried to follow his monologue and answer questions when he could, but after a while he lost track of the gnome’s endless conversation and focused on the Khur’s arm. The wound had been bound shortly after it happened and there was little swelling to worry about. The skin went back together fairly well. By the time he was finished, he thought the Khur would have a scar but would retain most of the use of his muscle-as long as the hobgoblin’s weapon that caused the slash was not poisoned.
When he finally sat up and cut the last knot, the Khur sighed with relief. “Thank you, Friend of Sorceress. You have my lasting gratitude.”
Ulin laid the needle down. “It should heal well,” he said. “There was little swelling.”
“How fascinating!” murmured Notwen, peering closely at the closed wound. “If it does become gangrenous, will you allow me to watch the amputation?”
The Khur’s groan was lost in a commotion at the entrance. Saorsha and Geoff Aylesworthy arrived at the same time, both breathless and agitated. The innkeeper was dusty from a hurried ride back to town from his small brewery. The elderly woman still wore an apron and smears of flour from her baking. Their eyes went directly to the wrapped body on the table, then they huddled with Mayor Efrim in a close, fast-talking group. Challie joined them.
Ulin and Lucy wiped their hands clean. They exchanged a brief, searching gaze of silent support, then Lucy clutched the small knife she had used to cut the thread for the stitches and walked down the length of the table to stand by the silent form lying so still in its dirty shroud. The two quiet guardians inclined their heads to her and backed away to a respectful distance, leaving room for Ulin. The council fell quiet, staring at Lucy with an obvious intensity.
Ulin watched Lucy’s hand poised over the cords that bound the chest. He glanced up and saw with a start of surprise they had a much larger audience than he expected. People in twos and threes slipped in the door and gathered quietly around the room. He recognized members of the Vigilance Force, the blacksmith, and people from the market and the common room at the Jetties. Apparently, quite a few people in Flotsam wished to see if Lucy recognized this corpse. He returned his gaze to Lucy and saw her hands shaking.
Notwen trotted up beside her, his small face alive with interest, and he climbed up on a chair to see better. “It’s all right, Miss Lucy,” he said soothingly. “The body still stinks, doesn’t it? But it should still be identifiable. He died from the force of the explosion before the fire.”
Ulin stiffened in his place by the table. “No one said anything about an explosion.”
The room remained breathlessly silent.
Lucy’s eyes narrowed, and as Ulin opened his mouth to say something more, she forestalled him with a quick slash of her knife against the binding cord. “Let’s see who this is, then we’ll ask the questions,” she said.
Ulin subsided back into his watchful pose while Notwen leaned forward to help Lucy. Together the gnome and the woman severed the ropes and unwrapped the rotten stained strips of cloth that encased the body.
Notwen was right. The body stank. Four winter months in the desert sand had not been enough to completely desiccate it or deter the worms and insects drawn to the smell of decaying flesh. By the time Lucy reached the last layer of foul cotton next to the corpse, everyone in the room wished the dead man had been left outside.
Lucy’s full lips curved in a grimace of disgust. Ulin scarcely breathed.
“Look at that!” Notwen said brightly. “The worms burrowed into his eye sockets, but what’s left of the face is intact.”
Challie appeared at Lucy’s side and thrust a mug in her hand. Lucy caught the smell of wine, rich and red, and she took the mug gratefully and downed the contents in one long swallow, hoping the wine would soothe her stomach before she embarrassed herself in front of the townspeople. She took a firm grip on her resolve and looked carefully at the sunken face of the corpse.
The spectators held a collective breath.
Ulin held himself very still as he watched Lucy pull away the shroud from the shoulders, arms, and torso of the body. From what little Ulin knew or guessed about Kethril Torkay, the corpse appeared to be a close match. It was a human male, white-skinned, about six feet in height, with light brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray, and a creased face with a close-cropped beard. The explosion that had killed the man had apparently blown behind him, for the back of his skull was crushed and flattened. The nose and much of the flesh on the forehead, cheekbones, and chin was eaten or burned away, and the man’s clothes showed tears and scorch marks. Would it be enough?
Ulin could see the intense concentration on Lucy’s pale, battered face, and he recognized a momentary flash of indecision. He wondered what would she say. Was this her father? Did she know for sure? He knew she would not lie, even for the inheritance. Lucy had more integrity than most people, but could she be certain one way or another? Gripping his hands behind his back, he looked on while she lifted the body’s arms and studied each hand. She carefully laid the limbs back in place, covered the corpse again, and moved away. He accompanied her, with Challie and Notwen, as she approached the city council.
“That is not my father. I don’t know who you have or why you thought it was Kethril, but it is not he.” Her words were strong and clear, and to Ulin, sounded slightly relieved.
The hall erupted with dozens of voices talking and shouting all at once.
“Are you certain?” Mayor Efrim asked over the noise.
“Very. I know my father was born with a stunted forefinger on his left hand. He always wore gloves to disguise it, but his family knew. That body has normal finger bones.”
The old mayor sighed deeply and collapsed into a chair. Aylesworthy turned pale under his tan, and even Challie and Notwen shared expressions of concern and dismay. Saorsha sat beside the mayor, her face buried in her hands.
Lucy and Ulin glanced at each other in surprise. They expected disappointment, but the loud, angry voices from the crowd and the obvious despair on the faces of the council went beyond mere thwarted desire for a dead man’s estate.
“What is going on?” Ulin demanded. “This is more than an accidental death by fire and an unclaimed inheritance. What are you people trying to do?”
Noise from the onlookers subsided as the townspeople waited for their council to respond. For once Notwen was quiet, and it was Challie who finally explained the truth.
“We really did not know if that was Kethril Torkay. We only know him by reputation around here. Even now, I don’t know if we should be pleased or frightened out of our wits that this is not he.” The magistrate stood before them, her arms crossed, her face stonily professional. “The accident happened last winter during an attempted robbery. We don’t know exactly who was involved besides Kethril, but we do know they managed to steal most of the contents of our city treasury before the mishap.”