Gerard waited. Grudge huddled in the far corner of the cell, his hands over his head, sobbing. Randolph, however, stared back at Gerard, unmoved.
Gerard sighed, letting his shoulders sag. "All right," he said to Vercleese, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "You can have Grudge. I'll see if I can talk some sense into this one." Gerard shuddered. "But take him out back. I can't stand to watch you going about your work."
Vercleese grinned and walked over to the cell. He motioned Randolph away from the door, unlocked it, and hustled Grudge out, locking the door behind him.
"Randolph!" Grudge whined. "For pity's sake, tell the sheriff!"
"Tell me what?" Gerard asked, a hand up to restrain Vercleese. But when Randolph stared silently back at him, Gerard nodded to Vercleese, who shoved Grudge out the door. Gerard could mark their progress as they went around to the back of the jailhouse by the pitiable crying of Grudge. For a long moment, there was silence; then Grudge let out a blood-curdling scream.
"You're next," Gerard said to Randolph. "That is, unless you start talking.
¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ ¦
Behind the jail, Vercleese held the cudgel aloft. "Again," he said softly. "Put your lungs into it."
"Or what?" demanded Grudge. "You'll really start hitting me?"
"Just give me an excuse," Vercleese said grimly.
Grudge stared fearfully at the upraised hand and obliged with another terrified scream.
¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ ¦
"So how about it?" Gerard asked after the screaming had died down.
"Oh, I could tell you a few things, all right," Randolph said. "Starting off with your parents."
"Uh-huh. No, thank you. I mean, do you have anything you want to tell me about Sheriff Joyner's death?" Gerard asked, cutting short any crudeness Randolph intended.
"Sheriff Joyner?" Randolph snorted. "I don't know anything about any Sheriff Joyner. Not that I'd tell you if I did."
"Next thing you know, you'll be trying to convince me you don't know Jutlin Wykirk either."
Randolph grinned, almost with relief. "Who? Am I supposed to have killed him, too?"
¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ ¦
That evening, Gerard sat in the inn, staring morosely at a plate of untouched food-not, thank all the gods, spiced potatoes. He was tired and discouraged. Their charade had failed miserably, and they hadn't gotten any useful information out of Randolph or Grudge.
Now Gerard sat, ignoring the strains of music from the same trio as a few nights earlier. He felt no closer to solving the murder of Sheriff Joyner, the mysterious death of Salamon Beach, or the fumbled attempt on his own life. He had to admit it was possible neither prisoner knew anything about any of the ominous events. It was just possible, he told himself, they were both innocent.
But he didn't believe it for a moment.
His musing was interrupted when someone came to stand beside his table. "I'm sorry, Laura, I'm just not hungry tonight," he apologized, before looking up into the face of-not Laura-Kaleen. "Oh," he said. Then, feeling his greeting had been inadequate, he added, "Hello."
"And good evening to you, too, Lord Porridge." Her laughter dispelled some of the weariness evidenced in her face. "Why so morose? You look as though you just lost your best friend."
"Nothing like that," Gerard said quickly, shaking his head. "It's just… business," he concluded lamely, unwilling to confide his thoughts or confess his failure.
"May I?" she said, pointing to an empty chair across the table.
"Of course."
Just then, the trio struck up a lively tune. Gerard looked around the room. There, right on cue, was Blair, sitting nearby and treating him to an icy stare.
"That is unless"-he said, a smile slowly spreading across his face-"you'd care to dance."
"Why, your lordship, a reprise?" she said with a curtsy. "I'd be honored."
He led her to the center of the floor, where the tables had again been pushed back, right past-quite by chance, of course! — the table where Blair sat. Once out in the dance area, Gerard proceeded to demonstrate all the flourishes his instructor had been at such pains to teach him.
CHAPTER 20
Gerard had in mind to sleep late the following day. Unfortunately, that goal wasn't shared by rest of Solace. He was awakened early in the morning by a polite, ladylike tapping on his door. Gerard rolled over, trying to ignore the noise. The tapping continued, not nearly as subtle as before. This time it came accompanied by Lady Drebble's voice. "Sheriff? I must speak to you at once about a matter of the utmost urgency. Sheriff, are you in there? Open up. I really must insist."
Gerard groaned and rolled out of bed, being careful not to stand too erect and bang his head on the rafters. "Just a minute," he growled. He pulled on his doublet and hose and opened the door.
Lady Drebble stood on his doorstep, looking disheveled. Her hair stuck out in every direction, having come loose from its normally elaborate coiffure. She wore an old robe that appeared to be reserved for household use; it was frayed at the cuffs and elbows. As soon as Gerard opened the door, she barged in.
"Why don't you come in?" Gerard said sarcastically, addressing the now-empty air before him.
"Sheriff, something terrible has happened, and I really must blame you," she said from her place in the room behind him. "This is all your fault. Nothing like this would have happened had it not been for your heavy-handed constabulary tactics the other night."
"Slow down," he said. "Nothing like what would have happened?"
Lady Drebble looked around for a place to sit and took the only chair, leaving Gerard standing. "Oh, it's just horrible. Horrible! You've introduced my little Nyland to these dangerous ideas, and now he's gone out shopping for a sword."
"A what?"
"A sword! He's even talking about joining the town guard. My little Nyland, associating with riffraff and common rabble." Lady Drebble sniffed loudly and began blubbering.
"Lady Drebble, the town guard ordinarily doesn't have all that much to do with handling prisoners," Gerard said, stretching the truth a little. "Really, most of their work is in more of an, um, peacekeeping nature. So Nyland wouldn't really have that much association with, as you called them, riffraff and common rabble."
"Prisoners! Who said anything about prisoners?" Lady Drebble drew herself upright where she sat. "I'm talking about the members of the town guard. A ragtag bunch if I ever saw one! Now you tell me he might have a regular association with prisoners as well?"
"Ah," Gerard said, finding no other words suitable for the occasion. He stood there a moment, trying to collect his patience. "Well, you know, serving in the town guard is a most honorable endeavor and might prove to be just the sort of discipline Nyland needs-"
"Discipline! My little boy doesn't need any overbearing, dictatorial discipline by the likes of such…
such____________________" She foundered, at a loss for words.
"Hmm, how about if I talk to Nyland?" Gerard suggested, unsure the boy would be a suitable candidate for the guard in the first place. "Perhaps I can convince him to undertake some other, more befitting pursuit."
"Yes, I think you should," said Lady Drebble, rising. "And talk him out of the ridiculous notion of buying a sword."
Gerard thought about the danger to society of having someone like Nyland going around armed with a sword and tended to agree. "Oh, believe me, Lady Drebble, 1 will certainly do my best," he promised. He added to himself, "Even if I have to break it over his thick head."
Lady Drebble nodded but made no effort to leave. She just stood there, glaring. Gerard wondered momentarily about Nyland's father, whether the man had actually passed away or simply slipped away-silently, in the night. "Well, then," she huffed. "Well____________________"