“And this was all because of one guy?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“You never caught him?”
“Nope. The killings just stopped one day. And every day since then the people of this city have given thanks to Novron and Maribor. So you can see why I’m not too pleased to hear your story.”
“What makes you think it’s the same guy?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Few people ever saw the killer, but the ones who did reported he wore a black cloak with a hood.”
Malet glanced out the window, drained his cup, and fetched his coat off a wall peg. “Let’s go see what you left on the river.”
Rain poured as they rode the slick towpath where rivulets etched the mud. Hadrian now understood Malet’s concern about hazarding the trip in the dark. The canyon gave birth to dozens of various-sized waterfalls that saturated the trail. Most of the bigger ones they managed to walk around; some even had wooden awnings built for the purpose that he hadn’t noticed on the way up in the dark. Others they carefully trudged through, and on one occasion they dismounted and led their horses across on foot. Hadrian couldn’t get any wetter, but soaked as he was and still dressed in his useless linen, the gusts that blew through the ravine drove him to shiver.
Hadrian led the way on the single-lane towpath and slowly came to a stop.
“Something wrong?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, this is the place. It was right here.”
“The boat?”
“Yes.”
Malet circled his horse, a tired spotted bay with a ratty black mane. “I thought you tied it.”
“I did. Right here.” Hadrian slid to the ground, his feet slapping the muck.
Peering downriver, he found no sign of the barge.
“Well … I guess the rising current might have loosened the rope.” He found the tree he had tied the barge to and saw a slight mark, yet nothing so certain as a rope burn.
Malet pursed his lips and nodded. “I suppose that’s possible.”
Hadrian searched the path for the wedged tow bar, but it, too, was gone. More disturbing was the lack of discarded tack, the horse collars, and the other half of the team. Nothing remained. He trotted farther down the path until he reached a slight bend that gave him a clear view of the open river-still no barge.
“Why don’t we head back up and talk to Bennett at the shipping dock,” Malet said as Hadrian returned. “I’d like to hear what he makes of his missing boat.”
Hadrian nodded.
Nestled in the crux of the canyon walls, just past the river dock, stood a wooden building. It possessed all the charm of a mining shack but sported the elongated frame of a boathouse. A sign mounted on the roof read COLNORA-VERNES SHIPPING amp; BARGE SERVICE.
“Closed! Go way!” they heard when Malet banged on the door.
“Open up, Billy,” Malet said. “Need to talk to you about your boat that was due in today.”
The door drew back a crack and a small bald man peered out. “Whose-whatsa?”
“The barge you’re expecting this morning, it’s not coming. According to this fella, everyone’s been murdered.”
The old man squinted at him. “What are you talking about? What barge?”
“What do you mean, what barge?”
“Ain’t no barge expected in today. Next barge is in three days.”
“That so?” Malet asked.
“Honest,” Bennett replied, rubbing his sleeves.
“You got a barge pilot named Farlan working for you?” the sheriff asked. “He a steersman a yours?”
Bennett shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“Heard of him working for anyone, maybe even a free-boater?”
Again Bennett shook his head.
“How about your postilion? You have one named Andrew?”
“Never heard of him neither.”
Malet turned back to Hadrian. The sheriff didn’t look pleased.
“What about this horse?” Hadrian asked, slapping what he had concluded must have been Gertrude.
“What about it?”
“This horse was one of the pair used to drag the barge.”
“This your horse?” the sheriff asked Bennett.
The bald man stuck his head out the door, caught some runoff from the roof, then pulled it back in. He wiped off the rain with his sleeve, then said with a grimace, “Never saw that horse before in my life.”
“Well, what about the jewelers?” Hadrian turned to Malet with a bit more emotion than he had planned. This whole affair was making him out to look crazy. What was worse, he was starting to question his own sanity. “Have you heard of any new shops that are opening soon?”
Malet peered at him, rain running off his nose. “No, I haven’t. What about you, Bennett?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“All right, Billy, sorry to get you up. You can go back to bed.”
Without even a parting word, the door closed.
The sheriff’s look turned harsher. “You said you were heading to Sheridan, right?”
Hadrian nodded.
“Maybe you should get going before I start reflecting on how you woke me up before dawn and dragged me out into this piss. If I wasn’t so tired, and you didn’t look as miserable as I feel, I’d lock you up for being a nuisance.”
Hadrian watched the sheriff ride back up the hill, grumbling as he went. He tried making sense of it all, but there was none to be found.
CHAPTER 8
The driving rain soaked Gwen and Rose as they stood in line on the street outside the office of the city assessor. Even in a downpour the Gentry Quarter looked beautiful. The water drained away, running along stone curbs until it vanished altogether through grated sewers. No mud here; the roads were all brick, the houses tall and lovely.
“Is it going to look like that?” Rose asked Gwen. The younger girl looked like an otter with her hair slicked back. She was pointing at the big house across the street. A handsome powder blue building stood behind a small neat fence, its facade dominated by a gable housing a huge decorative window. A square tower rose on one side and extended a full story above the house’s highest point, making it look castle-like. A covered porch wrapped the front and sides with white painted balustrades, which gave the place a frilly, feminine quality.
“If we make the old inn look like that,” Gwen said, “the constable will have us burned as witches.”
“We can do it. I just know we can.”
Gwen offered a little smile. “Well, we’ll see. We’re not dead yet.”
This was the best encouragement she could offer that morning. The rain didn’t help. After shivering all night, they were rewarded with a chilling downpour at dawn. The girls’ faces were pale, lips bluish, teeth chattering. Gwen got them up and working. Mae swept the floor with their new broom, but she might as well have been trying to clean a dirt field. Even in the rain, a few people trotting by to make deliveries to the Head paused to stare. Crazy as the work was, it kept the girls warm and prevented Gwen from screaming.
She left Jollin in charge and took Rose with her to Gentry Square. Without the magical permit, she was afraid Ethan would chase them out, so she planned to be the first in line that morning. The rain would actually help in one regard. Ethan wouldn’t be eager to make his rounds in the storm. Gwen didn’t know what would be required to get a certificate; she just prayed it wouldn’t cost too much.
“Next!” A man with a long coat beat on the wooden porch with his staff.
Gwen grabbed Rose’s hand and pulled her inside.
Instantly the world went quiet. The pour of rain reduced to a distant hum, the sounds of traffic were locked outside, and no one inside said a word. An old man in a doublet with a starched collar sat at a large table. Behind him, four much younger men scurried, shuffling stacks of parchments and leaf-books.