‘It is a valid point,’ said Bartholomew, when Michael looked set to argue. He lowered his voice, so Kendale would not hear. ‘I tried to tell you – the choice of evidence in that box is so contrived that it screams foul play. You will not find the other badges here. Kendale is telling the truth.’
Michael nodded to his beadles, who began a systematic hunt, both in the hall and in the bedchambers above. The Chestre men gritted their teeth at the indignity of it all, and Bartholomew could tell that Neyll in particular was finding it difficult to restrain himself. Sure enough, it was not long before the beadles returned empty handed.
‘There is a broken window in the scullery,’ said Cynric, the last to finish. ‘The one with the red shutters. When did that happen?’
‘We noticed it when we came back from the Guildhall,’ replied Neyll. Then understanding dawned. ‘Obviously, whoever left this so-called evidence broke in that way!’
‘It was not me,’ muttered Cynric to Michael, speaking too softly for his victims to hear. ‘I gained entry through one of the bedrooms.’
‘What about the cellar?’ asked Meadowman, who had been more assiduous than his colleagues, and had even checked up the chimneys and assessed the floorboards for hidden cavities. He disliked the Chestre men, and hated the notion that they might go free.
‘We use it for storing old crates and wine,’ said Kendale coldly. ‘But please explore it. I do not want you coming back later with more nasty accusations. You will prove us innocent now.’
Meadowman took him at his word, so Bartholomew and Cynric went to help. Neyll and a lean, red-haired student named Ihon followed, to monitor the proceedings.
‘Much as it pains me to admit it, I think you are right,’ Cynric whispered to Bartholomew. ‘I was so pleased when I found that box that I did not stop to consider. But Kendale is devious, and would not have left a chest containing those things for any burglar to find. And that broken window says I was not the only one who slipped in uninvited tonight.’
‘We made a serious mistake in coming here,’ said Bartholomew worriedly. ‘Now Chestre will feel justified in whipping up the antagonism between hostels and Colleges with even more fervour.’
Knowing there was nothing to find did not encourage Bartholomew to poke through the contents of Chestre’s dismal basement. He sat on a barrel and watched Cynric and Meadowman work, feeling weariness wash over him. He had been tired before he had stayed up all night fiddling with trebuchets, and wondered whether he had the energy for yet another day of turmoil. Dawn could not be far off, and he doubted he would manage to snatch even a short nap that night.
Suddenly, Cynric released a yelp of shock, and backed away from the chest he had been exploring.
‘It is Yffi!’ he exclaimed in horror. ‘And he is stone-cold dead!’
Chapter 11
Meadowman, Neyll and Ihon dashed forward to see what Cynric had found. Ihon jerked away in revulsion, although Neyll was made of sterner stuff, and poked Yffi with his finger. Meadowman took one look, then shot up the stairs to fetch Michael.
‘I understand your plan now, College man,’ snarled Neyll, regarding Bartholomew with utter loathing. ‘You planted that ugly little box, so the Senior Proctor would come. And then you offered to search our cellars knowing exactly what would be found, because you put this corpse here, too. It is Michaelhouse’s revenge for the gates!’
‘We do not tamper with corpses, boy,’ said Cynric reproachfully. ‘Especially in a place like this, where demons lurk. It would be too dangerous.’
Bartholomew tried to rally his befuddled wits. ‘Are you saying you did not murder Yffi?’
‘Of course we did not!’ snapped Ihon. ‘We are the victims of a monstrous plot, and we were fools to think we could study here safely. We should leave while we can. Now.’
‘But if we do – especially today, when the camp-ball is on – they will think we are guilty for sure,’ said Neyll angrily. ‘They will say we arranged the game as a diversion, to let us escape.’
There was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and Michael arrived, followed by Kendale and his students, with the beadles bringing up the rear. It was a tight squeeze in such a small chamber. Bartholomew watched the Chestre men peer into the crate one by one, only to recoil with shock, revulsion or horror when they saw what lay within. He was as sure as he could be that none of them had known what was there, not even Kendale.
‘Well?’ asked Michael, folding his arms. ‘I think this warrants an explanation.’
‘Michaelhouse put him here,’ shouted Neyll. ‘Who else could it have been?’
But Kendale shook his head. ‘The Michaelhouse men are villains to a man, but I do not see them playing pranks with corpses. Even Langelee would not stoop that low.’
‘Well, if not Michaelhouse, then another of our enemies,’ yelled Neyll, as Bartholomew and Cynric lifted the mason from the chest and laid him on the floor. ‘Emma de Colvyll–’
‘Emma?’ interrupted Kendale. ‘But she provided us with the wine that you have been downing so merrily. She means us no harm.’
Bartholomew listened to the ensuing discussion while he inspected Yffi. The cause of death was obvious: the mason had been stabbed. He began to look for other clues as to what had happened – ones that would either exonerate Chestre, or prove once and for all that they were killers.
‘Why should she be generous to us?’ persisted Neyll, tears of impotent rage in his eyes. ‘We have nothing she wants. And she does not like us, or she would have funded that scholarship.’
‘Why must you always be so suspicious?’ sighed Ihon. ‘Some folk are decent, and do mean us well. When we first arrived, Michaelhouse tried to make friends, but your surliness drove them off. I wish we had not let it, because we might have been living in peace now if–’
‘Peace?’ howled Neyll, livid. ‘I do not want peace with a College! And I was right to be wary, because look where we are now – on the brink of being charged with crimes we did not commit.’
‘I abhor the Colleges too,’ interjected Kendale, raising his hand to quell the debate. ‘And you were right to reject Michaelhouse’s sly advances, Neyll. However, you are wrong about Emma, because we have something she wants very much. Namely our collection of hunting trophies.’
‘Hunting trophies?’ blurted Bartholomew, startled.
‘She thinks they will look nice in her solar, and wants to buy them,’ explained Ihon.
‘So she gave us claret, in an effort to convince us to sell,’ said Kendale. He turned to the rest of the students. ‘Who else means us harm? And do not recite a list of the Colleges, because that will not convince the Senior Proctor. I want names and believable motives. Think, because our lives depend on your answers.’
‘Clearly, the real thief is the culprit,’ said Ihon, after a moment during which the cellar was totally silent. ‘The man responsible for killing Drax, Alice and Gib, and stealing all those pilgrim badges. One of the missing signacula was in the “evidence” box, so–’
‘That much is obvious,’ snapped Kendale. ‘But who is it? Why does he bear us so much malice? I heard a rumour that it is a scholar, but which of the Colleges is home to such a ruthless villain?’
While they debated, Michael crouched next to Bartholomew, eyebrows raised questioningly.
‘Yffi was killed by a single wound to the chest,’ the physician replied. ‘The shape of the injury is indicative of a knife, rather than a dagger, but that does not help – every man, woman and child in Cambridge owns a knife.’