‘You want some help?’
‘Your arm as far as the flat way on top of this hill would be kind. My name is Jan, by the way.’
‘I am Ivo Trempole.’
‘It is kind of you, but I am sure you’ll be busy. You don’t really have time to help an old fool like me. You were down there at that house, weren’t you? Are you with the watch?’
The lad grunted. ‘Not that I want it. I was voted to be the constable here, but it wasn’t my choice. I don’t like having tostand in front of a crowd of angry people for no reason. That lot were ready to throw rocks at me, you know? Why’d I wantto do that, stand as a target for all the hotheads in the city?’
‘It must be hard. Is the man who lives there rich and important, then? Is that why the city has to guard him?’
‘No, he’s not all that important, no. He’s a necromancer,’ the fellow said, his voice dropping. ‘His servant is dead, and they say it was the master who was angry with his man, andkilled him in a rage, if you can believe that! Imagine!’
Clearly Ivo’s imagination was doing enough work for both of them, or so Newt felt. ‘Terrible. So he stabbed the lad and bolted?’
‘No, he didn’t stab him. He used a thin wire or something, and strangled him. Almost cut through his throat.’
‘But the master has run away, I suppose? A fellow known for using magic would hardly be popular, would he?’
Ivo shook his head. ‘He didn’t run, the fool. His servant was there, still warm. It was obvious as the sun in the sky thathe’d done it. No one else would go and kill a fellow for no reason, would they? No, it was him.’
They had almost reached the top of the hill now, and Newt began to chat about other matters as though the murder was of littleimportance to him, and soon after, when they reached Bolehille, he took his leave of the watchman and hobbled slowly along Cooks’ Row towards the High Street. When he turned, once, to wave, Ivo had already disappeared. Still, to be safe, Newt continuedhobbling and walking slowly until he reached the Carfoix, and only then did he start to walk in a more easeful manner.
There was not much to be gathered there, he reckoned. But he had learned one useful point: the lad had been throttled witha thin ligature of some sort. Perhaps the same weapon as the one used on James; perhaps the same man was guilty of both murders.
Yet so far as Newt knew, there was no one in the world who had any reason to dislike James apart from he himself. James hadbeen a mild man, a calm lad with hardly a bad word to say about anyone. The idea that someone could have taken such a disliketo him seemed incredible. Yet, of course, he had managed to make Newt’s life a misery. If it hadn’t been for those unwarywords of his, Newt would have kept his post, not been thrown in gaol, not suffered for months. And perhaps still be employedeven now.
He looked up and saw how the sun was fading fast. All the shops were closed already, and there was a bustle about the cityas people prepared for night. He must find a refuge.
Yes, instead of being happily employed, here he was. A corrodian from a far-off priory, all but friendless. Fortunately hestill had one friend. Or did have until last night. He must go and make his peace with the man.
North-East Dartmoor
Simon’s feet were out of the stirrups as soon as he reached the first of the trees. There was a low wall, but it had tumbleddown long ago, and his horse trotted cautiously over the remaining rubble before stopping to crop the grass. Simon quicklytook off the saddle and harness, and slipped a halter on him, tying it to a sapling nearby. The last thing he needed now wasto lose the beast.
As soon as that was done, he started to search for timber. The snow wasn’t falling in earnest yet, and he had some little whileto gather firewood. In his breast, between his shirt and his tunic, was a thick handful of tinder which he’d found earlieron their way: old, dry grasses and some fine, thin silver birch bark he had pulled from a tree on the way out of Tavistock. These were wrapped in a fold of cloth with his flint, and he prayed that they would be dry and warm enough after being protectedall day.
There was time to worry about that later. First he had to find firewood. There were several fallen boughs, but each, whenhe touched it, felt sodden. They were too old and had been rotting and soaking up moisture for over a year. However, he sooncame across a tree that appeared to have been recently struck by lightning. It was tall, a good thirty to forty feet, andhe was cautious at first, in case a branch might fall on his head, but when he got closer and gave it a good push to testits strength, he heard the cracking. Grinning to himself, he pushed it, rocking it carefully, until at last it gave a creakingcomplaint, and toppled, crashing and crackling as it smashed through the other trees nearby, until it was down. All aboutit were the branches which had been snapped off, and now he started to hurry about, collecting them quickly.
Hearing Rob and Busse, he snapped at them both to help, and continued stacking thicker branches which seemed to have somestrength in them. The rest he tossed into a pile nearby. Then he began to lay the longer, straighter stems against the maintree trunk lying on the ground.
‘What are you doing?’ Rob demanded, watching him as children often watch the antics of their parents.
‘If you want to survive this night, Rob, find every small, dry twig you can. The best are those which have been dried on the tree and not on the ground. Those will be too damp. Justfetch as much as you possibly can. When you’ve built up a good pile, we’ll start a fire with them.’
Rob shrugged and set off half-heartedly. Meanwhile Busse was watching Simon with an appreciative eye. ‘And what of me, Bailiff?’
‘Brother, if you could just help me to fix these boughs to the tree here, that would be a great help.’
‘You are building a low shelter?’
Simon nodded. He had stayed out in the open before, usually with a large tree trunk to make a wall, and then built up a lean-towall and roof with boughs to create a low but cosy hovel. However, it would not do for all three of them. Instead, he wouldhave to form a shelter that used the trunk as a side wall, but which also had two walls with a roof.
He found a large branch with a fork in it, and smiled. After hunting about, he found three more, and began building. Firsthe gauged the wind, and moved to the leeward side of the trunk. Here he thrust the two shorter sticks into the soft soil,the forks uppermost. He found a sapling of more than six and a half feet, and took his knife to it, placing his knife’s bladeagainst it and using a branch to hammer at it, ringing the bough, and then cutting a notch at the very bottom. Soon he couldhear it crack as he pulled it, and then it came down. He set this in the forks, and braced them with the last pair of forkedbranches.
Running to his saddle-bags, he pulled one open. He always carried some hempen cord for emergencies, and this was just suchan emergency. Soon the whole was lashed together, and he could start to set thick branches from the trunk to his supportedbeam. These he tied with simple loops, and used all the spare branches he could find to make a side wall and block the bottom. Now there was a basic shelter.
‘Very good, if a little leaky,’ the monk observed.
Simon said nothing. He was searching in the gathering darkness for Rob and growing fearful for the lad’s safety.
‘Don’t worry, Bailiff,’ Busse said. ‘He’s bright enough.’
‘He has little sense of direction. He has never been on the moors before,’ Simon said through gritted teeth. Bellowing Rob’sname, he was relieved to see a figure jerk upright only a few tens of yards away. ‘Hurry up!’
‘You see?’ Busse said.
‘Yes. Now, I need you to gather up as many ferns as possible.’
Busse was startled. ‘Me?’
‘If you want to sleep dry and not freeze, you’ll help me now. We need to cover this shelter in ferns and leaves — anything. And we need to be quick, before that snowstorm starts!’