I stepped up to look at the dead woman.
Only she wasn’t really a woman; she was scarcely more than a girl.
‘She’s beautiful!’ I exclaimed in surprise. ‘I thought-’
I thought she’d be a haggard old whore worn out by the life she has led, I almost said. But something in Jack’s expression stopped me.
‘She was a prostitute,’ he said neutrally. ‘But I don’t think she had been for long.’
I studied the face, then, folding back the sheet, the plump young body. I tried not to look at the savage wound. ‘Is there anything in particular you want me to look at?’ I said after a while.
‘No,’ he admitted.
Both of us stared silently down at the dead girl. I wondered why he’d wanted me to see her; then, straight away, I answered my own question. I’d been very surprised to find that she was young and beautiful. Like probably the majority of the people of the town, once I’d known what she did for a living, I’d leapt to the conclusion that she’d be the very opposite. Did Jack think, on finding I was wrong, that I’d be more shocked at her awful death?
I didn’t like the idea of him believing that.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, you know,’ I said quietly.
‘What wouldn’t?’ He sounded cagey.
I turned and met his eyes. ‘I admit it took me aback to see she’s not as I expected. I’m not closely acquainted with any prostitutes, and I didn’t know they started so young. They tend to keep away from healers, probably because they don’t want the lecture that goes with the remedy. But if you think I wouldn’t have been just as horrified, or not have the same urge to avenge her, had she been old and ugly, then you’re wrong.’
He looked away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Jack, we all do what we have to in order to put bread in our mouths,’ I went on. ‘I work hard for my living, so do you, and so did she.’ I rested my hand on the smooth young skin of the cold forehead. Gerda, I reminded myself. Jack had said her name was Gerda. ‘I know which one of our three occupations I’d want least.’
My voice had risen a little, and I made myself calm down. ‘So,’ I said after a moment. ‘What do you want of me?’
He met my eyes again, perhaps to make sure I’d finished with taking him to task. ‘What I’d really like you to do is come with me down to the quayside. I need to find out more about her, and I believe the men and women who have their livelihoods there would be more likely to talk to you.’
‘Of course I’ll come.’
We left poor Gerda lying as still and silent as Robert Powl, on the adjoining trestle.
The quay was busy; it seemed to be the only part of town that was. Perhaps the boatmen, the sailors and the tavern-keepers were harder to scare than the law-abiding townspeople. I kept close behind Jack as he made his way between the groups of men and their female companions, noticing the courteous way he addressed them as he asked them to let him through. He was clearly not a man who felt the necessity to lean on the authority imposed by his position and throw his weight around.
He led me to a building at the far end of the quay. Its doors were open, and lantern light and a babble of voices flowed out. It was a sizeable place, and what looked like a fairly new extension had been constructed to one side. It was raw and cheap, and I guessed it was for the use of the women and their clients. From within I heard someone crying out repeatedly – short, sharp cries – and then a burst of raucous and, I suspected, drunken laughter. Jack walked round this extension and, at the rear, we came to an entrance, the ground churned to mud by the passage of many pairs of feet.
I could see small doorless rooms – cubicles, really – leading off a main passage. The light was poor, and some of the recesses had curtains strung across. I didn’t want to look. It seemed an invasion of privacy. Here was evidence of a basic human urge being fulfilled; male demand, female provision of service provided; it was a business exchange. I just hoped, unavoidably overhearing, that some of the women really were enjoying themselves.
A little further up the passage, Jack had stopped and was speaking to a woman coming towards him, carrying a pile of soiled bedding. She pointed over her shoulder, muttered, ‘Margery’s in there,’ and then, shoving him aside, went on her way. I flattened myself against the wall to let her past.
Jack had gone into the furthest recess, and creeping in behind him, I saw an enormously fat woman reclining on a bed, propped up by a stack of cushions and pillows, the wide, full skirts of her brilliant purple gown spread out as if in expectation of admiration. The colour was indeed gorgeous, and I wondered what sort of dye had achieved it. It wouldn’t have come cheap, that was for sure.
She was watching Jack from small dark eyes set deep within rolls of fatty flesh. It was a shrewd look, yet at her mouth I saw humour lurking. She noticed me, and glancing swiftly back at Jack said, ‘Brought me a new girl, have you?’
I caught sight of Jack’s expression and smothered a laugh. Margery spotted my amusement, however; I had the impression she didn’t miss much. ‘This is Lassair,’ Jack said. ‘She’s a healer.’
‘I know who she is,’ Margery said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I need to find out more about Gerda.’ At the mention of the dead girl, Margery’s face fell into sorrow. ‘I’ve brought Lassair with me because I reckon-’
‘You reckon my lasses will be more likely to open up to a slip of a girl than a hardened old man of the law,’ Margery finished for him. ‘And I dare say you’re right.’ Again, she studied me. ‘No trying to persuade them away from their work, mind. They’re here of their own free will, and I look after them as well as I can.’
‘No, I won’t do that.’
She nodded. Then, surprisingly, ‘How’s that disreputable old wizard who’s teaching you his tricks?’
How on earth did she know Gurdyman?
There was a sound like a distant rumble. Margery was laughing. ‘Oh, don’t you go jumping to conclusions,’ she said, still chuckling. ‘He has no use for what’s on offer here. Wizards are celibate, didn’t you know? Tell him I was asking about him.’
‘I will,’ I replied. Oh, of course I would! I could hardly wait, although I had no idea how I was going to raise the topic… On second thoughts – I felt my face flush – maybe I wouldn’t.
‘You can go along to the room off the taproom,’ Margery was saying to Jack. ‘There’ll be four or five of the girls in there having their break. They all knew Gerda.’
‘Thank you, we’ll-’ Jack began.
Margery reached for his hand, grabbing it. ‘Be kind to them,’ she said softly. ‘They all loved her, too.’
Jack nodded. Giving Margery a sort of bow, he turned and strode off along the passage, and I followed.
We returned to the entrance and then went back round the extension to the main building, going on to a small room with a lively fire and an appetizing smell of stew. Six women sat around the hearth, talking in soft voices. They looked up as we came in. ‘Hello, Jack,’ one said.
‘I’m very sorry about Gerda,’ he said, eyes roving round the group. ‘I’m going to investigate her death, and I’ll do my best to bring her killer to justice. I’ve brought Lassair with me, who is a friend of mine. If you are prepared to tell her everything you know about Gerda, it will be a big help.’
The women muttered to each other. One or two were eyeing me suspiciously. I made myself stare back, keeping my expression bland. ‘She’s not going to be all high and mighty and get holy on us, is she?’ one asked.
‘No,’ I said.
More muttering. Then the one who had first addressed Jack said, ‘Very well. We don’t like outsiders, but if it’ll help hang the bastard that killed Gerda, we’ll do it.’