Jack turned to me. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There’s a little chapel. I put him there.’
He paused to strike a spark and set the flame to the lantern he had brought, and set off again, Gurdyman and I following close behind. It was very dark in the deserted village, the looming, overhanging walls blocking out what remained of the last light. The chapel crouched over on the north-east side of the settlement, slightly apart from the nearest row of hovels. Jack shouldered open the wooden door – it had warped, and stuck on the stone of the step – and, holding up his light, ushered us inside.
Not only had he managed to find somewhere that was in itself fitting to receive a corpse, he had also given the place a good clean. At least, I supposed it must be he who had tidied the accumulated detritus of years into a neat pile in the corner and swept the floor. From what I knew of Sheriff Picot, such an action would not have occurred to him.
The body lay on planks draped with white cloth and set on two wooden trestles. Another, similar cloth had been drawn over it, covering it entirely. Around the throat, the cloth already bore dark stains.
Jack went over to the walls on either side of the corpse – the chapel was only about four or five paces wide – and lit flares stuck in brackets. Light flooded the small space, and, as if taking this as his cue, Gurdyman stepped up to the body. With calm, efficient movements, as if he did this every day, he folded back the sheet and smoothed it across the chest.
Robert Powl’s dead face stared up at us. He looked different, and I realized it was because someone had taken off his hat. The top of his crown was quite bald, and rounded like an egg; perhaps that was why he had worn his hat so determinedly drawn down across his brow.
Gurdyman beckoned me forward, and I went to stand beside him. I looked into the dead eyes. They were wide with horror, and a muddy hazel in colour. One was a little bloodshot.
‘Could we not shut his eyes?’ I whispered to Gurdyman.
He leaned down over the body, peering closely. ‘There is a theory,’ he remarked, ‘that a murdered person’s eyes reflect the face of the killer, but I do not subscribe to it myself.’ With a deft touch of his thumb and forefinger, he lowered the eyelids. Straight away I felt better. Not much better, but a little.
Gurdyman was inspecting the wound. Instinctively I had stepped away, but he reached for my hand and drew me back. ‘Come and look, Lassair,’ he said gently. ‘There is nothing here to harm you, and I am beside you.’
His calm voice gave me confidence. Gathering my courage, I looked right into the wide, open, bloody wound.
It was no wonder they’d all been saying some ferocious animal did the damage. As well as the sheer size of the gaping hole, I now made out the clear marks of five sharp claws, or talons, four over to the upper left, where the worst damage had been done, and one coming in and up from the lower right. It really did look as if a giant hand, or paw, was responsible. Dread went through me, and a sort of superstitious shiver, as if, once I’d admitted the possibility into my mind that such a creature existed, it followed that it must be lurking outside, waiting…
I moved a little closer to Gurdyman.
Jack had gone to stand on the opposite side of the trestle table. He, too, seemed to be transfixed by that wound. ‘Could it-’ He stopped. Then: ‘I am not saying I support the theory of attack by some large wild animal, but if this were so, could the damage have been done by teeth?’
‘Interesting,’ murmured Gurdyman. ‘So, instead of talons having made the marks, we are suggesting it was teeth? A row of four incisors and canines in the upper jaw, let us say, and one protruding fang in the lower?’ He leaned right down over the body, a hand holding back his garments to keep them out of the gaping throat.
‘It wasn’t a serious suggestion,’ Jack said.
Gurdyman didn’t answer. After a moment, he said, without turning round, ‘Will you hold up your light, Jack? Yes, yes, that’s right, just like that.’
For what seemed like an age, there was silence, other than some faint squelchy noises as Gurdyman, who had extracted a small pointed silver instrument from some hidden pocket inside his robe, probed. I felt ill, and I had the strange sensation that the middle section of my legs wasn’t there. I think I made some soft sound, for Jack’s head flew up and instantly he was hurrying round the table, one arm around me.
‘Step outside,’ he said, ‘you’ve gone deathly white.’
‘No, I’m all right.’ I will not faint, I commanded myself. I managed to give him a smile.
He didn’t look convinced. He stayed exactly where he was, at my side, where he could catch me if I fell.
So total had been Gurdyman’s absorption in his task that he had missed the small drama. Looking up now, an expression of mild surprise on his face on observing that Jack no longer stood where he had before, he said, ‘I cannot support the teeth theory, but nevertheless I am very glad you raised it, Jack, for it compelled me to investigate more closely.’ He held out the silver instrument, on the tip of which was a tiny object, stuck to the fine point with a gout of flesh, or perhaps dried blood. ‘And look what I found inside the deepest cut!’
I made myself take a couple of deep breaths. ‘What is it?’ I managed to say.
‘I don’t know yet,’ Gurdyman admitted. ‘I need to examine it back in the crypt.’ He frowned at it thoughtfully, then carefully wrapped both instrument and find in a small piece of linen and stowed them away. ‘Now, what else is there for sharp eyes to observe?’
The faintness was passing, and now I took on the role of student, helping my mentor as he stripped off the garments and carried out a careful inspection of the rest of the body. Not that we learned anything, for, other than the normal scars, swellings, and marks of ageing that can be seen on anyone past youth, there was nothing to see.
We dressed the corpse again, and Jack drew the sheet up over the dead face. We turned to go, Gurdyman and I waiting by the door while Jack extinguished the torches. At the last moment, Gurdyman looked back at the body. ‘No other marks,’ he said very softly.
‘Yes, we have just established that,’ I said.
‘Do you not see the significance?’ he said, his face eager as he waited for my response.
I visualized the body. One great wound, nothing else…
‘He didn’t struggle,’ I said, appreciating all at once what Gurdyman meant. I had already suspected as much – and mentioned it to Jack – on the grounds that Robert Powl hadn’t drawn his dagger. ‘He didn’t have time to put up his hands or his arms to protect himself. He didn’t try to run away, for there was no bruising or marking to indicate that his assailant held on to him.’
‘And so?’ persisted Gurdyman.
‘He was taken completely by surprise,’ I said.
‘Which suggests?’
Now I saw the scene in my mind. ‘It’s likely he was jumped on from behind. Either that, or else the killer was so well concealed that his victim didn’t see him until he was right there on the path in front of him, claws reaching for his throat.’
‘Well done,’ murmured Gurdyman.
As we followed Jack’s light back through the deserted village, round the castle’s foot and back towards the great bridge, Jack said quietly, ‘I wonder what business took Robert Powl out to that lonely stretch of river bank?’
It was a great relief to be back in the twisty-turny house. Jack left us at the door – it had been fully dark for the return journey and he had drawn his sword – and urged us to bolt it. We didn’t really need to be urged.
Gurdyman wandered off along the passage that leads down to the crypt. ‘Go to bed, child,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Don’t you need my help?’ I knew what he was going to do, for already he was reaching inside his robe for the cloth-wrapped pick and whatever was stuck to its point.