‘No,’ he said firmly.
With some relief, for, despite my resolve to be the ever-alert pupil, I’d really had enough for one night, I slipped away.
‘It is a fragment of horn, or claw,’ Gurdyman said in the morning. We were standing in the little inner court, the early sun pouring in, and he held up the object for me to look at. He had cleaned it, thankfully, and I saw a small pointed piece of hard matter, shaped somewhat like a steeply sided cone. It did indeed look just like the broken-off tip of a horn or a claw.
‘It’s a great shame,’ mused Gurdyman.
‘But isn’t it just what you expected?’
‘Yes, precisely!’ he said eagerly. ‘I expected it to be what it is, but I hoped it would be made of wood, or even metal.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Because then you’d have had proof that this killing was the work of a human hand, wielding some frightful weapon, and not a savage animal.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Gurdyman agreed. ‘We might even have gone on to conclude that our killer had designed and manufactured his weapon purely with this murder in mind, to make us think an animal was to blame.’
‘But he was too clever,’ I said slowly. ‘Instead of satisfying himself with sharpened wood spikes or metal blades, he used a substance that has animal origins.’ I looked at Gurdyman. ‘You are quite convinced a human is behind this?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed. ‘Now we – or, rather, your friend Jack Chevestrier – must begin to work out the motive.’
‘He-’ I began.
But Gurdyman held up his hand. ‘Enough, Lassair. We have done what he asked of us, and already I have sent a message to tell him of my findings.’
‘A message! But surely the whole aim is not to spread panic, and if the messenger tells anyone else that you found a bit of horn in the body, it’ll only fuel the gossip!’
Gurdyman sighed. ‘Child, it was a written message, not a spoken one. For one thing, I very much doubt the man to whom I entrusted it can read, even if he would be so foolhardy as to break the seal. For another, I was very discreet, and only said that my discovery did nothing to help the situation.’
‘And Jack will know what you meant?’
‘Of course he will,’ said Gurdyman robustly. ‘He’s a thoughtful and intelligent man, which is more than you can say for anyone else in Sheriff Picot’s organization, including Sheriff Picot.’ Before I could respond, he said, ‘To work! We have much to do.’
We worked hard all that day and the next. I hoped constantly that there would be a visit from Jack; wouldn’t he want to discuss that fragment of claw, and the mind behind the creation of the dreadful weapon it had come from? Surely he would have found out much more about Robert Powl, and want to talk over with us what lay at the heart of the killing.
He didn’t come.
On the third day, the killer struck again.
Very early the following morning, before Gurdyman and I had had a chance to put our noses out of doors, Jack came at last. Any pleasure I might have derived from seeing him was quickly subsumed by fear; I knew just by looking at his expression that something terrible had happened. He wouldn’t go out into the sunny little court – I guessed he feared being overheard, although the high walls made it unlikely – but spoke to us in the dark, narrow passage behind the closed door.
‘There’s been another death,’ he said shortly. ‘Same method.’
‘Who is the victim?’ Gurdyman asked.
‘Someone who works at one of the lodging houses on the quayside.’
Lodging houses was the polite description. They were drinking dens and brothels, there to fulfil the needs of sailors a long way from home, although by no means used exclusively by them. My healer aunt Edild, my first teacher, had enlightened me on the subject of the diseases that spread in such places, and on occasions I had treated townsmen who had come to seek me out under cover of night, bitterly regretting the brief pleasure that had led to such painful and humiliating consequences. Not that it was for me to judge, and my aunt had always impressed on me the importance of courtesy and kindness, no matter what the ailment. I had also learned to be extremely discreet; it was a healer’s first duty, and I would have kept my mouth shut even without the extravagant payment some of the town’s leading citizens pressed upon me.
‘Where was he found?’ Gurdyman was asking.
‘On the river, perhaps half a mile downstream from the quay.’
Near to the road that led off towards Ely and the fens, I calculated. ‘Close by water again,’ I said softly.
‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ Jack agreed.
‘The man was known to you?’ Gurdyman asked.
Jack hesitated. He glanced swiftly at me, then away again. ‘It wasn’t a man.’
Neither Gurdyman nor I spoke.
‘It is an even worse abomination, I think,’ Jack said eventually, ‘for a woman to have been killed in this brutal way.’
‘And why?’ Gurdyman said. ‘Robert Powl was a wealthy man, and, although we assume he wasn’t robbed, it is reasonable to postulate that his murder is somehow connected to his business affairs, or his importance in the community. But of what significance can a lowly tavern maid have been?’ It was chivalrous of him to assume that the woman had been a maid and not a prostitute, and for all I knew, he was right in that assumption.
‘I can think of nothing that links them, yet,’ Jack agreed, ‘save for the vague fact that both earned their livings from the river traffic; Robert Powl by providing a fleet of transport, Gerda by what she offered in the lodging house.’
I wondered if he was being deliberately ambiguous.
‘Perhaps,’ I said hesitantly, still working on the thought, ‘all that they have in common is that both were out by the river, alone, unobserved, when their assailant felt the compulsion to kill.’
Both Jack and Gurdyman turned to stare at me. Gurdyman’s face wore a thoughtful, appraising expression. Jack looked horrified.
‘You appear to support the wild-animal theory after all,’ he said, ‘for isn’t that – an opportunist attack on a vulnerable victim – just what such a creature would do?’
I shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘What were they doing out on the river bank, alone?’ Gurdyman asked. ‘Robert Powl’s presence there I can understand, for, being the first victim, there was nothing yet to fear. But this Gerda must have known about the first murder-’
‘They talk of nothing else down by the quay,’ Jack said lugubriously.
‘-and so why, then, would she be so foolish as to venture out?’
Neither Jack nor I could come up with an answer.
‘I intend to go straight down there now,’ Jack said after a short pause. ‘I’m hoping someone will be able to tell me something: she had a message summoning her to go and meet someone, perhaps, or a man she was with asked her to venture outside, or she heard a noise and went to investigate, or-’ He shrugged.
He had, it seemed, come to tell Gurdyman and me about Gerda’s murder before we heard a doubtless far more lurid and inaccurate version elsewhere. It was good of him, and I thanked him as I saw him out.
He turned to look intently at me. ‘Please, don’t go out unless you have to.’
‘We have to eat,’ I pointed out gently.
‘Of course, but keep to the well-frequented places.’ He paused. ‘And I know I’ve said this before, but don’t listen to the gossip.’ He went on looking at me for an instant, then gave me a sort of salute and strode off up the alley.
When, in the mid-afternoon, I went out for food, I found the marketplace humming. Probably everyone was out doing their provisioning while it was full daylight, and while there were plenty of people about. The pie stall on the corner was doing a brisk trade, and I was lucky to find anything left to buy. Not that it amounted to much; not enough, anyway, so I ventured further into the throng and managed to purchase a loaf, cheese, a string of somewhat soft onions and a small bag of apples.