Luke fought back a smile. "What brings you here, de Quincy? Any more secrets you forgot to tell me about? Let me guess… in your spare time, you spy for the Pope? You're a royal prince incognito? You know the whereabouts of King Richard?"
Justin burst out laughing. If Luke only knew! "Alas, nothing so dramatic. As far as I know, I've not a drop of royal blood. But I may have a way to flush out our killer."
Luke stopped abruptly. "How so?"
"I thought," Justin said, "to put the cat amongst the pigeons."
Luke listened intently, not interrupting until Justin was done. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "it is worth trying. Of course it might make you a target." He paused then, very deliberately. "But I suppose I could live with that."
Justin grinned. "I'll take that," he said, "as your odd way of wishing me good luck!"
~~
From the castle, Justin headed for Gervase Fitz Randolph's goldsmith shop. It was open for business, the unicorn sign swaying precariously in the wind, the shutters thrown back, a sound of hammering coming from within. Miles was working at the anvil, pounding gold into gold leaf. He looked up with a startled smile when Justin said his name.
"You're back, are you? Come on in." Setting the hammer down, he unlatched the little gate in the corner so Justin could enter. Thinking it had been more fun to vault over the counter, Justin stepped inside and came over to watch as Miles smoothed the parchment protecting the gold foil.
"Are you on your own today, Miles?"
"No… Guy is in the rear, heating up the forge. Tom was supposed to be in, too, but he has not shown up yet. I guess men of God need not keep regular hours like the rest of us."
Justin found it interesting that Miles seemed far less indulgent of Thomas's erratic work habits than he had at their last meeting. "Thomas is still set, then, upon taking holy vows?"
"More than ever. He is making life so wretched for the household that his mother and uncle will have no choice but to give in." Miles was taking a decidedly protective attitude toward Jonet's family, sounding more like a prospective son-in-law and less like an employee. Before Justin could pursue this further, the door to the rear room swung open.
Guy looked healthier; his color was better. His surprise at seeing Justin was evident. After a conspicuous pause, he mustered up a remote smile. "What brings you back to Winchester, Master de Quincy?"
"Your brother's murder."
"I do not understand," Guy said slowly. "What is there left to do for Gervase but mourn him?"
"How about catching his killers?"
"Naturally I hope the sheriff captures the outlaws. I also hope for an early spring, a good harvest, and that my dolt of a nephew comes to his senses. But I would not wager money on any of those hopes. Outlaws rarely answer for their crimes, at least in this life."
"That may well be, but I was not talking about the outlaws. I meant the ones who paid them."
Guy gasped loudly. "What sort of daft talk is that? My brother was slain by bandits!"
"I know. I was there. But it was no chance robbery. We have reason to believe that the outlaws were hired to ambush your brother."
"I think you've lost your wits! Where would you get such an absurd suspicion?"
"I overheard something in those woods. But it was only later — after I talked to the under-sheriff — that we realized what it meant."
"Luke de Marston believes this lunacy, too?
"He does, Master Fitz Randolph."
Miles had been listening, openmouthed. "This makes no sense. Who would want Master Gervase dead?"
"That is what we mean to find out… and why I am here. I wanted to assure you that we will not stop until we learn the truth, even if we have to poke into every corner of Gervase's life and unearth all his secrets."
Guy had gone very white. "I have never heard anything so preposterous. My brother had no enemies. Why do you suspect a plot? What in Christ's Name did you hear in the woods?"
"I am sorry," Justin said, politely but firmly. "I cannot tell you that."
Guy's pallor was suddenly blotched with hot, hectic color. "You cannot possibly suspect one of us!"
"Did I say that?" Justin asked blandly. "We have no suspects… yet. I came here merely to tell you how the investigation is progressing, and to promise you that we will not rest until Gervase Fitz Randolph gets justice."
"I think we ought to talk to the sheriff about this, Master Guy." Miles was frowning, running a hand nervously through his sleek blond hair, for once indifferent to his appearance. "I am not sure that we can trust Luke de Marston. Or this man de
Quincy either, if it comes to that. What do we know about him, after all?"
Guy looked at the journeyman blankly, saying nothing. Justin decided it was time to go. He'd planted the seeds; now they needed a chance to sprout. They watched in silence as he left the shop. But he could feel their eyes boring into his back all the while. Acting on instinct, he turned into the first doorway he came to. He had not long to wait. Within moments, Guy emerged from the shop. Still wearing his leathersmith's apron, he crossed the street without even a glance toward oncoming traffic and stumbled through a narrow doorway.
Justin crossed the street, too. A wilting branch drooped from a crooked ale-pole, and the door's paint was peeled and cracked. Inside, the alehouse was no less dingy, dank, and foul smelling. Slumped at a corner table, Guy was clutching unsteadily at a large tankard. As Justin watched from the doorway, Gervase's brother drank deeply of the ale, spilling almost as much as he swallowed.
~~
After leaving Guy awash in ale, Justin paid a surreptitious visit to the Fitz Randolph stable, where he briefed Edwin. He did not want to jeopardize the groom's job in any way, and Edwin needed to be warned that his name would echo like an obscenity in Fitz Randolph ears from now on. He'd wondered if he'd have trouble convincing Edwin. Not only did Edwin believe him, he had to talk the groom out of volunteering to spy on his behalf, so appalled was he that a member of the goldsmith's own family might have had a hand in his death. Justin made Edwin promise not to do anything foolhardy and left him pondering suspects.
As he wandered along the Cheapside, Justin noticed a crowd gathering up ahead. Quickening his pace, he saw that the attraction was a peddler's cart. The peddler was unkempt and greying, but he had a glib tongue and a practiced spiel, and for good measure, a small monkey on a chain. Banging on cymbals and turning cartwheels, the monkey soon had the spectators laughing at its antics, and the peddler then launched his hard sell, extolling the virtues of his wares.
The cart was well stocked with wooden combs, razors, needles, vinegar, salt, and the oil of olives, poppies, and almonds. Joking with his customers, the peddler seemed to have a product for every need. Wormwood for fleas. Sage for headache or fever. Green leeches for bloodletting. Agrimony boiled in milk as a restorative for lust. Senna as a purgative. Candied quince for anyone with a sweet tooth. Bantering with the men, flirting with
the women, the peddler was soon doing a brisk business.
Justin paused to watch, amused by the haggling. He'd been there a few moments when he caught a whiff of perfume. He'd encountered it only once before, but he recognized it immediately, for Aldith Talbot had burned her way into his memory like a brand. As she came up beside him, he greeted her with a defensive coolness. He had not forgotten how she had used him to make Luke jealous, but his pulse still speeded up at sight of her.
"What a pity," she said, "that the peddler has no apologies for sale, neatly wrapped and ready to go. I owe you at least a dozen, mayhap more."
"In truth," Justin said, "I'd rather have an explanation than an apology."
Aldith's smile was rueful. "I was afraid you'd say that." Linking her arm in his, she drew him away from the crowd surrounding the peddler's cart. "If I tell you, it will be just between us? When he nodded, she was quiet for a moment, considering her response. "I wanted to make sure that Luke did not get skittish about our wedding."