“A desperate day,” Olin muttered as he held the door. Olin was always saying ridiculous things like that.
Saldur entered the church feeling instantly at peace. The dim interior of lofty marble pillars, flickering candles, and the pungent scent of salifan incense was another world, a place where the troubles of the outside were forced to wait.
The bishop stood dripping as Olin closed the door.
“What can I do?” Olin asked.
“Run to my chambers and build a fire and get a bath started. And bring me back a towel to dry off. I’m frozen to the bone.”
“Of course.” Olin shuffled off. The plump man never appeared to know how to lift his feet.
While his wetness hadn’t bothered him before, now that he was inside it became a misery. He was reluctant to move, to feel the cling of soaked cloth against his skin. He took a forced step in the direction of his chambers and grimaced. He just needed to walk a bit farther; then he could peel the slop off. He’d dry himself, curl up in bed, and sleep. It had been a long night.
He had taken only one more step when he heard pounding at the doors.
The bishop looked around and sighed. He was alone at the front of the church. He gave the door a shove and found a blond-haired nobleman, equally sodden, waiting outside. When their eyes met, the man smiled.
“Your Grace!” He appeared delighted, not at all the sort of reaction the bishop was used to these days. “I’m so pleased to find you.”
“Services won’t be until-”
“I’m not here for that.” The man took note of the puddle the bishop was creating in the otherwise dry vestibule. “I’m merely making a delivery.”
He held out a coin purse.
“How nice of you.” Saldur took the pouch, disappointed at its light weight. “I’m certain our lord Novron will bless you for your generosity.”
“Oh, it’s not mine, Your Grace. I actually don’t know whose it is. Just now a man in a hurry stopped me on the street and asked if I would deliver it to you. He said it was important, and I always like to do the church a good turn. I could use all the help I can get in that respect, if you know what I mean.”
“We all do,” the bishop said.
“I’m also quite curious what’s in the purse. The man told me that under no circumstances should I look inside, which of course made me want to peek.”
“And did you?”
The nobleman shook his head. “Normally I would have, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, to be honest, Your Grace, I was frightened. The man was, shall I say, intimidating. I had the distinct impression that he might be watching me.” The nobleman looked around.
“I see. Well, thank you, I suppose.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
The blond nobleman offered another smile and, spinning on his heels, walked back out into the downpour. Saldur peered out into the rain but couldn’t spot anyone who might be watching. He closed the door.
Fueled more by the possible inconvenience that someone else might come to the door, the bishop ignored the clammy wetness of his clothes and walked down the corridor, gritting his teeth. As he did, he opened the purse and dumped the contents into his hand.
Saldur stopped.
In his palm he held a severed finger.
Saldur grimaced and dropped it. A metallic sound as it hit the floor drew his attention to a ring. The golden band was a gaudy thing, with one huge ruby and a smaller one to either side. There was no mistaking the gold and burgundy badge of Melengarian high office-this was the ring of the lord high constable.
What happened to Simon Exeter was still a mystery, but Saldur didn’t feel a need to pick at that scab. Surely Novron had killed Exeter to protect him from disaster because Saldur was working in his service. The high constable didn’t have enough proof to charge him yet. But being a suspicious man, he had been putting pieces together faster than Saldur had anticipated. The bishop looked down at the finger and the ring, puzzled.
Why would anyone send me the severed finger of Lord Exeter?
Examining the bag more closely, he found a scrap of parchment still inside. Written on it in a small, tight hand, the words were few but to the point.
See that the ladies of Medford House are released and protected and I’ll forget about you.
— Rose
Saldur read the note three times, and his hands were shaking by the third time through.
The little wide-eyed bitch did recognize my voice! And is still alive!
The bishop turned around and, retracing his steps, pushed open the doors to Gentry Square once again. The blond-haired noble was gone, and no one else could be seen. In the distance, through the curtain of rain, he could just make out the rearing stone statue of Tolin Essendon. Exeter’s body had been removed and the blood washed away, but a single length of rope-too high perhaps for the soldiers to safely reach-still dangled from the neck of the king like a noose.
Why hadn’t Richard killed her? Perhaps Hilfred was smarter than he thought. Only a fool would trust a man about to betray his king. Likely kept her alive to work as insurance in case something went wrong. Maybe he even planned to blackmail him later. He should have had Richard slit her throat in the dungeon, but he thought it was best to have her body discovered far away or not at all. Having her die in the castle would have just provided Exeter one more piece to add to his puzzle, and himself one more accusation to defend against.
For the first time, Saldur was forced to consider who had killed the constable and why. They said a note had been found on him-something about Exeter harming some women.
Could it really be as simple as the girls having hired thugs to protect them from harm? Hadn’t he heard that there were other murders in the city just like Exeter? Each of the victims had somehow harmed the women from this Medford House. How ironic that the petty affairs of prostitutes from the worst quarter of the city could hold a dagger to his throat. Saldur was always amazed at how few people had an appreciation for seeing what was possible. This Rose had him trapped. She could have asked for so many things-money, power, anything really. If arranging for the release and protection of a handful of whores would put the matter to rest, Saldur would be happy to oblige.
Forgetting the fire, his bath, and his waiting bed, Saldur turned and headed back to the burned-out castle once more. He needed to convince His Majesty to release the girls, before Rose started pointing fingers.
When Albert returned to The Hideous Head, Royce was waiting with the door open. Pulling him in, the thief shut the door quickly, and Albert struggled to wipe the rain from his eyes with his soaked sleeve.
“Well?” Royce asked.
“It went fine,” Albert told them. “I got the package to Bishop Saldur and I saw him go back to the castle. Can I ask what was in it?”
“Leverage,” Royce replied.
“So I’m involved in what now … blackmail as well as murder?”
“Gwen and the girls were arrested,” Hadrian said.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but what does that have to do with Bishop Saldur?”
“Royce has come up with a plan to get them out.”
Clearing his eyes, Albert could see Hadrian at one of the tables, a toppled mug of ale before him and a puddle on the floor. His big sword lay bridging the gap across the table and the chair beside him, the baldric left dangling. Royce remained on his feet, hovering uncomfortably close. Neither looked like they had slept.
“I’ve been thinking,” the viscount said. “I’m not cut out for this nefarious sort of life. That and the fact I’m more than a little concerned that the royal guard might be looking for a certain viscount who delivered a message to Lord Exeter shortly before the fire. So perhaps it’s time I left Medford.”