Ghosts in the Snow (13 page)

As soon as Lars disappeared into the darkness, Dubric stomped toward the mob. He had reached his limit of tolerance for insanity. "Enough is enough! You are all interfering in an official investigation. Get back inside or I am throwing the lot of you in the gaol!"

"Ha," the drunk said as he shoved Bacstair. "Eight of us, three of you."

"Yeah! Go ahead and try," Allin screeched, her voice cracking in rage.

Dubric pulled his sword. "Flavin, you stay here and guard the body. Anyone tries to touch her before I get back, you have my permission to make them wish they had not."

Flavin stepped over her with one foot on each side of her head, then pulled a borrowed sword from the sheath at his hip.

The mob's eyes grew wide and a few stumbled backward. Dubric stepped closer. "Bacstair, think of that sword as a heavy dough knife. All right?"

"Yes, sir." Bacstair pulled his sword, as well, and it trembled for a moment before it settled steady in his hands.

The drunk babbled and almost fell in his hurry to get away from the long blade.

Dubric drew a calming breath and let it out. "I am only going to say this once. March directly to the east tower door. We are going to the gaol. Anyone who runs off, I will find you and drag you there later this morning. Trust me, you will wish you had walked there on your own. Now move!"

Allin screamed and lunged at him, broken mop handle in her hands. He flexed—he might be old, but he was still strong—and his elbow slammed hard into her nose. A loud snap cracked through the air and blood shot down the front of her coat. She fell like a sack of manure into the mud and screamed. The fight went out of the mob just as fast.

"Get back on your feet," he snarled as he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her upright. "I said march and I mean march!" He shoved her toward the humbled mob.

Gaelin screeched and turned toward him, her hands curling into fists as she dropped her mop handle. "You—"

His sword flashed up and he whispered, "Do not tempt me. One more body will not make a bit of difference."

That stopped her. She glared at him and turned back to the mob with a toss of her head before helping her sister to her feet.

* * *

Lars hurried toward the main castle doors, but passed them and kept on running, his feet almost silent in the mud. Dubric knew something, but what? Was this 'ghost stuff' more than just the imaginings of a scared boy?

In his heart he knew the lackey had spoken the truth. He'd seen it in the boy's eyes. And Dubric believed him.

He slid to a stop at the southwest corner of the castle and took a moment to catch his breath. The stable loomed ahead and to his left; the dairy barns were to the right but still hidden behind the castle. Past the barns, near the northwest corner of the castle, were the coops. He glanced at the slim line of crescent moon shining near the constellation of the Great Ship plowing through waves of clouds—Malanna's light guiding the way in troubled seas. He said a quick prayer as he pulled his sword.

"Guide my hand, O Gracious One, and allow me to harm no innocents. But if I find that damned ghost, let me send him to the seven hells." Lars drew the mark on his chest, a circle within a circle, the four blessed phases of the moon—Dubric wasn't here to see and roll his eyes—and he took one breath and stepped around the corner.

Dark buildings, mud, and everything looking dim and hazy in the thin moonlight. Nothing more. Smelled like manure.

He cursed, remembering he was supposed to
listen
, not look, and ran across to the stable, hugging the deep shadows.

Through the dark, quiet and sleek, he moved north along the west side of the stable, then the barn, the side away from the castle, listening, always listening with his heart as well as his ears. The horses sounded nervous and restless in their stalls, as did the cows in their pens, and he felt nervous, too, long before he got within sight of the coops. At the far corner of the last barn, where the smell of chicken dung and cow manure blended into one nasty stench, he took a breath and listened. After a moment, he heard something, a faint sound, crisp and metallic in the air. His breath fell shallow and silent and his eyes closed halfway as he listened.
What is it? A cool metallic flick, like a knife dragging on a table
? No, that wasn't quite right, but he'd heard that sound before. Somewhere. He switched his sword to his left hand, wiped his right palm dry on his pants, and returned the sword to his stronger hand. Still listening, he slipped behind the first coop.

Yes, that was better. He heard a grunt, a mumbled curse, and a rustle of cloth. No more cow manure, everything stunk of chicken dung now, but he ignored the stench and listened. Another curse, muttered, low, hard to hear. He slipped to the next coop, closer, closer, and there was that metallic sound again, somewhere between this coop and the next. The slick metallic sound, then a soft, fleshy one, and his belly clenched. Had the killer found another? Was he cutting her? He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again.
Quit being a runny-nosed kid. Be a man. Take one look. That's all. Just one. See the damned ghost
.

Moonlight flickered in the space between the two coops, leaving long shadows and crevasses of dark within the edges of dim illumination, but he saw nothing. No one was there. No body. No killer. Nothing but the dark.

Relieved, Lars let his breath out in a rush and he heard a rustle and a curse as something in the dark moved, as if whatever waited between the coops turned to look right at him.

Lars froze. Dubric had warned him not to be stupid, not to take chances, just to listen and wait and hide.

There was nothing there but shadows and darkness, but, oh Goddess, it was moving this way!

The moonlit shape of a body appeared on the ground as if by magic. There was only mud, then— blink!—a girl lay between the coops, on her belly, her back opened like a book, and her arms splayed wide and dimly blue in the moonlight. The ghost moved, ever closer, one with the darkness, its shape flowing and becoming part of the night. The glimmer of moon slipped behind a cloud as if it, too, were afraid, the Great Ship became lost in the obscuring waves, and the dark became endless and overwhelming.

Lars held his sword in shaking hands, and his feet had taken root in the mud. His eyes searched the dark for movement, but
everything
was black and his mind refused to accept the impossibility of what his eyes were not seeing. He heard nothing but the beat of his heart in his ears, the terrified
whoosh
of his breath, and the heavy footfalls of death advancing toward him. He was stupid; he had disobeyed, and this time the price due for his inadequacy was far higher than banishment. Soon he'd be dead, like the girls, his kidneys taken for—

He smelled blood, smelled death and guts and rotting evil. Although his eyes searched the dark, he saw nothing but the endless blackness of the night, tainted with the stench of death.

The breath on his cheek was hot and rancid, and the killer laughed in his ear, even as he turned.

He felt cold metal against his throat and he stumbled, falling backward onto the mud.

Dubric shoved all eight troublemakers into the same dank cell and slammed the door. Olibe Meiks, Bacstair, and Dien stood behind him and the ghosts flickered just beyond his sight. "Meiks, make sure these idiots do not get into mischief. Bacstair, go help Flavin get the body to the physicians'. Dien, you come with me."

The men nodded and Dubric turned, walking between the ghosts with his eyes closed.

They had climbed the east tower, up the stairs to the great hall, and had walked halfway across to the west tower when Dubric heard a woman call, "Lord Byerly! Please wait."

Cursing, Dubric turned. A short, round woman huffed down the main stairs, lifting her frilly nightdress and showing her thick calves and dimpled knees. She was barefoot and her eyes glimmered with tears. "Sir! One of my egg maids is missing!"

"Calm down, Altaira. What happened?"

He strode back to the stairs as Altaira covered her heart with one hand and fanned her face with the other. "It were Rianne, sir! She's gone from her room."

Dubric did not bother to ask any more questions. He ran for the servants' wing, ignoring the pain in his chest and knees.

The main door to the servants' wing stood open and Dubric ran through, Dien beside him. The hall for unmarried men forked to the left, supervisors straight ahead, and unmarried women to the right. The five bell rang from the temple as Dubric hurried down the women's hall. A few faces peeked through the doors and six linen maids cowered against the wall to give him room. Three privy maids took one look at him and dashed away. Other maids scattered. Far ahead, he heard the low rumble of many voices.

The hall turned and he slowed his breakneck pace. Milkmaids and egg maids clustered in the hall and stared at an open door. They parted for him; some seemed angry, most merely frightened.

Dubric looked through the door to see three girls huddled together on one bed. Their faces were blotchy from crying and the pair on the outside comforted the girl in the middle.

"It is all right," he said, approaching them slowly with his hands held before him.

One blew her nose. The middle girl clutched a ragged blanket to her and pulled it over her knees.

"What happened?" he whispered as he knelt before them. All three girls trembled and shook their heads.

"Please. Tell me what happened."

"The slasher got her," someone in the hall said, and Dubric glanced at Dien.

Dien closed the door, blocking out the sight of the crowd, and stood before it with his arms crossed.

"Did someone come in here?" Dubric asked the girls. He tried to keep his voice soft despite the urgency he felt.

The two on the ends shrugged, but the one with the blanket cowered away.

"Did she depart on her own free will?"

Again a pair of shrugs, but the center girl nodded.

He glanced at Dien, then asked the girls, "Do you know where she went?"

Two shook their heads; the one with the blanket stared at her knees.

He looked at her. "Where did she go?"

She shuddered and drew her knees closer.

"Please. I cannot catch him if I do not know why she left. What do you know?"

She shook her head again, glancing at the other two girls before covering her face.

Dubric took a calming breath. "Did either of you hear where she was going or who she intended to see?"

"No," the girl on the left said. "We weren't here."

"Maybe we shoulda been," the girl on the right said, sniffling, "but, see, Clemeth and I, we…" She blushed.

"And Mathern, he was getting upset, not seeing me and all," the left girl said. "So we went together to meet our fellas."

"Down at the Dancing Sheep," right added.

Left nodded. "And when we came back first thing this morning, Rianne was gone and Zur was hiding in the corner."

Dubric touched the middle girl's arm. "What happened? Why did Rianne leave you here alone?"

She took a deep breath, clutching the blanket close, and raised her eyes to look at Dubric. They were clear and blue, the color of cornflowers. She swallowed, flinched, and whispered, "She said she was meeting someone."

"Did she say who it was?"

"A man. I told her not to go, that it was dangerous, but she wouldn't listen."

"Was she seeing anyone specific? Did he come get her?"

She shook her head and said, her voice cracking as her hysteria broke, "I begged her not to go. She left me here all alone, in the dark." She took a deep panting breath and her shaking lessened. She took another breath, squeezed the blanket, and seemed to calm herself.

"Is that what scared you? Being alone?"

She nodded. "Rianne didn't care; she just left anyway."

Dubric looked at the three girls. "Did Rianne talk about her suitors? Did she mention any names?"

The girl on the left rolled her eyes. "Ri? Maybe to Zur. She barely talked to us at all. She saw lots of fellas, though. Too many, if you ask me."

"Definitely," Right said. "She sometimes teased us about sticking with one guy, but I
know
Clemeth would never hurt me."

"Neither would Mathern."

Clemeth and Mathern were apprentices of the village miller and were well-regarded young men. They often brought flour to the castle kitchens and Dubric noted their names in his book. "You were with Clemeth and Mathern all night?"

"We
are
betrothed," Left said, raising her chin. "We've stayed at the Dancing Sheep before."

Right nodded. "We're not allowed to bring fellas to our room, even if we're betrothed. They have to wait in the hall."

"Is that where most young women go to meet suitors? The Dancing Sheep?"

Left shrugged. "It depends. Some do, some don't."

"What about Rianne?"

Right clamped her mouth closed, but Left said, "She went there, yeah, but not with a steady. We'd see her there sometimes."

"Did you see here there last night?"

Right blushed and Left stammered before saying, "We weren't exactly in the tavern, milord. She was here when we left and I don't know where she went after that."

Visible from behind her fingers, the middle girl's face had turned a deep vermillion. Dubric looked back at Dien. The ghosts stood all around him; five servant girls drenched in blood. Slashes covered his latest ghost, and each cut oozed splatters onto the floor. Through the ghosts, Dien nodded and reached for the latch, his hand slipping through Fytte's belly. Dubric's stomach lurched.

Before he shuddered, Dubric turned his eyes away and returned his attention to the girls. "I'd like the two of you to wait in the hall," Dubric said.

Left gaped. "But why?"

"What did we do? Why do we have to go to the hall?"

Dubric smiled reassuringly and said, "Please. For a few moments. Mister Saworth will be more than happy to escort you."

They both shook their heads. Dien opened the door and said, "C'mon girls. Let's go."

"But—"

Dien seemed to grow more imposing as he grumbled his uncompromising words. "You weren't here when your friend left and you said you barely talked to her. Your testimony is finished." He pointed to the door. The girls looked at each other, shrugged, and rose to their feet.

Dubric watched the girl with the blanket, feeling the ghosts remain in the room with them as a constant reminder of his duty. As soon as the door closed, he asked his witness, "What is your name?"

"Zurinn, sir."

He scratched a note and looked around the little room. Deep in the bowels of the castle, it was no more than ten lengths on a side, windowless, and cold. Four beds, little better than cots, with frames of ancient iron pipes and strung with oft-patched cloth, were bunked in pairs against the stone walls. The girls stored their belongings in crude wooden boxes on the rough stone floor. The servants' quarters were spartan, crowded, and dreary; this room seemed typical. "Just the four of you?" Dubric asked in an attempt to loosen her tongue.

She shivered beneath her blanket. "Yes, sir."

"Where do you work?"

"With the chickens, sir. We care for them and gather eggs, mostly."

He nodded as if he understood anything at all about chickens. "Do you like your job?"

She shrugged. "It's money."

"How about Rianne? Did she like her job?"

She looked at him for a moment and shrugged. "I don't know. Not really, I guess. Who wants to work around chickens all day?"

He added to his notes. "Did she complain often?"

"No more than anyone else, I suppose."

"What do you think about the other two going to the Dancing Sheep last night?"

She blinked and lifted her head. "It's all right. I told them to go. They've been courting for a long time—Bet and Mathern nearly two summers now. Sometimes I wish I could go, too, maybe listen to a minstrel or have a tonic, but it wouldn't be right."

"Why?"

The girl blushed. "Because Edgew isn't here. I can't go without him."

"Edgew?"

She smiled, her fear forgotten. "He's back home, in Oakfield. He comes up to the castle to see me every moon or so when the weather's decent. We're hoping to get married this autumn, once he's a journeyman."

"Why, child, are you here when he is a half-day's walk away?"

"Money, milord. My father died last spring from consumption and my brother lost his sight from a fever when he was small. My mother takes care of him, but she can't do that and earn a wage. Edgew doesn't make enough yet to feed and shelter everyone, but once he's a journeyman, I can go back home."

Dubric rubbed his eyes. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen summers, milord." She shrugged. "That's what I kept thinking in the dark. I'm too darn young to die and have too much to live for."

"What about Rianne? Did she have a lot to live for?"

She chewed her lip. "I don't know, milord. Not as much as some. More than others, I guess. She was always looking for the easy way, but that doesn't get you anywhere."

" 'The easy way'? What does that mean?"

Zurinn sighed. "She was nice enough, truly she was, milord, but sometimes she expected other people, especially men, to do things for her or pay attention to her. She thought she deserved it, and the less she had to do, the better."

"Of these men, was there one she met frequently?"

Zurinn bit her lower lip as she considered his question. "No. I'm sorry, milord, but they were right. She saw lots of fellas and some weren't very nice."

He took a deep breath and watched her cornflower eyes. "Who? Do you have any names at all?"

She frowned, leaning back. "I tried not to know, milord, truly. It wasn't any of my business, but sometimes she'd come back with bruises or her clothes ruined. She'd have some coin or a shiny ribbon in her hair, so that must have made it all right. Twice she went to the village midwife. I went with her the second time, trying to be her friend even though I didn't think it was right, but her screaming… It was horrible, milord, hearing the midwife cut the baby from her.

"After that last time, she found a man to help her stop the babies from growing. He's the only one I ever knew of for sure. I guess they made a trade. I don't know his name, but I know she laid with him from time to time, when she couldn't find anyone else. He was nasty, though."

"Who?" Dubric asked, his pencil poised over the page.

She shuddered. "I saw him once when we went to the village to get the packet of poison. Disgusting man, filthy and oozing. Like a warty toad. He kept looking at me and offering me his medicines. Said they'd relax me or make me feel 'like a woman.' Ri laughed and teased me, offering to share him, all three of us together." She shuddered, shaking her head. "I left and never went to the village with her again."

"Who?" Dubric asked again. "Have you any more details?"

"I was only there a few minutes, milord, but I've seen him in the castle now and then, so you might know him. He's about my height, broad and stronglooking, but scarred and dirty. Scabby. He's missing part of his nose and it's—"

Dubric lurched to his feet and laid his finger on his nose. "The nostril is gone? On this side?"

"Yes, with snot dripping out. You know him?"

"I am afraid that I do." Dubric closed his notebook and bowed slightly. "Thank you, miss, for your help."

Grimacing as he reached through Fytte, Dubric opened the door and looked at Dien. "Have you finished? I want to check with the physicians before we ride to the village."

"Of course, sir," Dien said, walking with Dubric down the hall. "Why the village?"

Dubric glanced at Dien. "Inek knew the missing girl. Intimately."

"Why am I not surprised?" Dien muttered a low curse and held the door open for Dubric.

* * *

"Mirri, calm down!" Nella said, stroking the other girl's hair. Her friends had all run back to their room after Dubric flew past, and they were going to be late for work if they didn't hurry. Nella felt time slip by and the instinct to get moving slammed in her veins. Tardiness was unimaginable. In Pyrinn, being noticeably late meant a whipping or a broken arm. She did not want to find out what it meant in Faldorrah. Mirri, however, was too scared to do more than tremble and frantically babble.

Mirri blubbered and tugged at her curly hair, her hands shaking and damp with tears. "But what if…"

Nella tried to keep her voice calm and sure. "There's nothing to worry about. Dubric is going to catch him and everything will be fine."

"Goat piss, Nella," Stef muttered. She sat on her bunk beside Ker and frowned. "Dubric isn't doing a thing and you know it as well as I do."

Nella stroked Mirri's hair. "He's doing everything he can."

Stef rolled her eyes. "I still think it's Dubric himself."

Mirri made a small, terrified squeak and her dark eyes flicked to Nella.

"I'm all for staying in here all day." Plien lay on her bunk above Stef and Ker, buffing her fingernails with a scrap of bark.

Stef nodded. Ker shrugged.

"You're willing to lie about every day," Dari said, frowning with disgust. She leaned in the open door and watched the others. "Some of us need to work so we'll get paid."