Ghosts in the Snow (23 page)

She laughed harshly and shook her head. "There are so many rumors, Dubric, you have no idea. Every man is suspicious. You. Lord Brushgar. Risley." She smiled into Risley's eyes before turning back to Dubric. "Every man old enough to shave is suspect. Someone looks at us wrong, he's the killer. He's lurking in every shadow. Hiding behind every door. We truly have no idea, no idea at all. I'm sorry."

He watched her, his wax-coated pencil quivering in his grasp. "But there is a particular rumor, isn't there? The one that scares you?"

"No, not really."

"Miss Nella," he said, leaning forward. "I want to catch this monster and I cannot do that if you lie to me. He cannot harm you now."

She shook her head, swallowing and trying to breathe.

"It's okay, love," Risley said. "I'm right here and you're safe. No one will harm you. I promise."

She tried to speak but no sound came out. She shook her head, clenched her fists, and tried again. "He's hunting whores," she shoved out, her voice barely above a squeak.

"Oh, Goddess, love," Risley said, drawing her closer. "But you're not,
we're
not—"

"Can you repeat that, please?" Dubric asked. "I couldn't hear."

"Maybe that's why he left me alive," she said, struggling to control her terrified heart and gasping breaths. "I'm not on his list, not yet. But he said I will be!"

"No!" Risley turned her, holding her face in his hands. "No, you won't. I won't let it happen. I will never leave the slightest doubt of my intentions, I swear I won't, and no one will accuse you—"

"What in the seven hells are you two blabbering about?"

Nella shuddered. "They say he's hunting whores, Dubric. But why didn't he kill me? Everyone thinks Risley and I…"

"Shh. Not everyone, love," Risley said, stroking her hair. "Not everyone." He held her close, protecting her in his embrace.

Sighing, Dubric rubbed his eyes and searched for a different page in his notes. "No one of any sense whatsoever thinks you are a whore, Miss Nella. You are a forthright, hardworking, honest, virtuous young woman. Of that there is no doubt."

"Thank you," she mumbled.
But you don't hear what they say about me, what the other girls think. Oh, Goddess, what am I going to do
?

"Do the other girls do more than dredge the deceased's questionable morals? Are there no useful insights or prevailing rumors?"

"No, Dubric, not really."

He leaned forward, staring at her. "There is no name the staff whispers? No man that seems to worry them? A place all the dead girls tended to frequent? A consistent fear I can trace?"

"I'm sorry, Dubric, but we're all just terrified, no matter how moral or immoral we are. It could be anyone. Even you."

Dubric sighed and stood. "I know that you have had a bad scare, Miss Nella, but I want you to pay close attention to any voice you hear for the next few days, to see if—"

"No," Risley said, and the arm around her shoulders suddenly felt stiff. "No."

"The bastard is in my castle, boy, and if she can identify him, she has to."

"No. He let her live once, he might not do that again. She's not going to become a target."

Dubric slammed his book shut. "She will not be a target."

"How do you know that?"

Nella mewled and curled into his arms. She started to cry.

"I'm sorry, love," Risley said, stroking her hair, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"She is my only damn witness, Risley. She has to."

Nella shook her head and clung to Risley.

"Nella," Dubric said softly, "If I do not catch him, kill him, he is going to keep on killing."

Nella wailed.

"Get out," Risley snapped. "She told you all she knows."

Frowning, Dubric looked at Nella and said, "If you think of anything else. No matter how minor you may think it is…"

She shivered and wished she could climb into Risley's skin where it was safe and warm.

Dubric said to Risley, "She cannot leave the castle. I will arrest you if you try to take her away. I mean it." His eyes bored into Risley, then he turned and left them to her pain.

Ever so gently, Risley carried her from the bed to a divan by the window. "Maybe sitting in the sun will help you get warm," he said. Wrapped in blankets, she curled within his arms and let him hold her.

"How did I get here?" she asked, slowly calming, her face pressed close against his chest as he held her.

"When I got to the servants' wing this morning, I knew something had happened. There were guards posted at your door and more inside your room. You'd been found in the courtyard during the night. I didn't know what to do. I… I hit one, maybe all of them. I went crazy…" He held her even closer and kissed her hair, and she noticed the bruising on his hands. "It took all of them to stop me from ripping the place apart, and Dari said you'd been taken to the physicians'.

"When I ran in, you and the others were on tables." His voice cracked, wavered. "You were covered in blood, so much blood, but you were still breathing. It looked like your throat had been slashed, but it hadn't." He kissed her head again. "Thank the Goddess, you weren't hurt. The physician told me you had no more than a bump on the head, that you'd be all right."

"But not the others," she whispered.

"No. One was just… the other… he was working on her."

"Go on," she whispered.

"I grabbed you," he said. "The physician tried to stop me, but I had to get you out of there, away from all that death and blood. I wrapped you in the blanket and carried you here."

"Thank you," she said, wondering how much sanity she'd still have if she'd woken at the physicians'.

He stroked her hair, her back. "Right after I got you here, Dubric came and screamed at me for stealing his witness. I think I punched him, too." Risley shook his head and shrugged. "Anyway, I cleaned you up as best I could, then I begged and bribed a group of maids to do the rest and gave them a shirt to dress you in. I never left the room, I swear. I never left you alone for a moment after I found you."

She felt a tingle of embarrassment as she huddled close to him, absorbing his warmth. "Thank you," she said, trying not to think about being naked and bloody in his bed.

"That's all I know. Dubric kept coming in, glaring at me, pacing the room, then leaving."

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Midafternoon," he said.

That's why the sunlight seems so odd
. She looked out the window. "How long can I stay here?"

He touched her cheek, drawing her gaze back to him. "As long as you want to. As long as you'll have me."

Her eyes searched his for a long moment, then she nodded and laid her head against his chest, content to sit in the sun, wrapped in a blanket and his embrace.

* * *

The moment Dubric reached the main hall, an angry crowd swarmed him.

"It's him, Dubric. Can't you see?"

"Arrest the bastard!"

"Hang him!"

"He let his bitch live!"

"Kill them both!"

Dubric ignored them all and pressed through to his office, snatching a sealed message from the herald before the nervous prat uttered a word. He had no time to reflect upon the extreme anger of the crowd, no time to worry about why they hated Risley with such unexpected vehemence. Whether Risley was the killer or not, the misguided fury would not help him.

Alone in his office for the first time in days, he closed the doors to the crowd's screams and sat at his desk, pencil poised over his notebook.

He had wasted much of the day holding out hope for Nella's testimony, but it had led him nowhere. The victims' moral failings had come as no surprise, nor had the staffs fear. He stared at the page containing her recollections and he frowned. A list. A possibly familiar voice. How could anyone follow those clues? While educated people might write things down, even illiterate farmers kept lists in their head.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a battered book, flipping to a page. At census last autumn four hundred and seventy-three souls lived in the castle and its grounds, and more than eleven hundred others in the village. Nella had lived in the castle for moons. How many people had she talked to in that time? How many voices would she consider familiar but not incredibly familiar? Scores? Hundreds?

He sighed, searching for an elusive clue, a connection between the victims and the survivors. Surely there was a reason why Nella and Lars lived while everyone else died, and a reason the killer removed, and—after seeing the dyer's liver—presumably ate the kidneys of his victims.

Dubric tapped his pencil on his teeth.
Could I he examining this from the wrong direction? Is it virtue he craves? Innocence and forthright honor? Is that why he did not kill Lars or Nella? Why she was not yet on his list
?

But who would care about virtue? Who would penalize those who did not meet whatever arbitrary standards they have applied? What virtue-seeking man would kill? How could that make sense?

Frowning, he returned to his notes and the evidence. Despite the light snow, the moon had been bright the night before and still Nella had seen nothing.

The kitchen lackeys had seen nothing. Lars had seen only a shadow. There had been no real witnesses at all. He made a few notes and stumbled into the luxury of wild thinking.

What about the heat? Both Lars and Nella mentioned that the killer had been hot. Shadow Followers burned of Taiel'dar's heat, but he could barely imagine such trouble had come to his lands. Surely there was another explanation. What if it had been a ghost, a specter, or a spirit? What about curses, prophecy, or magic? He grunted to himself and frowned. Oriana had indulged in such fancies, had embraced the magic of religion, and it had killed her. He would not make the same mistake, even if he had gone nearly a phase without a night's sleep and had nine ghosts following him. There had to be a logical, sensible explanation. A
person
had done this, not a ghost. He, perhaps more than anyone, knew that ghosts were annoying but harmless. Whomever it was, he would catch them and kill them, or die trying.

He smelled thyme in the air and he looked to the small table beside the door. Someone from the kitchen had left him a lunch tray. Grimacing, he turned away.

He wasn't in the mood to eat.

* * *

Stroking the prize in his pocket, he followed Nella down the stairs, admiring the gentle sway of her hips beneath her simple garments and the way they clung to her small, slender frame. He followed her like a shadow to a crowded table during the busiest part of the evening meal. He remained perfectly friendly, perfectly concerned, and perfectly polite despite the nervousness of nearby maids. As he ate, one hand would creep from time to time to his pocket and stroke the perfect braid of dark hair he had cut from her the night before. Her hair felt different from the others, and he wondered if it was because he had granted her life, or because she was still perfect and unspoiled.

He sat near her, close enough to touch her skin if he dared. Watching her, saliva filled his mouth as he ached to taste her again. She had tasted so sweet, perfectly luscious and delectable, much better than the piss-filled kidneys.

He blinked and smiled at her. She smiled back, delicately eating her vegetables as she stifled a slight tremor in her hand. He swallowed his mouthful of saliva and shared an inane bit of news with her, marveling at how quickly she had recovered from her fright the night before.

He had not meant to frighten her, goodness, no, why would he wish to frighten the object of his desire? Brave and lovely, intelligent and compassionate… so unlike the others. So perfect for him, now that he had changed, and such a perfect prize to win.

Telling a charming joke, he winked at her with wry amusement. She laughed softly, her hand covering her mouth and caution leaving her lovely brown eyes for a moment as he fell into them. She, of all people, had nothing to fear from him, after all, and somehow she seemed to realize how precious she was to him.

Soon, he thought as he ate with a perfectly grim smile on his face. From time to time he wondered whose flesh he would taste that night.

But mostly he stroked the slim dark braid coiled in his pocket and thought of the day she would become his.

After dinner, Risley and Nella returned to his suite and spent a quiet evening together. Nella relaxed and explored the rooms while he trailed behind her like a shadow. Risley's suite was bigger than any she'd cleaned, with seven rooms plus a privy chamber. The stone walls had been plastered and painted lovely hues, each room tinted to match the furnishings and carpets. She opened every closet and cupboard, searching for phantoms that weren't there.

"Do you want a guard in here with us?" he asked, hesitantly taking her hand. "Or a chaperone?"

She shook her head, seeing little point in quelling rumors after what had happened. "No. I trust you."

"Are you sure? I have a reputation, you know." He reached out to touch her cheek. "And you don't need to be sullied by it."

She had heard long ago he had a girl in every castle. "Your reputation has never frightened me."

He smiled into her eyes and for the first time that day she felt truly warm.

He called for a bath and poured the water himself, setting out towels and soaps on an oak bureau for her. Once her bath was readied, he sat outside the open door, facing away from her, with his back against the wall. He remained close, protecting her yet giving her privacy.

Beside the towels stood a selection of pretty bottles and a basket of soaps. Captivated, she let her fingers glide along the bright glass. "Are all of these yours?" she asked, sniffing a smooth, floral-scented loaf. "These soaps?"

Remaining in the hall, Risley was silent for a moment, then his voice came out in a rush. "Of course, but they're yours to use if you wish, love. I didn't know what you might like, so I put out several."

Nella smiled, shaking her head at his gentle fib. Surely he did not bathe with lilac bath oil. She almost asked what they cost, then pursed her lips and shook her head. He would insist they were his and refuse payment. Sooner or later she'd go into the village and find out their price for herself, but she was too curious to let the indulgence slip her by. "They're beautiful," she said, lifting the soaps to her nose. Each had a different scent. Light, delicate, evocative. She smiled. "Thank you."

"You're perfectly welcome."

She selected a soap, hesitated, and pulled off her dress. Risley had not moved from his place outside the door. She slipped into the hot water and sighed as the heat removed any taint of shivering. "Oh, Risley, this feels nice."

"I thought it might relax you."

She smiled and closed her eyes, letting the heat soak in. "I've never had a hot bath before."

She heard the smile in his voice. "Take your time."

They chatted while she bathed, about nothing of great import. When she rose from the tub, she splashed and his voice stumbled.

Wrapped in his robe, she came from the bath chamber with her oddly short hair damp and her face fresh.

He leapt to his feet, fumbling, and she felt the heat of the blush on her cheeks. "May I borrow your shirt again? My nightgown…" her voice faded away and she shrugged.

He nodded. "I'll get one."

He hurried off and she trailed behind him. "They're in here." He pulled open a drawer full of crisp white shirts. "Use whatever you like."

"Thanks," she said, and glanced at her little pile of clothes folded neatly on his bedside table. Her pile wouldn't even fill half of one drawer. She suddenly felt very small.

He looked at her for a moment, then turned his eyes away. Opening a closet and removing a couple of blankets, he said, "I'll take the divan. Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head.

Blankets tucked under his arm, he reached out and lifted her chin with one finger. "Dubric's squire's been checking on me at night, so if you hear someone walking around don't worry. He'll certainly keep your reputation intact, all right? But I'll be in the next room if you need me. You're safe here. I promise."

She nodded and tried to smile.

After one last longing look, he left her to herself, not quite closing the door behind him.

She combed her hair and heard him blow out the lights throughout the suite. Through the crack in the door, she watched him settle into the divan by the window, a sword on the floor beside him and his face and body turned toward the bedroom door.

She lowered her head and turned away. As she climbed into the massive softness that was his bed, she said, "Good night, Risley."

"Good night, Nella," he replied. "Sleep well."

I'll try
, she thought, pulling his pillows close against her chest and burying her face in them. Everything was too soft, too big, and she wondered if she could sleep at all.

* * *

Dubric patrolled outside the castle with an accountant named Cotter. They tried every door, gate, and window they could reach. The grounds remained secure, no unauthorized people entered or exited the castle, and the waxing moon left plenty of light to see by. Dubric tried not to get his hopes up.

Once again, the night was nearly over. Once again, no new ghosts had yet joined the group. As he walked his patrol, he contemplated what had changed within the castle during the past day. What could account for this peaceful night? He could only think of one thing.

He wondered if the presence of Nella in Risley's suite, and presumably in his bed, had quieted the beast. Were the murders a symptom of Risley's frustration and loneliness? Surely the young man had not spent more than an occasional night alone in summers. Dubric knew as well as anyone that an abrupt shift from regular, ample release to absolutely none could accentuate any man's aggression. And when the desired object of affection remained in sight but out of reach, it was quite possible that a normally sane man could snap. Especially a man who had long ago become used to getting his way. Even the similarities between the victims made sense now. Nella was a servant, so all the victims were servants. Nella was a commoner, hence the victims were commoners. Nella was young… Nella was alone… Nella worked…

Dubric frowned. The clues were there from the beginning, and as he examined the facts, admittedly from the benefit of hindsight, he could see them falling together. The final piece was perhaps the most important. Of all the girls that were attacked, only Nella survived. If the others were indeed lacking in moral fortitude, that piece fit, as well. They provided easy access to release, while Nella did not. A stunning contrast. Exactly the criteria Risley craved, but not the person herself, and he killed them for their lack. But no matter how angry or frustrated he was, he did not want to hurt Nella. In his frenzied, misplaced passion, he had cut her hair, but did not truly harm her.

But Nella was no longer out of reach. She was close at hand, almost property. Risley's base desires could be sated, Nella could be pursued and adored as whim demanded, and the frustration of being kept from her had come to an end. It made perfect sense. There would be no more murders simply because Risley was once again physically involved.

Dubric felt worry gnaw at his entrails. Even if Risley were guilty, no good could come from accusing him. Not only would the King be furious, Brushgar would prefer that his province collapse around his ears before admitting that Risley may have done wrong. And Kyi and Heather… Finding their son accused of murder would break their hearts and ruin a treasured friendship.

"Damn," Dubric muttered. He trudged on, the ghosts weighing on his soul.
What choice do I have? Do I ignore the evidence and allow him to continue, or do I truly consider his possible guilt? Do I risk all-out war with Haenpar and perhaps the King? If it came down to it, could I hang the lad? I have changed the boys' diddles, for King's sake, and witnessed his parents' wedding. I look upon the lad as a nephew. Family. Yet I have a duty to Faldorrah, a duty I cannot deny
.

They walked east along the southern wall, past the pair of men watching the main doors, then rounded the corner toward the kitchens. Dubric paused, holding out his arm to stop Cotter's steady trudge.

Something moved in the darkness, a shadow, a wraith, black against the night.

"Remain silent," Dubric whispered as he pulled his sword. He crept along the east wall, past the kitchen door and the place where Ennea had died. The ghosts hung behind him, oblivious to his quiet hurry, tainting the castle walls with their dead, green glow.

The wraith moved away, braving moonlight as it slipped toward the gardens, and Dubric followed, trying not to grin.
Bastard son-of-a-whore, I have you this time
.

He lost track of Cotter, forgot about his ghosts, and was so intent upon his quarry he barely noticed when he twisted his ankle in a hole. The man was clothed in darkness and he slipped from moonlight to shadow while Dubric dogged his heels as silently as any ghost.

The shadow reached the castle cistern—a stone well that granted access to an abundant spring—and it climbed the wall to stand upon the edge.

Is that how he's getting in
? Dubric thought, easing closer.
Could someone crawl through the piping to the kitchens
?

Then he stopped, momentarily aghast, as the man opened his black trousers and urinated, polluting the castle's water supply. His backside gleamed pale and hairy in the moonlight as his pants fell about his ankles.

What in the seven hells
? Dubric thought, hurrying toward him.
Has he been doing this all along? Is this the connection to the kidneys
?

Dubric's sword winked in the moonlight, but the man on the well did not move until the tip poked against his spine. "Get down. Immediately," Dubric said.

The man startled and turned, still urinating, and spattered Dubric with hot fluid. "Aw, peg!" Inek gasped, stumbling over his pants and nearly falling into the well.

"Get down," Dubric said, astounded. He had expected to see Risley.

Waggling his penis at Dubric, Inek shook the last drops free, then yanked up his pants. "Piss on you! Piss on all of you!"

Dubric pointed his sword at Inek's chest. "Get down. Now. I do not want to send your filthy corpse into our well."

"Piss off," Inek said. He spat, then walked along the well's edge. "Go ahead. Kill me."

Dubric stood his ground. "Get, Down."

Inek turned and Dubric was surprised to see tears glistening on his cheeks. "You killed Ri, you pegging bastard!"

Before Dubric could respond, another shadow moved in the dark. It leapt and lunged, knocking the herbmonger from his perch. Both men rolled to the ground.

Dubric ran to them and pulled Cotter away before Inek caught his bearings again. One foot on his prisoner's chest, Dubric held his sword to Inek's throat. "Enough of this madness. If you resist, I will run you through, but just enough to hurt and bleed. That means you will suffer, do you understand? And I can make you suffer greatly for a very long time. To save both of us needless mess and screaming, you are going to get up, slowly, and once you are restrained we will walk, calmly, to the gaol."

Inek writhed, but the sword kept him pinned to the ground. "I'm not done with you yet, you old chicken shit bastard. You'll pay. Everyone will pay."

With his free hand, Dubric ripped a small coil of rope from his hip and tossed it to Cotter. "Tie him, and place a loop around his neck. He has a tendency to slip from wrist binds."

"Yes, sir," Cotter said. He grabbed Inek's hands, wrapped his wrists, and knotted the rope before wrapping a loop of the remainder around the herbmonger's throat.

Reconsidering Risley's guilt, Dubric stepped off of Inek's chest. "Get up."

"Peg you! I'm not doing anything!"

Dubric took the rope from Cotter and yanked on it, dragging Inek off the ground. "I said to get on your feet."

Inek gasped and struggled, but Dubric had his way. He shoved, dragged, and forcibly prodded Inek down the east-tower stairs to the gaol and shoved him into a vermin-infested cell. Half-strangled and punctured in several places, Inek ultimately stumbled to the rancid cot, cursing Dubric with every breath.

Dubric slammed the door and locked it, staring at the filthy bit of refuse the night had brought him while his ghosts meandered among the cells. "Did you kill those girls?"

Inek spat, his saliva flecked with blood, and he staggered to his feet. "What if I did? What if I didn't? Who the peg cares? All you've got on me is pissing in public, but you'll make up any damned lie to peg me. Bastard." He spat again and graced Dubric with an obscene gesture before falling back onto the cot.

Dubric stared at him for a moment, then left the gaol, thinking of searching Inek's home and shop for additional evidence concerning the murders. As he climbed the east-tower stairs, he heard the five bell ring and he smiled.
Perhaps it has been Inek all along and I will have a night without another ghost. And to think I considered Risley! Sexual frustration and similarities to Nella! Pah. What a fool I can be
.

Dubric had always considered Risley to be a good lad. A bit headstrong, a bit spoiled, but with a good heart. Now that he thought about it, what young man in the early stages of romance did not get upset from time to time? When he and Oriana were first courting, when he had wanted her so badly he could taste it, the slightest incident angered him. Unless of course she were nearby, then all was right with his world.

And Inek. By the King, how many times had Inek been in trouble for fighting, fraud, or petty theft? He had admitted to having had sexual relations with at least one of the dead girls, had made a habit out of causing trouble, and showed no remorse for the loss of life. Perhaps he had finally snapped, falling into madness and murder.

Dubric looked to the brightening sky and took a deep breath. The culprit likely was in gaol, there would be no additional ghosts, and soon, with luck, justice would be served. Once again life would return to its predictable quiet and he could get a full night's sleep.

He grinned.
What a beautiful morning
.

* * *

Not long before dawn, the milkmaids began leaving the castle, each group escorted and guarded by a pair of men who had been volunteered to help protect the courtyard. One, a castle squire named Fultin, had been assigned the west-tower door. He had also been assigned a list of the maids and their appointed barns. His sole duty, at least concerning this list, was to check off the milkmaids' names and note the guards assigned to them. A group of five maids approached. All were scowling. "Names please?" Fultin asked, his pencil poised over the last set of six names.