Ghosts in the Snow (31 page)

Clamps held lengths of silver wire and exquisitely etched strips, weaving and twisting them in a repetitive pattern much like the drawings on the blotter. Delicate and uniquely lovely, the resulting silver strand seemed to sparkle with life of its own as it curved gently toward a circle.

What is he making
? Dubric thought, reaching for his notebook.
What does this have to do with the dead girls
?

He paused, listening. Someone in the suite gasped and he heard a
thud
as the outer door closed. Leaving the apparatus on Risley's desk, he hurried to investigate.

Nella looked up as he approached. "Oh, it's you," she muttered, disgust and sorrow flavoring her voice with an angry tang he had never heard from her before. She gathered up an armload of books and began standing them on shelves near the door.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought this matter had been settled."

"I came to get a book and a few of his things," she said, not looking at him. "I may not be able to get Risley released or absolved, but I can visit him, read to him, and ease his last days, even if you've ruined his life." She finished with the armload of books and turned, scowling as she snatched ripped shirts from overturned furniture and the floor. "But I never expected that you'd destroy everything he owns, as well. You should be ashamed."

Still gathering ruined shirts, she brushed past him and continued down the hall, muttering and picking up clothes.

"A mob created this mess," he said, following her. "Not I."

Nella continued to gather clothing. She paused, frowning at a pile of rumpled towels, then dropped the clothes on a chair. Her back to Dubric, she began folding the towels, snapping each one before folding it.

The ghosts leered at her, treating her as a curiosity. As she snapped the towels through Elli's legs, Fytte laughed and stuck out her gruesome tongue. Dubric walked into Risley's office again, disgusted with the image. "You are wasting your time caring for him, Miss Nella. Hopefully you will realize it soon."

He had barely sat in the chair when he heard her approach. "I am allowed to take him clothes and a bit to eat, aren't I? Perhaps read to him? Even if it is a waste of my time?"

"Prisoners are allowed visitors. As long as you do not attempt to free him, I foresee no problems."

She gasped, the towels falling with a
thwupp
to the floor. "Oh, Goddess, no," she said, her voice wavering like a leaf in the wind.

He stood, snatching up his notebook. "What is it? What do you see?"

Tears running down her cheeks, she stared at Risley's desk. She swallowed then looked up at Dubric with pained and tortured eyes. "He never told me. If only I had known."

"Known what, Miss Nella? What is it?"

She glanced at the desk, then turned her head away. "That bracelet. It's usually made of grasses, not metal, but it's the same, don't you see? The pattern, the… Oh, Goddess, no!"

A bracelet! Why didn't I see
? Dropping his notebook on the desk, he grasped her shoulders and shook her gently, drawing her eyes to his again. "What about the bracelet? What does it mean?"

Shaking, she said, "It's a Pyrinnian marriage token. If he had told me… If I had known… Maybe I could truthfully vouch for him. Maybe he would have been with me." Her eyes filled with tears. "Don't you see? Maybe he would have been in bed with me, and maybe he wouldn't be a prisoner now."

"Miss Nella," he said softly, "would you have wanted to be in bed with him if he were the killer?"

She lurched away from Dubric and stumbled down the hall. Blindly, she fell into a chair, covering her face with her hands. "It's all my fault!"

"Miss Nella," he said, touching her shoulder, "you cannot blame yourself. Risley killed those people, not you."

"How can you be sure of that? How can you be sure of anything? Damn it!" She slammed her fists on the padded chair arms. "This can't be happening, it just can't. Not like this, not to Risley. Not now that he knows I love him."

"They are not related incidences, Miss Nella. It is not fair or right to accept responsibility for choices Risley has made. They are his to bear."

She shrugged off his touch and turned away. "Please, just leave me alone."

Not knowing what else to say to her, he returned to Risley's office, gently closing the door behind him. He finished searching the desk and office but found nothing more of interest besides a carefully packed box of gold-etched dishes and cutlery. He stared into the box for a long moment, frowning.

While every bit as exquisite as Lord Brushgar's finest china, the engraved pattern bore no resemblance to the Brushgar mark. The matching teapot and plain pie pan stacked in the box spoke of a far different tale. Pie for two. No more, no less. Risley had shared a pie with Nella, as he had admitted under questioning, in a desperate effort to court her.

Then he had quietly proclaimed his innocence. Again.

Dubric traced the woven silver bracelet with his finger and considered the possibilities it presented. Had Risley worked on it late at night when he could not sleep, weaving it a bit at a time and wistfully drawing images of his intended as he thought of their future together? Even allow her to sleep innocently in his bed without touching her? The image in his mind's eye seemed so wholesome, so honest and pure, so damned
honorable
, it made him frown. Could a man like that brutally slaughter ten young women?

Could Risley be telling the truth?

Evidence does not lie
, Dubric thought, pounding his fist on Risley's desk, trying to refute the doubt stinging his mouth.
I have proof. Irrefutable proof

All around him the ghosts refused to leave. After a long while he gathered up his empty evidence pack and left, locking the door behind him. Nella had already gone.

* * *

Her legs shaking, Nella descended the east-tower stairs, clutching the battered knapsack she'd found. It contained a complete change of clothes for Risley, a comb, a wool blanket, and a book. She'd pilfered an apple and a hunk of roast pork from the kitchen, sneaking through during the madness of the evening meal. Her own stomach growling, she continued down the stairs until she reached the lowest level.

The stones and air reeked of urine and rot and vomit. She coughed, wondering how Risley had coped with the stench. Across from the tower stairs a thickly barred door stood closed and she walked to it, crushing the pack against her chest.

An ancient brass knocking ring with a ram's head hung before her eyes. She bit her lip and knocked, stepping quickly back as the door opened.

A tall, barrel-chested man stood before her, gnawing on a curved length of rib bone. "Bringing goodies fer a pris'ner, eh?" he said, shrugging. "Let's see what ye have, missy."

"All right," she said, holding out the pack.

He rummaged through then handed it back to her. "Can't argue with the food and clothes, missy, but the book can't stay. Ye can leave it wit me if ye want."

"I'll read to him and bring it back out. Is that all right?"

"Yup." He backed away from the door and motioned her through.

The door swung closed behind them with a
clang
and a
thud
and she jumped, choking back a squeal. The air outside the door smelled like paradise compared to inside the gaol and something scuttled over her foot. Terrified, she followed her guide down a short hall and hoped nothing would bite her.

"I ain't ne'er seen ye here b'fore, missy, so here's the lowdown on the rules. Only approved items goes inta the cells. I catch ye sneakin' in so much as a toothpick, I toss yer purty arse inna cell down the black hall and I don't tell Dubric nothin' fer three days." He turned his head and winked. "No food er water, and in the dark, lots can happen in three days. Ye get me?"

"Yessir," she said, looking rapidly around and anxiously imagining the shadows eating her up and spitting out her bones.

"Fair 'nuff, then," he said, selecting a key from his ring. "Yer lucky t'day, missy. Alia the pris'ners 'cept one is right up front. We had a couple down the dark hall, but they done died, phase'r so ago." He smiled at her and his eyes twinkled. "A nice gal like yerself ain't got no business down the dark hall." He opened the door and she followed, closing her eyes at the filth and squalor.

"Here ye be, then, missy. Don'tcha be reachin' into no cells, ye hear? These here pris'ners is dangerous and I don't wanna see ye hurt."

She nodded and stepped forward while he sat in a chair near the door and continued to chew the rib.

Whistles, lewd comments, and rough-voiced propositions assaulted her ears and eyes. Most of the prisoners were men, and they leered at her through doors of barred iron, beckoning her to come close so they could peek into her knapsack. Mister Inek propositioned her, pointing to the front of his filthy pants. She raised her chin and continued on, wincing at the roaches and mice scurrying from her path.

She neared the door on the far end and turned, her heart pounding. "He's not here!" she called out to the guard.

"I feared that," he said, setting his rib on the chair as he stood. "Ye look too sweet fer the likes of these, but the one ye've come fer ain't no better, missy. Ye do know what he's done, don't ye?"

Nodding, she clutched the pack against her chest. "I know." Hesitating, she met the guard's eyes. "He's down that dark hall, isn't he?"

"Yup. I don't use'ly go down the dark hall 'cept at feedin' time, but I can go wit ye, if yer too feared to go alone." He flipped through his keys and selected one. "The murderin' bastard can't get loose, I guarantee ye that. So ye'll be safe enough, iff n ye mind the rules."

"I… I'll be fine," she said, swallowing.

He unlocked the door and it creaked open, urging her into the dark. Thick, heavy doors lined both sides of the hall, with narrow-barred windows near the top and flat open slots along the bottom. A single lantern dimly glowed not far ahead, illuminating a grayed floor of straw, then nothingness eased on forever, black and bottomless like a pit beneath a rotting crypt.

"How far in is he?" she asked.

"Dunno, missy. Dubric ne'er said, and I don't wanna go look till mornin'. Ye pound on this here door when yer ready to come back out. Sure ye'll be all right?"

She staggered forward, doing her best to ignore her fear and the overpowering stench of death. She heard the key turn in the lock and she took a shaky step toward the light, then another.

"Who's there?" Risley's voice echoed down the dark hall.

She stumbled toward the voice. "Risley! Where are you?"

"Nella? For Goddess's sake, what are you doing down here?" She heard movement somewhere near the light and she hurried, seeing fingers reach out through a window.

"I couldn't just leave you to die," she said, rushing to him.

He grasped her offered hand, squeezing it, and bringing it close to his face. She felt his breath on her fingers as he kissed them. "Oh, love, you can't be down here. Thank you," he kissed her palm, "oh, Goddess, thank you, but you shouldn't. You can't." He reluctantly released her and said, "As much as I want you to stay, you need to go."

"No." Her hands shaking, she opened the pack and handed him the clothes and comb. "I'm not going to desert you. I brought food, too, and a blanket."

He accepted the clothes and they disappeared through the small window. The blanket followed. "Thank you, love, but I'm going to hang in a few days at most. You need to go. Please."

She looked at him, into his worried eyes and said, "I can't leave you. I just can't. Everyone tells me you're guilty, that there's proof, but I won't believe it. Not about you."

"You had better believe, because I'm going to hang for it." He rubbed his forehead and said, "I saw some of Dubric's evidence, and I'd believe my guilt, too. But I honestly can't remember ever doing the things they said I've done. For Goddess's sake, Nella, Dubric thinks I stole those girls' kidneys and ate them!"

His face disappeared as he slumped against the door. "What kind of monster does those things? He's so certain it's me, but why can't I remember? I can't fathom doing something so vile, so repulsive… and yet… and yet somehow I have."

He stood again and glared at her. "You have to go. Now. Before I hurt you, too."

"No," she said, reaching up to touch him. "I will not leave you. Guilty or innocent, I will not leave you. I promise."

She handed him the food and fished the book from the pack, opening to the first page. "I've got a bell, bell and a half until I have to be back at my room, and I found this book in your suite.
The Candle in the Window
by Dunclaire. I hope it's all right."

"It's fine, love," he said, his voice catching. "Thank you." Both leaning against their side of the door, she read and he listened, the scuttling of vermin filling the gaps.

* * *

Awaiting dawn and gripping a cup of tea in his hands, Dubric sat in his suite and stared out the window. At his insistence, patrols had maintained their schedule throughout the night, and Dien had not knocked on his door with urgent news or a new crisis. Lars and Otlee had been sent to bed. Every so often he would sip his tea and look at the ghosts.

Eleven were far too many and he did not want more. Fytte sat on his bed and watched him as she combed her fingers through her curly hair. Elli and Ennea seemed to be comparing head wounds. Celese wandered aimlessly, as if looking for something she could not find. She walked through walls, into his wardrobe, and through his bed. Rianne, the egg maid whose murder Lars had interrupted, pulled off an arm, looked at it, reattached it, and pulled it off again. Earlier she had been doing the same thing with her head. The other five girls were still thankfully boring. Olibe Meiks, however, stared at Dubric with disgust. A spectral pitchfork had appeared in his hands during the night, and Dubric did not want to think about what would happen once Olibe started moving.

But the night was almost over and no one else had died. Yet. He was not about to get his hopes up again, especially since a thread of doubt tugged at his mind. Risley had proclaimed his innocence in a steadfast and certain manner, and had shown no weakening of his resolve. He had not screamed or whimpered or begged, merely calmly insisted that he had killed no one, while all along demanding that Nella remain under guard, as if he truly feared for her safety.