Ghosts in the Snow (5 page)

"Today, during lunch. I know." He looked at Lars and nodded, ushering her inside—between the pair of ghosts, how he wished they would wander off for a while—and closed the door. The curses and complaints of the crowd were muffled. "Miss Nella, this is Otlee, one of my pages. Otlee, this is Miss Nella. She does my mending."

Otlee stood and bowed before her, gesturing politely with his thin, ink-stained hands. "Nice to meet you, Miss Nella."

She dropped into a quick curtsy. "Thank you. Nice to meet you, as well."

Otlee blushed and blustered in reply.

Away from the angry comments of the crowd, her face brightened and she smiled. Dubric leaned a hip against his desk and accepted the pair of shirts. "How much do I owe you?" he asked.

"You might want to check the collar of this one first. It was tricky, but I think I hid the repair."

He pulled the collar of the white shirt open. A drunk had ripped the collar half off and he had feared the shirt was ruined. Made of silk, it had cost him forty-seven crown to purchase the last time he was in Waterford. He loved that shirt. He smiled as he saw her handiwork. Her stitches were tiny, precise, and almost invisible. Better than the original tailor's.

"The collar's fine, Miss Nella. How much?" He knew before she spoke it would not be enough. It never was.

She smiled and shifted her feet as if she was embarrassed to be paid. "Crown and a quarter for the collar. Three pence for the buttons. I was lucky. I found perfect matches."

He shook his head and reached into a pocket. "You need to raise your prices." Any tailor would charge five times the amount and do half as good a job. He counted money into his palm and smiled at her.

"Wouldn't be right," she replied.

He dropped the coins in her hand, all pence and scepters, and she looked at him and shook her head. She counted change almost as fast as Otlee took notes. "Overpaid me again," she said, laughing. She pulled two scepters and seven pence from her palm and set them on his desk.

"You should take it, Miss Nella. Please. It is merely a quarter crown or so." She had done his mending for seven phases and had never taken a single penny extra. It still amazed him.

She shook her head and pocketed the payment. "I can't do that. Any other mending this phase?"

He shook his head. "Sadly, no."

She nodded and the hope in her eyes faded a notch. "That's all right. Thank you, and keep me in mind for next time?"

"I will."

She smiled at him, nodded good-bye to Otlee, and took a breath before she opened the door. Her back straight, her head held high, she strode into the angry crowd and closed the door behind her.

"That's Nella Brickerman?" Otlee asked, shaking his head.

Dubric scooped up his change and slipped behind his desk, ignoring the vacant stares of his ghosts. "Not like you expected?"

Otlee sat and pulled a clean sheet of paper from the pile. "Nothing. The way folks talk about her and Lord Risley…" he shrugged. "I expected, I dunno… Not
that
, I guess. She seemed nice." He smoothed the paper and readied his quill with ink.

"She is nice."
And one amazing seamstress
.

Otlee tilted his head and his brow wrinkled. "But I heard she was Lord Risley's commoner whore. That she's only after his money."

Dubric hoped his eyes were kind even if his voice was stern. "I have had the displeasure of hearing that sentiment, and I have never believed it. Remember, Otlee, the opinion of the masses is usually wrong. Use your own judgment." He looked to the door and rubbed his eyes. Only fifty-two witnesses to go.

Having delegated the afternoon witnesses to Lars, Dubric arrived at the physicians' offices at precisely two bell. Elli lay covered on one table with nothing more than the top of her head visible from beneath the blanket. Fytte lay uncovered and naked on another.

Halld probed a gash on Fytte's back with a shaking finger. He glanced up at Dubric's approach and smiled. "I've found something."

Praise the King! A clue
! Dubric hurried to the exam table and nodded a greeting.

"There are similarities between them, milord," Halld said. "Do you suppose they've been killed by the same man?"

"What sort of similarities?" Dubric asked, opening his notebook.

Halld's hands seemed unable to remain still. He tugged at his white tunic, tapped the exam table, and laced his fingers together. "He took something. Look!"

Dubric leaned closer. Besides the lack of clothing, Fytte was little different than he remembered her. Her skin was blue and cool, a greenish bruise graced her hip, and her soles were calloused as if she seldom wore shoes. The slashes on her back were straight and clean.

Halld looked at him with anticipation. "What is it?" Dubric asked. He hated guessing games.

Halld straightened his back, his soft brown eyes sparkling. "First of all, I noticed it in the milkmaid, what was her name?"

"Elli," Dubric said, his voice bland.

"Elli, yes. I noticed it in her first, but didn't think much of it. Half her back is gone, probably out there in the mud somewhere…"

Or stolen as a souvenir by a gawker
, Dubric thought.

"… but this other one…" Halld turned and looked at her.

"Fytte," Dubric said, shifting his weight and narrowing his eyes. "Her name was Fytte."

Halld shook his head, clearing the thrill of discovery from his eyes. "Fytte. What an unusual name."

Dubric tried to remain patient despite the excitement of the physician. "What did you find? How are they connected?"

Halld smiled. "I noticed it while probing the wounds on her back. With your permission, I'd like to expand one of them, to see how he did what he did."

If it is a man at all.

"What exactly did he do?"

Somehow, despite his trembling, Halld stayed rooted to the ground. "He took her kidneys. Both of them. Or, perhaps I should say, all four of them. The milkma—er, Elli's kidneys are also missing."

Dubric stared at Halld a moment as he considered the information and tried to understand what it meant. Both of the girls' backs had been slashed open for a reason, and perhaps, to the killer, taking kidneys made sense or served a purpose. "Why would he want their kidneys?"

Halld's crestfallen face flushed. "I wish I could tell you, sir, but I have absolutely no idea. Not yet, anyway."

Dubric returned his gaze to his notebook. "Can you tell me anything about the victims?"

Halld nodded and flipped through his own notes. "Neither was raped. Both were in adequate health, but the milkmaid had an abscessed tooth and a rash. The other…"he flipped forward a page and said, "she had a bruise, an old one, on her hip. Probably ran into something a phase or so ago."

Dubric made his notes. "And the wounds?"

Halld shook his head. "Just the obvious ones. But he killed the girls differently."

Halld took a deep, shaking breath and flipped to the next page in his notes. "The milkmaid's back was first slashed low, above her hips, and she either fell or was shoved into the mud before he opened her up. He cut out a chunk of her and it's missing. Regardless, she may have tried to scream but couldn't, and either bled to death or suffocated. Maybe a combination of the two." He looked at Dubric, tucked his notes under his arm, took off his spectacles and wiped the lenses clean. His shaking hands calmed as he wiped.

Dubric almost dropped his notebook in his surprise.
For King's sake, half of her hack is gone
! "She was still alive?"

Halld nodded. "Not for very long. Not with that rate of blood loss." He shrugged. "She clawed the mud. It's crammed into her nails, breathed into her nose and throat. There are small, round bruises along the side of her head, perhaps from the pressure of his fingers. I think he held her head down, maybe to quiet her screams." He returned his spectacles to his nose. "The attack against the milkmaid was much more brutal than the one against the scullery maid. The slashes were rougher, the damage greater. Maybe he was angry. Or in a hurry."

"Did he leave anything behind?"

Halld shook his head. "Sorry, sir. He ripped out what he wanted and left her there. Anything he might have left on her was lost in the mud." He moved on to Fytte while Dubric continued his notes.

Fytte was different, a cleaner, more precise kill, and Dubric noticed Halld tracing his fingertip along a gash on her back. "He killed this one, waiting for her to die before taking the kidneys. The back wounds were very clean, but her throat was a mess."

Dubric scratched more notes while the ghosts seemed to contemplate their own corpses. "Can you tell me anything about the knife?"

"Some. With luck I can tell you more after I open her up. I do know the knife was small. A dirk, maybe, smaller than a dagger. None of the wounds are deeper than, say, the width of four, maybe five fingers."

Dubric's head tilted as he continued his notes. "But why would he make the cuts on Fytte's back so small? Surely he would need more room."

Halld shook his head. "They're big enough, if the weapon was very small. Look." He pushed his hand into the narrow wound and her cold flesh welcomed the intrusion, molding close to Halld's hand. "Once past the muscles of the back, the internal organs are flexible enough to make room." Halld turned his hand over, inside her back, and pulled it out again. The sound his movement made was little different than the sound of a baker kneading bread.

Halld wiped his hands on a towel. "But we can't tell how he cut it or if he damaged anything else, not unless we open her up. What did he sever? What did he tear?"

"Will you be able to tell me more about the weapon?"

"I think so. If he damaged other tissue in the area, we should be able to see exactly how big the blade was. Or if he took anything else."

Dubric looked at the dead girl and nodded. "I guess we had better have a look."

Beside him, Halld reached for a surgical knife.

* * *

Blustery afternoon gave way to sleety evening and Nella huddled with Dari in the pay line at the servants' wing door. The chaos of other castle workers hurt her ears and she wished she could grab her money and run away. She shivered, goose bumps flecking her arms even though the wide hall was hot and packed with scores of people. She clenched her rattling teeth and stared at Plien's back, refusing to look at anyone else. To her left, milkmaids compared notes about the first murder, each claiming some glory in the discovery of the body. Nella found them gruesome but tolerable. To her right, a pair of privy maids commented and speculated on Nella's supposed love life. They were far worse than the glory seekers to her left. But Nella held her ground and her tongue, and focused on Plien's back.

"So, Little Miss Nose-in-the-Air," one said, leaning over as if to share a sweet secret, "does he sneak you off to his suite or just find a dark hallway?" She was a head taller than Nella and her crooked teeth gave a wisping lilt to her voice.

"I bet it's the hallway," her partner said, lewdly shaking her wide backside. "No noble worth his spit would take a Pyrinnian bug like her into his own bed. Sometimes at night, I can hear her in the back halls! Oh, Lord Romlin! Ride me like that big black horse of yours!"

"Why don't you leave her alone?" Dari asked, her hands on her hips as she stepped between Nella and the two privy maids.

"Why don't she associate with her own kind?" one replied, air whistling through her teeth.

"Yeah," the other answered, "and why don't you mind your own business?"

Dari's voice grew dangerously low. "I'm trying to mind my business, but you two piss pots keep messing with it."

"Shut the peg up, all of you," Plien snapped. "We're all gonna get double duty if you don't quit it."

"Bet Lord Romlin gives her double duty!" someone from the crowd cackled.

Both privy maids snickered. Nella tried not to blush and failed miserably.

The linen maid line lurched forward a moment later and Nella felt Dari flick her hand toward the privy maids. Nella didn't look. Knowing Dari, it was probably a gesture she didn't want to see, anyway.

The privy maids muttered a comment lost to the cacophony of the crowd, and Nella felt thankful for the small respite.

"Don't let them get to you," Plien said as she glanced over her shoulder. "They're just jealous."

Nella flashed her an apologetic smile. "Nothing to be jealous of."

"Sure. Whatever you say. But if I could snag a noble, I'd do it. Commoner men don't have any money, don't give you anything at all. All they want is a toss. With a noble, at least you can get something for your trouble."

"I'm trying to pay him back, not take more money from him. Besides, we haven't done anything." The line lurched forward again as other linen maids collected their money.

Plien laughed and shook her head. "Sure, Nella. Everyone's seen you together. If you two haven't done anything, then I'm a nun." She glanced back and winked. "And we all know I'm no nun."

Before Nella could retort, Plien accepted her wage and hurried back through the crowd, leaving Nella to stare at Helgith.

The head linen maid tapped her foot, glowering as she counted out coins for Nella. "This happens every phase! I don't allow my girls to associate with the nobility. If I hadn't received orders from Dubric hisself, I'd have your ass in a fire, missy. Folks'er saying all my maids are a bunch of money-hungry whores because of you. You'd better put a stop to it."

Nella had heard essentially the same speech every phase, and just like every other wage day she replied, "As soon as my debt's done, we'll have no reason to see each other anymore."

Helgith leaned forward, shaking her finger. "Mind that you don't, 'cause once that's done, things're gonna change."

Nella counted her money. Helgith had paid her correctly for once. "Thank you," she said and pushed through the crowd while Helgith griped about her impertinence. Six people besides Dubric had hired her for odd jobs the past phase, and she needed to find them before they wasted her money in the gambling shacks or alehouses.

She ignored the stares and comments, ignored the little voice in her head warning her to beware of both deadbeats and overpayers, and set forth to collect what was owed to her.

* * *

"Thank the Goddess you're here," Lars said as a hulking bear of a man shoved to the front of the crowd packed in Dubric's offices, knocking aside bystanders like they were empty tankards on an alehouse table.

Dien's common clothes were filthy, spattered with mud and grime from the road, rumpled from the damp weather, and torn from the hard ride. His worried eyes were brilliant blue over a day's growth of stubbly beard, and he ran a massive hand through damp, short-shorn hair, his thick fingers shaking in relief. "Goddess damned son of a whore, pup!" He looked Lars over top to bottom and shook his head. "I leave for a few frigging days and all I can do is worry. Trumble said we'd had a couple of murdered serving girls. But you're all right. Praise the pegging Goddess for that. Dubric? He all right, too?"

"We're both fine," Lars said, glancing at his witness list and notes. "Just glad you're here. Otlee and I are struggling to take testimonies and control the crowd."

Beside Lars, Otlee sagged with obvious relief. They had finished interviewing seventeen witnesses; all seemed to be a waste of time. The end of the witness list was nowhere in sight and the office had become loud and unruly as the afternoon gave way to evening. By size alone, Dubric's squire would ensure compliance, Lars was certain of that. He handed the notes to Dien and squared his shoulders. "We can handle it a little longer if you'd like to clean up and get in your uniform."

"Work before pleasure, you know," Dien muttered.

"Little bit of dirt never hurt no one." He accepted the papers from Lars.

Around them the crowd grumbled. Otlee opened and closed his ink-spattered fingers. After all the writing he'd done, sore fingers were expected, and he was only twelve summers old.

"How's the baby?" Lars took a deep breath and glanced at the crowd. He felt a pang of guilt at having taken Dien from his family.

"Quit the damned small talk and get us outta here!" a voice grumbled from Lars's left.

Dien didn't seem to notice the grumbler as he skimmed through Otlee's notes. The complaints rolled off his back like rainwater on a bear. "She's fine. Healthy as a horse and looks just like her mother. I'm actually glad to get away from Sarea's parents, though. Her father aggravates me to no frigging end." He flipped through a couple of pages and said, "Dubric left you in charge? Where is he?"

"Still with the physicians."
Goddess only knows what that means
, Lars thought.
Probably more witnesses
.

Dien nodded and looked at Lars, scratching a day's growth of beard. "This isn't as simple as Trumble said, is it?"

Lars shook his head and Dien glanced at the inner office door. "We need to talk privately," Dien said.

Lars stretched to his full height, about the same level as Dien's shoulder, but he could do nothing to compare to Dien's girth. "Gilby, get your ass down to the kitchen and have food for forty brought here
right now
. Norbert, I need a keg of cider and forty tankards here before the next bell rings."

"But,
Lars
," Norbert whined.

"Move it," Lars growled. "You heard the order. Don't make me punish you."

Both boys pursed their lips and disappeared into the crowd. The rest of the pages looked at Lars but did not move.

" 'Bout time you fed us," someone griped. "Been here all day."

"You're lucky I don't conduct this in the gaol," Lars snapped. "Shut your yap before I change my mind."