A Murdered Peace

Stepping out of Jocasta’s house, Kate blinked against the glare of sun on surfaces still wet with mist. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall to wait for her heartbeat to slow. She had been shaken by how Margery’s ordeal had transformed her. How had she not noticed it before? At the guesthouse? Had she been too intent on protecting her? Of course. But now, seeing how even when asking about the children she had spoken without her usual warmth, and in those moments when she had exhibited some emotion it did not reach her eyes, it had shaken Kate.

She is much like you when I was carried home, said Geoff.

No. Kate remembered tears, wailing as she threw herself on his body. Not at all.

You stood still as death and so pale it was as if the lifeblood had been drained from you as well as me. I could not leave you.

Be quiet. I need to think.

You do not believe her story.

I felt– Something about her time in Cirencester is false. She keeps changing her account. And then there are the coincidences – Thomas and Berend at the abbey. Berend finding her in the barn.

Too many coincidences.

Yes, Geoff.

You do not want to doubt her.

She is my friend. As is Berend. He did not tell me everything either. Scotland?

He meant to tell you as little as possible.

Even Elric was not to tell me all.

But you will help them.

I will.

With Elric’s help.

Yes. Apparently his disappointment in me has not changed that. But Margery– In her state, can I trust her not to endanger us all? You say I was like her. Would you have trusted me?

No.

That is why you stayed.

Silence.

And now you do not know how to leave? To go to your rest?

Would you be rid of me?

For myself, no. But for you …

You have much to do.

She did. Crossing to the gate that opened into the alley, still in shade, she hesitated, uncertain how to proceed. If she set aside Merek’s murder, her focus should be on clearing Berend’s name. She must get a message to St. Mary’s Abbey in Cirencester as soon as possible. The abbot could testify that Berend had not been in Salisbury’s company. Could she get a messenger there and back in time? Would that be enough? As for Margery, Kate could think of no way to prove that Thomas knew nothing of the plot against the king, or that he had not shared information with his wife. As Margery had said, there was no way to prove ignorance. Margery must remain hidden until a plan was in place, and she must know nothing about any such plan until the last moment. God knew what she might say or do.

Kate must find a way to sneak them out of York. Her impression of Sir Peter, albeit brief, was that he would cling to his mission like a terrier its catch. She had no confidence that he could be dissuaded from taking Berend and Margery to the king. So they must slip away.

Would Elric help? Westmoreland had ordered him to find Margery and take her to Sheriff Hutton. It was one thing to defend Berend, quite another to defy his lord.

Bess Merchet might be the one to help her with Margery.

Listen! Geoff whispered.

Someone moved away from her down the alley, trying to do so in silence, but the melting snow and mud betrayed them. There. A shifting shadow along the wall of a house across the alley, beneath a deep overhang. She waited for them to reach the corner where they must step into the light of the back garden – or disappear round the corner. Her patience was rewarded. A skinny lad, tall – Skulker. Still spying for Parr and Sawyer, she presumed. Had he been listening at one of Jocasta’s windows? But how had he not been caught? He crouched low, slinking toward the next overhang.

Taking care to stay out of sight, Kate slipped through the gate and followed. He knew his way along the back gardens and alleyways of the city. He was quick, and good at slipping through narrow places, requiring her to wrap her cloak close round her and suck in her breath a few times. Had she any more flesh on her she could not have kept up with him. Once, when she had struggled through a particularly tight spot, she thought she heard someone behind her, and stopped, waiting as long as she dared, holding her breath. It must have been a cat or a rat scuttling across the opening, for she heard it no more.

The pause cost her. She stepped into the Shambles just as a carter shouted to stay clear, his cart rumbling toward her with little clearance on either side. Skulker slipped between two buildings across the way, eluding her. As she stepped back into a doorway to avoid the cart someone brushed her, darting across the street so close to the moving wagon the carter cried out and halted. “Did I hit him?”

“No. Child made it across,” a woman shouted back. “Little fool.”

As soon as the carter cleared the doorway in which Kate had huddled she crossed the street and considered another narrow, dark alley between two butcher shops, the odor of rotten meat assailing her. She almost abandoned the chase – Skulker would be long gone – but as long as there was a possibility, she would not give up. Lifting her skirts, she plunged into the darkness, placing one booted foot in front of the other, not pausing when she felt the slight weight of something running over it, moving forward, one hand on the wall to steady herself on the slippery ground. The alley opened onto back gardens so small, houses rising all round, that no sun reached them and the snow still crunched underfoot.

A yelp. Human. Kate strained to hear more. Was that a whimper? She hurried across the snow and into another alley, not nearly so narrow as the last one, allowing some light to filter between the buildings.

“I thought you would never come!”

God in heaven, Kate knew that voice. “Petra?” Kate blinked in the dimness, making her way to where her niece appeared to be kneeling on something.

“Bloody bitch,” Skulker moaned.

“He’s pissed himself, the pig,” said Petra.

How did her niece come to be … Kate had left the girl in the schoolroom. Safe, she had thought. Master Jonas would hear from her. Drawing her axe from her skirt, Kate placed her booted foot on the lad’s neck and told Petra to rise slowly and move away. “Steady now, Skulker,” Kate said as he began to reach for her niece. “I have a battle axe in my hand. You do not want to test my skill with it.” He went still. “Now I’m going to let you up, but if you try to run, I’ll throw the axe. And in this shadowy place I might miss and harm you more than I intend. Do you understand?” How she wished she had Lille and Ghent with her.

“Bloody bitch,” he repeated.

She increased the pressure on his neck. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he cried.

“Now. Do not stir.” She removed her foot. Of course he tried to roll away, but she had anticipated that and grabbed him by one arm, pulled him up, and propped him against the wall, holding him there with one arm and a foot on one of his feet. In her other arm she swung the axe. He reached for it and she kneed him.