31 - City of Fiends Read Online Free PDF Page B

remembered his pale eyes staring at him before, with that same look, when they were discussing
the fight in the High Street. Even then, he had been certain that the man was searching for a way to request a bribe, rather than seek resolution.
    ‘What is a murder in the city to do with the Cathedral, Precentor?’ he asked smoothly.
    ‘Probably nothing. But it occurred near enough to the Close for us to hear it. When will the Coroner be here to review the matter?’
    The Sheriff sucked at his teeth. ‘Perhaps the day after tomorrow – maybe not until Sunday. He has been away, down at Ashburton. A tin miner was found hanged down there, and the
Coroner left yesterday. It is a full day’s ride to Ashburton, since the roads are appalling. I would think he would hold his inquest today or tomorrow, and return Saturday.’
    ‘Good, good,’ Murimuth said.
    ‘You will wish to send a witness to hear the evidence?’
    ‘Perhaps.’ Murimuth ducked his head, preparatory to making his exit. He disliked dissembling. There were situations in which he felt comfortable, but this was not one of them. The
Sheriff never impressed him with his intellect, but the man was the King’s own representative.
    ‘It would almost seem as if you knew something about this murder, Precentor,’ the Sheriff said. ‘Do you know who was responsible?’
    ‘Certainly not!’ Murimuth said. ‘If I did, I would say so, to prevent another innocent being accused. Murder is a grave matter.’
    That was the fact that absorbed him as he left the castle. Murder was indeed a serious affair, and if Janekyn was right, the murderer could have been one of the Cathedral’s
inhabitants.
    He stopped at the High Street. There were some people coming into the city from the East Gate, and he saw a watchman on the gate push a man leading a packhorse against the wall, while his
companion began to search the panniers on the beast’s back.
    Nothing there, thank the Lord, and the sumpterman was soon on his way again, but it was just another proof to Murimuth of the tensions all felt. The King had been forced from his own throne,
replaced by his fifteen-year-old son, and gangs of men were now ravaging the land in the old King’s name. One such had breached the castle at Kenilworth, trying to free him, a few months ago.
All the guards here, and elsewhere, were on tenterhooks, expecting a fresh upsurge of violence.
    He made his way back to the Cathedral feeling depressed, convinced that there would be more bloodshed. There were too many men like the Sheriff who were out to seek personal advantage from the
realm’s troubles.
    Until the kingdom was stabilised, with the new King grown to maturity, there would be no peace for anyone, only increasing disorder.
    Well, that may be so, he told himself. But the disorder would only increase if men felt they could get away with it. It was vital to uphold the law, and show that justice would swiftly follow a
crime, be it large or small.
    He must do all he could to bring justice to the felon who killed that poor young maid.
    Paffards’ House
    Benjamin, Henry Paffard’s apprentice, had been to the church that morning, offering prayers for Alice. He would miss her. She had been a part of the household.
    When he first arrived at Exeter, the boy had thought himself fortunate to be apprenticed to Henry Paffard. The latter was known as the best decorator of pewter in the city, but the glorious
engraving for which he had made his name was a thing of the past. The work he performed today was at best pedestrian – when he could be bothered to visit the workshops. Henry was living on
the reputation he had forged years ago, and Benjamin was hard-pressed to recall a single day during which he had learned anything from his master.
    In those early days, before disillusion set in, everything had seemed possible. Benjamin was sure that, once he was ready, he would soon be made a pewterer in his own right, that he would set up
his own