Blood Lance Read Online Free PDF Page B

around again, stepping cautiously over the gray spots on the floor. When he got to the end of the worktable he made a noise of exclamation. “Master Crispin! Look here.”
    But Crispin didn’t move. He continued to match glares with the woman. “What do you see, Jack? Describe it.”
    “Something’s missing from here, right enough. Something rectangular. Perhaps a box?” He cast about again and saw what Crispin did: There was nothing there resembling anything that could have made that mark. “Whatever it was, it was taken away after the fracas, for the floor is not covered in ash but has left an outline of it.”
    “Very good, Jack. Mistress Coterel, are you certain that you removed nothing from this room?”
    “Of course I am!” Her cheeks reddened prettily.
    “And what of his apprentices? Might they have removed it?”
    “Apprentices?” Her fingers found the edge of her lips and white teeth suddenly bit down on her nails. “Master Crispin, his apprentices! They are not here.”
    It took him a moment to follow her logic. Too long. “Indeed. They would be here, before the cock crowed. And if they found the place thus they would have gone to the law. But they are not here.”
    “Those boys. Surely … surely … no mischief has befallen them—”
    Crispin walked to the window and looked out, wondering. Did more than one murder occur here last night? He glanced at the smaller footprints again.
    What, by God’s blood, did this killer want?
    “That’s a dreadful speculation!” cried Jack, looking desperately at Crispin. “Sir? Are they, too, dead?”
    “Were they young boys, damosel?”
    She joined him at the window. “One was fifteen, the other ten. Brothers.” She gestured to the cots in the corner, both overturned, their bolsters tossed upon the floor.
    “Their parents?”
    “I know them. Only down the way in Southwark. I shall … I shall go there anon.” They all fell silent, Jack with his mouth hanging open.
    Would the sheriffs wish to investigate now, he wondered. Two boys, two apprentices missing, possibly dead? He squeezed the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes.
    “Mistress Coterel, never fear. I will not rest until the killer is put to the king’s justice … or mine.”
    Taking a steadying breath he swept the room again with a probing gaze. “Can you speculate, damosel, as to what that missing object”—and he waved toward the rectangle of clean floor again—“might have been? I must assume you know this place well.”
    Her hair was mostly caged by a linen kerchief but she tossed the long, looped plaits back with a recalcitrant shoulder. “And why do you assume that?”
    “You told me plainly that you were the man’s betrothed.”
    “I had my work and he had his. I did not have the time to dawdle watching him swing a hammer all day.”
    He nodded and scuffed his boot in the ash. “How long have you been betrothed?”
    Her stony veneer cracked slightly and she turned away. She took a step toward the window but stopped suddenly—the ash marks showed so plainly what had happened. She appeared to think better of it and turned toward the worktable instead. A pair of snips had avoided the carnage and her fingers touched the instrument, running down its dark surface. Her jaw clenched. “Not long. But we knew each other a long time.”
    “Damosel, forgive me.” He stood behind her now, trapping her between the table and escape. “I have observed much in this room, but I have also observed that you do not seem as saddened by these events as a woman in your position might be. Care to explain?”
    She made an agitated sound. “He was a singular man, Master Guest. Can you understand that? He did not judge … people … the way other men did. He was going to marry me. He was going to see that I was well cared for.” She turned to him and the loss on her face was no invention. Her large eyes ensnared him with their sincerity. The lips she wetted with a pink tongue distracted.