A Killer in Winter полностью

Michael sucked egg from his teeth as he stared into the fire and considered. So, it was likely that Harysone had paid Morice something when the Sheriff had recovered his stolen gold, and had not received the entire sum back with interest as he had claimed. But if Harysone’s gold had been honestly won, then he would not have needed to give Morice anything. That meant Morice had discovered it was not, and had taken advantage of that fact. Had Harysone stolen the gold from someone else? Or had the Sheriff decided Harysone was overcharging for his book, and threatened to arrest him for fraud? Michael stood, shaking the eggshells from his habit into the fire, where they hissed and popped as they were consumed by the flames.

Michael knew Harysone was unlikely to confess to Norbert’s murder if he just marched up to the man and demanded to know whether he was the owner of the jewelled dagger that was now lost for ever in the river. He decided the best way to gain Harysone’s confidence would be to act as if he was making a serious attempt to find whoever had stabbed him – to present him with a culprit and show that justice would be done. Harysone would be impressed that the University took accusations of assault seriously, and that it, unlike Morice, did not charge for its services. Once he had the pardoner’s trust. Michael would be in a position to talk to the man, in the hope that he could be tricked, flattered or cajoled into saying something incriminating.

The first thing the monk needed to do, therefore, was identify the Michaelhouse friars who had been in the King’s Head when Harysone was demonstrating his dancing skills. It would not be difficult: Father William and his five students were the only Franciscans in the College. William had already ‘broken’ his leg when Harysone was attacked, and everyone knew he had not set foot outside since. That left his students, all of whom might very well have enjoyed an illicit drink in a tavern, although Michael could not see any of them knifing a man in the back.

It was almost dusk, and time for the evening meal, so the monk enjoyed his chicken, egg and custard first, then approached the Franciscans as they were heading to the conclave for an evening of entertainment organised by Deynman.

‘We are growing bored with the Waits,’ grumbled Ulfrid, when the monk asked why the students were reluctant to follow Deynman that evening. ‘Makejoy can dance, and Yna and Jestyn can juggle, but Frith is dire with the pipe and tabor.’ His fellow Franciscans gathered around, pleased by an opportunity that would excuse them from the dull festivities for a little longer.

‘Frith is a poor musician,’ agreed Michael, which was damning indeed coming from a man whose standards were based on the Michaelhouse choir. ‘He cannot hold a beat with his drum, and his piping is noise rather than proper tunes. His “Kalenda Maya” was unrecognisable last night.’

‘We have had nothing but tumbling and juggling for days now,’ Ulfrid continued bitterly. His friends murmured their agreement. ‘We want something else. Christmas is a time for things like closh, kayles and quoits, not sitting around indoors watching Waits.’

‘You cannot bowl on snow, which eliminates kayles,’ Michael pointed out. ‘And you would lose your horseshoes and balls if you were to try quoits or closh. But there is always the camp-ball tomorrow to look forward to. And then there are the First Day of the Year games, where there will be ice-camping, wrestling, tilting and all manner of fun.’

‘I suppose,’ conceded Ulfrid reluctantly. ‘But we should have voted for Gray. He is more imaginative than Deynman.’

‘Deynman said he paid in advance for the Waits, so he wants his money’s worth out of them,’ said another of the novices, a prematurely balding youth with a square jaw who possessed the unlikely name of Zebedee.

‘The Waits are getting their money’s worth out of us,’ muttered Ulfrid bitterly. He turned to Michael. ‘I caught Frith leaving my room this morning, and later I could not find some pennies I’d left there. I cannot say for certain that he took them, but I am suspicious.’

‘Deynman is a fool to retain their services,’ agreed Zebedee. ‘Agatha said things have gone from the kitchen, too – a pewter spoon, a glass dish for salt, a brass skewer. Little, unimportant items that you do not miss until they cannot be found.’

Ulfrid frowned in puzzlement. ‘But, conversely, Cynric accidentally left the College silver out after the Christmas Day feast, and it sat unmolested for a whole day before it was returned to the chest in Langelee’s room. Frith could have had that easily, yet he did not touch it.’

‘And William has three gold nobles that he always leaves in full view on his windowsill,’ added Zebedee. ‘They are worth six shillings and eightpence each, and it would be a simple matter for someone to reach in and grab them. I know Frith has seen them, and there have been plenty of opportunities when they could have been his. But he ignores them.’