The Prison of Buried Hopes (After The Rift Book 5) Page 5

  "I saw the body myself," the sheriff said.

  His men hustled Dane and Erik through the door. Erik shook them off, earning a punch in the back. He arched and spat out words in his own language.

  "This isn't fair," Kitty said on a sob. "They're good men. Sheriff, you can't do this!"

  Theodore blocked the sheriff's exit. "Please, sir, they're innocent."

  "If they were innocent, why change inns?"

  Theodore swallowed.

  "We're fortunate that a concerned citizen of Glancia came forward and identified him," the sheriff said.

  Lord Xavier. The cur.

  I closed my eyes and groaned. A nobleman would be believed over us, even if he were a foreigner.

  "He was able to tell us the most likely inns to find you." The sheriff eyed Balthazar up and down and shook his head. "It's disappointing that a priest from Merdu's Guards associates with such dangerous types."

  "They're not dangerous," Balthazar said through gritted teeth.

  The sheriff walked off and we all followed him to the stable yard, lit by a series of torches around the perimeter. The inn's grooms held the reins of several horses, two of which were hitched to a cart.

  Theodore fell into step with the sheriff. "Captain Hammer is the captain of the Glancian palace guards."

  "So?"

  "So doesn't that prove he's a good man? King Leon wouldn't employ him in such an important role if he were dangerous."

  "King Leon was murdered by a guard, was he not?"

  "Not the captain!"

  "Then why is he fleeing Glancia? Why change inns after he was seen by a fellow countryman?"

  Theodore threw his hands in the air. It was hopeless. The sheriff couldn't be reasoned with.

  The constables bundled Dane and Erik onto the back of the cart where they tied their hands together with rope. Neither man resisted.

  "This is outrageous," Kitty said through her tears. "If this were Glancia—"

  "It's not," the sheriff snapped, showing the first sign of frustration. "We're more civilized in Vytill. We don't have Marginers walking about the streets, frightening the women and children, and we don't let former palace guards get away with murder. I suggest, madam, that you stand back and keep your mouth shut or I will arrest you too!"

  Kitty shrank into Meg's arms with a whimper.

  From the back of the cart, Erik gave her an encouraging smile. "At least my woman cries for me, Hammer."

  No one laughed and his smile became strained as they were driven away.

  I watched them go, Theodore's arm around my waist, holding me up; holding me together. I bit down on my wobbling lip to stop myself screaming at the top of my voice.

  Balthazar immediately left to appeal to the supreme priest for help. He returned shortly afterwards with little to report. "He says he's powerless to step in. It's a criminal matter, not ecclesiastical."

  "Surely he has some sway," Theodore said. "He must be acquainted with the king."

  Balthazar rubbed his hand over his face. When it came away, he looked exhausted. "I tried to explain, but…" He leaned heavily on his walking stick as he sat on a stool in the taproom. "We have to find another way."

  "We were just discussing appealing to the princess," Meg said. "Josie thinks it's worth trying."

  Balthazar nodded. "Good idea. What else?"

  Max put his tankard down with a thud. "Find Lord Xavier and rip his head off."

  In Balthazar's absence, we'd discussed the likelihood that Lord Xavier was behind Dane's arrest. It had to be he who told the sheriff where to look for us, as well as giving our names and occupations. Perhaps he'd even suggested Dane was responsible for Leon's death.

  "I'll visit the magistrate in the morning," Balthazar said. "If we can't free them with swords or powerful friends, we have to try legal arguments."

  "What legal arguments?" I asked.

  "The ostler can't possibly be certain, beyond doubt, that Erik was the Marginer who stole the horse two years ago. I'm confident he's basing the identification on forehead tattoos and long blond hair. According to texts I read in the palace, those traits are typical of all Marginers. Legally, that’s not specific enough."

  Kitty clutched his hand in both of hers. "Oh, thank you, Balthazar. Yes, I think that will work."

  "As long as the magistrate is reasonable and follows the rule of the law," Meg muttered.

  "What about the captain?" Quentin asked in a small voice.

  Balthazar lowered his head.

  Quentin's chin shuddered. "This isn't fair. He's done nothing wrong. He hardly touched that man. Right, Josie?"

  "Not enough to kill him," I said.

  Quentin's face brightened. "So someone else killed him."

  "I suppose."

  "Then we just have to find out who and force them to face up to the magistrate instead."

  "How can we do that?" Kitty asked. "We don't even know where to begin."

  Balthazar lifted his head. "We begin at the inn. They'll know the victim's name and where he lived. Then we find out how he died, where, when, and if there are any witnesses. Someone must have seen something."

  Max rose. "Let's start now. Tonight."

  "Not tonight," Balthazar said. "It's late. We need to conduct this investigation with cool heads. Understood, Sergeant?"

  Max sat and swiped up his tankard. "First thing in the morning, then."

  I shook my head, earning frowns from the others.

  "You don't agree with the plan?" Meg asked.

  "I don't need an investigation to know who killed that man."

  Kitty gasped. "Who?"

  "Lord Xavier. But we're going to have a hard time proving it. He knows how to cover up crimes."

  "He does," Balthazar agreed. "But not in a strange city and without his mother’s help."

  Theodore put his arm around me and hugged. "It's worth investigating, Josie."

  "Yes," I said heavily. "Perhaps some luck will go our way."

  Balthazar and Theodore headed to the magistrate's office first thing in the morning while I wrote a letter to Princess Illiriya and delivered it to the palace's outer gate. We were not allowed any further without an official invitation.

  We had decided that I shouldn't be left alone. Lord Xavier was somewhere in the city, and there was no telling what he'd do if he saw me again. Quentin, Max, Kitty, Meg and I headed to the White Horse Inn, but Kitty and I did not show our faces. Meg and Max asked after the deceased man, claiming they'd seen him fall the day before and were concerned for his welfare.

  "The ostler told us all about the incident," Meg said as we hurried away before we were seen. "Jute Weller died at home from the injuries sustained in yesterday’s scuffle. Jute happened to be walking past the inn when he heard the commotion and stepped in to stop Erik getting away."

  "I said I'd seen the incident and hadn't thought the blow very hard," Max added. "The ostler just shrugged and said he didn't either, but Jute's dead so it must have been. He lived three streets east of here, above his workshop. He was a boot maker."

  We headed there, but the workshop was closed, the door locked. No one answered our knock.

  "He's dead," said a man dressed in a leather apron from the doorway of the chandler shop next door. "If you want your boots repaired, try two streets down on the left, under the sign of the two black birds."

  "We came to speak to Jute's widow," I said. "Or someone who knew him."

  "I knew him."

  "Did you see him yesterday?" I asked. "After the fight at the inn?"

  He glanced at each of us in turn then retreated back inside, slamming the door.

  Max pushed the door open. "You didn't answer my friend's question."

  Meg put a hand to his arm. "You're frightening him," she whispered.

  She approached the counter and watched as the chandler packed away candles in a box carved with his mark then added the box to the top of a stack. "We're making inquiries into the death of Jute Weller," she said. "You se
e, our friend was accused of his murder and we don't believe he's responsible."

  The chandler paused. "Your friend was the one with the Marginer?"

  "That's right. Did you see Jute when he returned from the inn?"

  He picked up a knife and pointed it at the door. "I was standing there when he ran up, clutching his head."

  "His head or his chin?" I asked.

  He thought about it before saying, "Head."

  "Show me where?" I asked.

  He indicated the side of his face, his head, his jaw. Everywhere.

  I sighed. This was hopeless. "Did he say anything to you?"

  The chandler trimmed the wick of a candle with a flick of his knife. "He told me what happened at the White Horse then went inside his shop. Not long after I heard his wife wailing. I went in to see what was what and saw her standing over Jute, crying. He was dead."

  "Did you see anyone else enter Jute's workshop?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Aye."

  Kitty indicated the window. "You were looking at the street the entire time?"

  The chandler nodded. "Standing in the doorway, like I sometimes do when it's quiet."

  The door opened and a boy entered. "About time," the chandler snapped at him. He indicated the boxes. "All of these have to go to the castle."

  The boy collected the boxes, his curious gaze on us and not his task. The top box slid as he turned to go and Max caught it before it fell off. He smiled at the boy as he put the box back.

  "I've got work to do," the chandler said. "Have you got any more questions?"

  We left and knocked on the boot maker's door again but there was still no answer.

  "Now what?" Quentin asked.

  "We return to the inn," Meg said. "Balthazar and Theodore might have news."

  We returned to the inn in Fahl, but it was some time before Balthazar and Theodore arrived. Waiting for them was excruciating, but worth it—they brought Erik.

  Kitty leapt up from the bed and threw her arms around him. He lifted her off her feet and spun her around before planting a kiss on her mouth.

  Quentin tapped Kitty on the shoulder. "My turn."

  "You would like a kiss too?" Erik asked.

  "A hug will do." They embraced, slapping one another on the back.

  "It's good to see you," Max said, clutching Erik's arm. "The magistrate agreed with Bal's legal argument?"

  "He did," Theodore said. "The ostler couldn't be certain that Erik was the same Marginer who stole the horse two winters ago."

  "And the captain?" Max looked to Balthazar, but from his worried face, he already knew the answer. We all did.

  Balthazar eased himself down onto the bed. "His trial is set for two days hence."

  "Did you tell the magistrate that Dane didn't hit the man hard?" I asked.

  "We did."

  "Meg and Max spoke to the ostler and he agreed the blow wasn't severe. He'll testify at the trial."

  "After we had his accusation against Erik thrown out?" Balthazar shook his head. "Besides, it doesn't matter how hard the blow looked. The fact is, the man died later and no one has come forward to say they saw him in another fight that could have given him further injuries."

  "No one has come forward yet," I said.

  "His neighbor the chandler didn't see anyone come or go," Quentin said heavily.

  "We didn't speak to other neighbors. Nor did we see the widow. Hopefully she'll respond to my message. And there must have been other people wandering past."

  Quentin picked up his sword where it was leaning against the wall. "Let's go back now."

  It was growing late in the afternoon, but there was still enough daylight left. I had something else to do, however.

  "You all go," I said. "I have to visit Dane."

  "We already did," Theodore said. "But I think he'd like to see you."

  I bought some food from the inn's cook and bundled it with a spare shirt in a blanket the innkeeper sold to me for a steeper price than I would have paid at the market. But the market was likely closed already and I didn't want to go out of my way.

  I was about to leave when a liveried footman from the castle arrived to speak to me. "You have been summoned to an audience with His Royal Majesty, King Phillip, at the stroke of ten bells, two days hence."

  My elation was quickly deflated. "Two days? Is there any way it can be tomorrow?"

  The footman looked as though he didn't understand a word I'd said. Then he spun on his heel and marched out.

  "I know Leon usually accommodated your visits, Josie," Balthazar said from behind me. "But most monarchs don't adjust their schedules for village midwives."

  "But Dane's trial is that day. If the king is going to intervene, it might come too late."

  "The trial is that morning, not the…the punishment."

  My stomach dropped. He'd been going to say execution. That was the punishment for murder.

  "Besides, the trial may never go ahead," he went on gently. "If the others find a witness to a second assault, the magistrate will have to set him free." He patted my cheek. "Now go and see him. His spirits need lifting."

  The prison in Merrin was located near the river, not far from the castle, in the district that housed the courthouse and other administrative buildings. The warden checked the food and belongings I'd brought, even going so far as to tear the bread into small pieces. I removed my knife from my pocket and placed it on his desk then my person was patted down to check for other weapons. Satisfied I was unarmed, he summoned a guard to take me to Dane's cell.

  We descended a series of winding stairs to a corridor lit by torches positioned beside each cell door. The cells themselves were carved into rock and separated from the corridor with thick iron bars. A small, horizontal window high up on the back wall of each cell let in a little light and fresh air from the street above, but not enough to blow away the stench of body odors, human waste, and misery.

  A large key hung from a ring beside each door, tantalizingly close yet just out of the inmates' reach. It was cruel, but not as cruel as providing no beds for the inmates to lie on, not even a mattress or chair. At least they weren't chained, but the cells were so small, there was no way they could get any exercise.

  The guard stopped at a cell. "Visitor," he announced then stepped to the side.

  I rushed to the bars. "Dane?"

  He sat at the back of the cell with three other prisoners, his knees drawn up, head resting on folded arms. He looked up at the sound of his name and smiled.

  I burst into tears.

  "No crying." He reached through the bars and cupped my jaw. "It's not so bad in here, and I'll be out soon."

  How could he be so confident? I felt as though I were filled with a well of despair and hopelessness. But I did not tell him that. I smiled and wiped away my tears. I would put on a show of confidence too, for his sake.

  "I brought you some provisions." I passed the bundle through the bars and some of the breadcrumbs fell onto the floor.

  The other inmates approached, trying to see what I'd brought. Thankfully there was enough for everyone. Dane might not need any friends in prison, but he certainly didn't need enemies. He handed out pieces of the bread but kept the pie for himself.

  "You have a bruise," I said, caressing a thumb over his cheek, above the swelling. "Did the sheriff's men do it?"

  "One of the other prisoners didn't like my face."

  I gasped and eyed them, gnawing at the bread like rats. They were dressed in rags, their beards untrimmed, their faces and hands filthy.

  "None of them," Dane said. "He's gone now."

  "They released him?"

  "Took him to the infirmary."

  "He's sick?"

  "Injured."

  "Oh. I see I don't have to worry about you in here."

  He smiled gently. "It's going to be all right."

  "Yes," I said with conviction. I told him about our meeting with the king and our atte
mpts to find out who really killed Jute Weller. "If the trial goes ahead, hopefully we'll have enough evidence of your innocence that the magistrate will have to set you free. Or perhaps the king will intervene."

  "The princess must have convinced him to see you."

  "I'll be sure to thank her."

  "How is Erik?" he asked.

  "Fine. He's laying low at the inn. Balthazar is keeping him company while the others investigate the murder."

  "You should join them."

  "I'd rather be here."

  "As much as I like your company, this is no place for a woman like you." He glanced over his shoulder at the other prisoners, once more settling on the floor, knees drawn up, heads bowed. "I'd prefer you not see this."

  "Is that your only objection?"

  "It's not enough?"

  "No." I sat on the floor near the bars. "Now sit down and talk to me. Unless you've got something better to do?"

  He laughed and sat too. "What shall we talk about?"

  "Anything but politics."

  "Agreed. Something more comforting and lighter. Something about Mull. Do you know, I miss it. I even miss the palace and especially miss the garrison and the servants we left behind."

  I reached through the bars and took his hand. He gently squeezed. "Shall I tell you about the time I tried to hide the fact I'd broken my arm from my parents?"

  He drew my hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'm all ears."

  "The workshop was open again, but just for boots to be collected," Max said when he and the others returned to the inn. We sat in the taproom, nursing tankards of ale, our mood despondent. I'd known the moment they walked in that they'd discovered nothing of use.

  "You spoke to the widow?" I asked.

  "In a way."

  "We were about to ask her some questions when the chandler saw us," Meg said. "He told the widow we were friends of the man accused of murdering Jute and she chased us off with a broom."

  "We tried telling her Dane was innocent, but she wouldn’t listen," Theodore said. "She was mad with grief."

  "Poor thing," Kitty muttered.

  "You've got to get through to her," Balthazar said. “Go and see her again.”