‘When would the evening check occur? Shortly after the sun set?’ Which was about the time Michaelo recalled witnessing the exchange of cloaks.
‘An hour or two after that. Sunset is so very early in Advent.’
‘What about Theo? Had he locked the south door behind him when he came to investigate the singing?’
‘Forgive me. I did not think to ask. But I will.’
Thanking him, Owen turned to Hempe. ‘After I walk through their spaces up above, I would have some of them look to see if they find anything amiss. Care to join me?’
‘Of course.’
Turning back to the body, Owen opened the man’s mouth – gingerly, one side of the jaw crushed – and sniffed for any telltale scent of poison. Trouble breathing of a sudden, rushing up to the roof for air, becoming dizzy, falling … But he smelled nothing untoward.
‘Services have begun for the day,’ the precentor said at his back. ‘You will not disturb them?’
Owen turned. ‘You sent the lad to me, then went to the mayor to request my help. Have you changed your mind?’
With an apologetic shake of the head, Adam blessed them and asked God to guide them in their search.
‘Remember the list of those who worked with Ronan,’ said Owen. ‘And whether Theo locked the door behind him.’
‘Of course.’
As they left the dean’s garden, Owen asked Michaelo for his impression of Master Adam.
‘Risen above his capabilities, and therefore unbending in the rules as he understands them. Desperate for your help yet fearful lest you wrest control of his charges. He will do what he can, but with much complaint.’
Hempe chuckled.
‘And the chancellor?’ Owen asked.
‘He fears what you will learn about him in regard to Ronan. I hesitate to say this—’
‘I want to hear all that came to mind, Michaelo.’
‘I sensed no surprise about Ronan meeting a violent death.’
‘Do you think he might provide names?’
‘I believe he knows far more than he is willing to share.’
Hempe grunted. ‘Shall I collect him?’
‘On what grounds?’ asked Owen. ‘That we sense there is much he is not telling us?’
Brother Michaelo bowed. ‘I will deliver my report this evening, Captain.’
‘Tomorrow. You need sleep.’
The monk bowed again and took his leave.
Watching him gliding away through the melting snow, Hempe said, ‘I would never have believed you would accept his opinion on anything.’
‘Nor would I.’
‘So what changed your mind?’
‘Realizing that what I took as Thoresby’s insight benefited from his secretary’s keen observation. Better to have it working for me.’
‘Do you like him?’
‘Does it matter?’
A chuckle. ‘Not as long as he stays away from the York Tavern.’
‘Agreed.’ In truth, Owen could not imagine Michaelo having any interest in frequenting a common tavern.
They approached the masons’ lodge, where Hempe had stationed a man to talk to the stoneworkers as they arrived for the day’s work in the minster yard. At this time of year only the most skilled were retained, with a few apprentices to fetch and carry.
‘Have any noticed strangers lurking about the past few days?’ Hempe asked his man.
Blowing his hands, as if to remind his boss that he had been out in the cold all morning, the man shook his head. ‘Most say they pay no heed to folk coming and going as long as they keep clear of the work in the lady chapel and stay out of the lodge. No one’s bothered them of late.’
‘Most say. Someone said otherwise?’ Owen asked.
‘Young one there says he felt someone watching him yesterday and early this morning when he came in.’
Owen walked over to the youth in the dusty hat who had been watching them.
‘Hire me. I would be more help than that cotton-eared cur.’
‘Where was the watcher?’ Owen asked as Hempe joined them.
‘More than one.’ The lad pointed to a part of the minster roof, and on the ground behind the lady chapel.
‘They were there this morning?’ Hempe asked.
‘Only one. On the ground.’
‘You are happy here in the stoneyard?’
A sigh. ‘I want to carve faces. But it takes years.’
Owen grinned. ‘You sound like my son when he became apprentice to my wife. But his duties have quickly become far more to his liking.’
‘If you decide that chasing down those who break the peace sounds better than helping to build this great minster, come and find me,’ said Hempe. ‘You have been helpful.’
The lad beamed as they headed toward the lady chapel. Beneath the overhang they found that the melting snow coming off the roof in icy chunks obliterated any sign of watchers.
Owen continued on round the corner and through the door. The activities of the day had begun in earnest within, the chapter at prayer in the choir, canon lawyers and their clerks at work in the transept, priests saying masses in the nave chantry chapels. Another one of Hempe’s men guarded the door to the chapter house.
‘Any activity?’ Hempe asked.
‘Clerks curious to hear more about the deaths, a mason wanting access to his tools, accused us of keeping them from their work. I told him to see you, Captain.’
‘He had no key?’
‘We were told not to let anyone past until you said so.’
‘Welcome news,’ said Hempe.
‘Good man,’ said Owen. ‘Now if you will open the door.’
‘No need, Captain.’ He stepped aside. ‘It’s not locked while a guard is present.’
‘I trust you will ensure that it is not left unattended, not even for the moment it might take to step outside and relieve yourself?’
A blush. God help them. ‘Yes, Captain.’
Within, morning light flooded the circular room, though it was as cold as the rest of the vast interior of York Minster. Access to the upper reaches was by a small door to the left inside the main entrance, the stone steps narrow, unlit. ‘We need your man’s lantern.’
Hempe fetched the light. ‘What are we looking for?’
‘Other than a small chunk of wood out of the handle of a dagger, anything
