‘Stonemasons piss elsewhere?’
‘I said fresh.’
‘Right. Whose dagger? The fallen man’s had no chip.’
Owen told him of the dagger Michaelo had taken from their guest, moving off before he could ask more questions.
The steps opened onto a large area surrounding heavy wooden beams supporting the ceiling below. Colder here, his breath now smoking. Owen threw an end of his cloak over his shoulder and crouched to light the floor. Recently swept, and done well. Lighting a corner he saw that the sweeper had reached there. He doubted that last night’s intruder would be so thorough. ‘The masons are a tidy lot.’
‘So whatever we find, it likely belongs to the lad or the man who fell.’
Owen said nothing as he moved farther and crouched again. He repeated that all the way to where the ladder led up to the roof. Almost at the bottom of the ladder, he found the piece of wood near the archway. Standing up, he searched the stone of the arch, and found a fresh scar – with a dark smudge that might be blood, at about the height he expected. The hand that drew the knife had been grabbed and slammed into the stone to release it. Owen recalled Lucie’s description of the woman’s right hand. So she had tried to defend herself?
‘Found something?’ Hempe asked. ‘Connecting the lad to what happened up here?’
‘About the lad,’ said Owen. ‘This is to be shared only with those who must know in order to assist in our search for the truth.’
Hempe stepped close, studying Owen’s face in the lantern light. ‘What is it?’
‘A young woman, not a lad.’
A tired chuckle. ‘They might pretend not to lie with women, but churchmen are not so innocent as to make such a mistake.’
‘They are when the woman does all she can to appear a man.’
Hempe grunted. ‘Such an effort speaks of trouble left behind.’
‘It does.’ Holding the lantern high over the ladder, Owen said, ‘Ready for the cold?’
‘I am already frozen, so it matters not a whit.’
As they began to climb, Hempe said, ‘I did not want to say in front of Master Adam, but Ronan was called Neville’s summoner. Some wondered whether he would still play that role now.’
‘Sniffing out sin? But that was never Neville’s duty, was it?’
‘Which is why I find it of interest. Murder of an informer – not surprising.’
Having reached the top, Owen searched for something on which to hang the lantern, found it, then called down, ‘Opening the hatch.’
Hempe looked away. Owen pushed with his left hand, turning his blind side to the rush of accumulated snow. There would have been far more last night. He hoisted himself up onto the walkway, staying in a crouch as he moved far enough for Hempe to join him. He was not at ease on precipitous ledges since losing half of his sight.
‘Bloody—’ Hempe caught his breath as he rose to full height. ‘It would not take much to topple over.’
‘No.’
‘Even worse at night.’
‘Can you see where Ronan lay from here?’ Owen asked.
Hempe shielded his eyes from the pale sunlight and looked round, shook his head. ‘Not from here. Maybe farther over.’ He turned right, walking as if it were nothing to balance on the slippery edge of oblivion.
Owen cursed his own cowardice.
‘No. Trees in the way.’ Hempe turned back. ‘You thought someone might have been watching, witnessed the attack?’
‘It was a thought.’
‘And just fell?’
‘Or someone took care of the witness.’
‘The woman?’
A possibility. But the woman’s condition suggested she might simply have taken the opportunity to save herself from her attacker. ‘Theo frightened someone out of the chapter house. Two men? Too early to say.’
‘I will circle round,’ said Hempe, moving on.
More snow, then melt. There was little he could tell from prints, but Owen crept over to the place where he guessed the body would have gone down and examined the stones for anything other than snow and ice. Blood would have been helpful. But he found nothing.
‘Snow, slush, nothing else up here,’ Hempe declared behind him.
Owen agreed, grateful to clamber down the ladder.
Back in the large space they explored the chambers opening off it. Mason’s tools, several lanterns and oil lamps, pieces of candles, rope, neatly coiled – Owen noticed nothing helpful until a small room near the doorway to the steps to the ground revealed a pool of spilt lamp oil.
‘Someone might have hidden here,’ said Owen. Or was this where she had been placed while bound? And then what? Who had cut her bonds? Why? Was it to force her to scale the ladder on her own? The fallen man looked strong, but the woman was tall, and had she struggled … Indeed, if her captor had any sense he would not have attempted carrying her up the ladder. Two men? He stopped himself. How easily he made up a tale, with little proof.
‘What is this?’ Hempe dropped to his haunches and took out his dagger to poke at something where one of the wooden beams met the floor. Owen lowered the lantern.
‘Beads.’ Hempe dragged out a short strand. ‘Bracelet?’ He handed it to Owen.
Coral. A fine strand, the knots torn at the ends. The circle it formed seemed small for an adult wrist, the coral too fine for a child’s. ‘Or a piece of a paternoster,’ said Owen. ‘A woman’s, I would think.’
‘Our woman’s? Or lost here long ago. Not a bad place to bring a mistress. If one had a key.’
As he dropped the beads into his scrip, Owen asked Hempe to arrange for one of his men to await the arrivals of the masons at their lodge in the minster yard. ‘Have him take them through these spaces, find out whether they notice anything amiss.’
‘I will do it. While you’re in the Bedern? No need for both of us to go.’
‘Right. Check the city gates for last night and this morning as well. Find out what you can
