‘You are after something in particular?’
Nothing so clear. Vague feelings.
‘After the bailiff’s men have taken the masons through, keep the chapter house locked and guarded,’ said Owen.
‘The masons will complain.’
‘Let them. Pray God we will not need to guard it long. I will have one of the precentor’s men show me Ronan’s lodgings now.’
Taking his leave of Hempe, Owen moved back out into the steadily warming morning. Thinking Brother Michaelo might be of use in examining the vicar’s rooms, he stopped at the archdeacon’s.
FIVE
The Riddle of the Cloak
By now the Bedern was awake, the vicars choral and the canons already at morning prayer in the minster, lay folk moving about their chores, gossiping of the bodies in the minster yard. A tidy walkway had already been cleared throughout the area, allowing Owen, Michaelo, and the clerk leading the way to move quickly through the curious crowd to Ronan’s lodgings near the center, close to the cloister and refectory. The clerk left them to a fellow clerk guarding the lodgings – Beck, who took offence at being introduced as Ronan’s manservant.
‘His clerk,’ he corrected his fellow, who shrugged and departed.
With some reluctance, Beck stepped aside to allow Owen and Michaelo to enter, then followed them in.
‘Spacious,’ said Michaelo as he shone his lantern into the room.
‘Master Ronan was held in high regard,’ said Beck, setting his own lantern on a bench near the window to open the shutters. Facing north, they let in little light on a winter dawn. But the placement of his lantern revealed wet footprints on the floorboards. Snowy boots, Owen thought.
‘I believe this is the cloak he had been wearing in the nave.’ Michaelo held up a garment that had been draped on a stool beyond the bed. ‘But how did it come to be here?’ A chest stood open, clothes shoved to one side. ‘Someone was in a hurry.’
‘Not Ronan,’ Owen noted. ‘Those marks are recent.’ He looked at Beck. ‘Perhaps yours? Were you in here before we came?’
The clerk squirmed, shook his head.
‘Do you know whether the tide has come in?’ Owen asked.
‘It has,’ said Beck. ‘I heard the bells on the river.’ They were set to be jostled by the rising tide, ringing out a warning.
‘Is that relevant?’ Michaelo asked.
Owen did not care to answer in the clerk’s presence. ‘We have seen enough here. Bring the cloak.’ As he strode out he heard Michaelo advising Beck to watch the room.
‘But I have others to serve,’ the man whined.
‘Then be sure to lock the door. Are you able to do that?’
‘Yes. I will.’
When the monk caught up to Owen down on the street, he gave a loud sigh, but said nothing.
‘Are you certain that is the cloak he traded with Coates?’ Owen asked.
‘If not, it is very like.’
Owen walked with him in silence for a time, then asked if he could now direct him to Mary Garrett’s bedside. ‘Though with the tide out, I may well have missed Dame Magda.’
‘My impression is she comes and goes without a thought to whether or not the tide is out,’ said Michaelo. ‘She has the coracle. And the raggedy children who guard it.’
He knew more of Magda’s situation than Owen would have guessed. For Thoresby? ‘If you will tell me how to find her.’
Michaelo described where Mary Garrett’s shack abutted the north end of the minster. ‘I had a thought as I began to write out my account. Edwin, who clerked for Neville – he might provide insight into Ronan. Though why I bother to suggest such a thing …’
‘I have offended you.’
‘Your question about the tide. Why so secretive? Have I not yet proved my usefulness?’ Michaelo cursed as a clump of snow slid from a roof onto his shoulder, slithering down his cloak to land at his feet. He shook off the icy residue.
‘You have proved yourself an excellent hound on the scent, with a memory for detail of value to me. But the clerk stood right there.’
‘Ah.’
‘Did you ever hear Ronan referred to as Neville’s summoner?’
An eyebrow raised, a slight smile. ‘That is it. A thought that kept slipping just out of reach. Yes. They also called him Neville’s spy.’
‘It is the summoner idea that interests me.’ Owen thanked him. ‘Bring the cloak and your notes to me at the end of the day.’ It was clear Michaelo meant to complete them before he went to rest. ‘And should you have the opportunity, a word with Edwin would be appreciated.’
‘You trust me to do it myself?’
‘I do.’
‘I will do so.’ With a satisfied sniff, Michaelo turned toward Archdeacon Jehannes’s house in the minster close.
Owen trudged on. He had missed the prickly Michaelo.
A tattered blanket covered the elderly woman, including her face. ‘When did Dame Magda depart?’ Owen asked the man who had shown him into the draughty space.
‘The Riverwoman’s not long gone, Captain. With your long legs you might catch her at Bootham Bar. Have you heard there’s a third body? Fished him up this morning.’
A third. God help them. ‘Where?’
‘Near Lendal Tower. Caught on a hook on the wall, bobbing in the tide.’
Ambrose? ‘Anyone you know?’ Folk who squatted round the minster were often the most knowledgeable inhabitants of the city when it came to misadventure, looking after their own, those the authorities preferred to ignore.
‘A stranger. I’ve heard naught but he was a barrel of a man. And tall.’
No one would say that of Ambrose Coates. Relief washed over Owen, silencing him for a moment. He must still count Ambrose a friend.
But who was this third body? A coincidence? ‘Who found him?’
‘It was bailiff’s men carried him to the deanery. To set beside one fell from the roof. A pair of them now, strong men, with soldiers’ scars, though one tall, the other short, both broad in the chest.’
Owen gave the man a penny for his help and retraced his steps to the shed behind the deanery. One of
