‘No,’ said Judith. ‘I checked. The prayer beads might be more a woman’s style, but many men like a jeweled trinket.’
‘Did your intruder ask after either of them?’
Tucker snorted. ‘He was not so polite as that.’
‘You could understand him sufficiently to be certain?’
‘A curse is clear in any tongue, Captain. He said no more.’
‘Might he have been a Fleming?’ Michaelo asked.
‘Nay, I know the weavers. They don’t speak as he did.’
Michaelo was thinking of Ambrose’s former lover, Martin Wirthir, spy, assassin, pirate. ‘Did you injure him?’ Owen asked.
‘Never had the chance.’
‘Did he seem hampered in his movement in any way? A previous injury?’ Owen asked. ‘Did he use both arms?’ Martin was missing a hand.
‘He came on me so fast I couldn’t say, Captain.’
Owen thanked Tucker and wished him swift healing. ‘I will take their packs,’ he said as he rose. Magda went to fetch them while Owen helped Tucker move back to the table.
‘Good riddance to the both of them,’ Judith muttered as she wiped her sweaty forehead with her apron and returned to the table, assisting Owen in easing her husband down and rolling him back onto his stomach.
Magda resumed her instructions as Owen lifted the door to swing it open.
The twins stood just outside, stamping their feet and hugging themselves to keep warm.
‘How might we serve you, Captain?’ asked Rose.
He gave them the packs to leave at his home. ‘I will be on Stonegate, in and out of the shops. Catch me there, stay without, observe who is too curious.’
‘Our pleasure!’ said Rob as he snatched the packs and headed off.
‘Can he still fiddle?’ Rose asked, nodding back toward Tucker’s house.
‘Dame Magda will see that he is able.’
‘Good,’ said the girl. ‘Dame Judith counts on that money to keep them in food.’
‘He makes so little at the stable?’
‘He’s working off a debt there.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I listen.’
So Tucker needed money. ‘Glad to have you and Rob on my side.’
Rose grinned and ran off after her twin, stopping once as her right foot stepped out of its boot, jamming it back on, hurrying on. Owen would see that the city paid them well so they might have boots to fit.
Owen stepped out of the goldsmith’s shop on the corner of Stonegate and Petergate. It was late afternoon, growing colder as the light faded, but it would be a still night, no icy wind. Melting snow puddled on the street and dripped from the eaves. Time to let the tradespeople go home for the evening. He pulled his cloak round him and glanced back toward his own home. No, not yet.
‘I want a closer look at the dead men’s clothing,’ he told Michaelo. ‘You are free to go about your evening work in the minster yard.’
‘I will complete the day with you, Captain.’
‘As you wish.’
They made their way to the shed behind the deanery. In the fading light Owen could just pick out a well-worn path circling the small building, the snow long gone. It was impossible to know how many had been lurking.
‘Who goes there?’ Alfred called from within in his most threatening voice.
‘Archer, with Brother Michaelo.’
The door opened, and Alfred bowed them in. ‘Bloody cold in here.’ Of course a brazier was out of the question. The corpses were best kept cold.
‘All the tracks outside – have you met any of the visitors?’
‘A few vicars and their clerks who thought Ronan was here. Others are gone before I can identify them. The clerk Edwin thought he might have seen this one before.’ He nodded to the one who’d drowned. ‘He didn’t want to say, but I caught his look.’
‘That is helpful. Did he say more?’
‘No. Could not think where or when, or name companions.’
Edwin having worked for Alexander Neville, it might be significant.
‘And you? What have you learned, Captain?’
Owen told him of Tucker’s intruder, and his visits to the gold- and silversmiths, as well as the pewterers along Stonegate. Only one had made himself unavailable, Will Farfield. He heard from the others that Will had sent his family away to avoid the pestilence in the city. Foolish man, sending them south to his wife’s parents where the sickness took one of his daughters. None had any dealing with Ronan, a few had with Neville, but they all expressed disgust at the thought of paying him to move anything along in the papal court. Difficult to judge how many were lying, but most seemed eager to prove to Owen they had nothing to hide, keen to see the items and identify the owners. None had noticed a Frenchman being a particular nuisance, though there were many strangers about, organizing lodgings for the enthronement celebration. From all the great Northern houses, and a few farther afield.
The chill already penetrated Owen’s cloak. Alfred blew on his gloved hands and wiggled one foot at a time, as if testing for feeling. His usually pale face was red and chapped with the cold.
‘Go home,’ said Owen. ‘Rest. Another guard should be here soon. For the nonce, I have much to think about and the quiet will serve me.’
‘No, Captain, I am fine. It was just last night you watched over your son Hugh. You need the rest.’
But when Owen insisted, Alfred shrugged and moved toward the door. Where he stopped, listening.
Owen heard it as well. A shout and a curse, the latter a young woman’s voice.
Throwing open the door, Alfred stood back in amazement as young Rob and Rose escorted a man into the shed.
‘He’s been too curious for my taste,’ said Rose.
‘We thought it best to introduce you, Captain,’ said Rob.
Bald and barrel-chested, the man was dressed much like the unknown corpses lying on the slab, especially the drowned one. ‘Cursed street rats. Who
