and feet.
'Almost everyone admired Sheriff Joyner,' Vercleese replied firmly. 'Almost.' He gestured in the direction of The Trough. 'But of course, that feeling wasn't universal.'
'Something to keep in mind,' Gerard muttered, peering in the direction of The Trough as he thought about the men who had retreated there. 'I suppose it might help if we were to take a look at the place where the sheriff's body was found. Would you take me out there this afternoon?'
'Certainly,' Vercleese said. 'Although we should steal out there without making any announcements. No sense in letting everyone know what we're up to in the investigation.' Louder, he said to an approaching man, 'Ah, good morning, Councilman Tos. I don't believe you've had the opportunity yet to meet our new sheriff…'
By midafternoon the day had grown hot, turning the air muggy as the sun beat down on the puddles and mud left by the rain. Vercleese led Gerard to an untilled field south of town. Gerard slapped at whining mosquitoes as they trudged along. The mud he had accumulated on his boots in town was nothing compared to the heavy layers of it he was picking up here, making each stride difficult. Gerard walked with care lest he lose a boot entirely in the thick, squelching muck.
'Now let's see,' the knight was saying to himself. 'It's right around here somewhere.' He stopped and searched the area for his bearings. 'It's been a couple of tendays, and I was out here only the once, before heading out at Palin's request to come get you. We didn't find much.' He swung his head ponderously, peering from one corner of the field to another. 'Ah,
He halted before a bit of ground seemingly no different than any other spot in the vicinity. All traces of blood and any impression the sheriff's body might have made on the ground had long since vanished, obliterated by the recent rainfall.
'The Ostermans said they were driving by on the road over there, on their way to town for market,' Vercleese said, gesturing back to where they had left their horses. 'Tom noticed a flock of crows gathered around something piled on the ground here, and came over to investigate. When he did, he found the sheriff lying facedown here. He was already hours dead.'
'Hmm,' Gerard said, squatting down and stirring the mud with a finger. The soil gave off a damp smell of rank fertility. There was nothing to see, really, just a few stones, dirt, and some stray flecks of hay. 'Hold on.' He picked up a couple of the stalks of straw, then stood and looked about the field. 'This ground hasn't been planted in hay, at least not recently.'
'Hmm, that's right.' Vercleese shook his head, studying Gerard closely, apparently still trying to get the measure of his surprising new superior. 'Hasn't been tilled in some time, and even then the farmer that planted it was growing potatoes.'
Gerard rolled the stalks between his fingers. 'Odd place to find hay then, wouldn't you say?'
Vercleese scratched his head. 'Now that you mention it, Sheriff Joyner had bits of hay stuck to the bottoms of his boots when we examined his body. But on the other hand, anyone tramping around these parts is likely to pick up a little hay sooner or later.'
'Maybe,' Gerard said, looking around but seeing little hay scattered elsewhere. 'But if he was tramping around, as you say, then the hay would probably come off his boots, wouldn't it?'
'What are you getting at?'
'Maybe nothing,' Gerard said, upending his hand and letting the flecks of hay float back to the ground. 'Or maybe… the sheriff was killed somewhere else… then the body was brought here after the murder. Just maybe… someone moved him to avoid suspicion falling on them.'
'Hmm,' Vercleese said, still watching Gerard closely. 'Maybe.'
'Are there many farms nearby?' Gerard asked, turning to plod back through the mud toward the road and their waiting horses. At each step, the sodden ground sucked at his boots.
Vercleese fell into step alongside Gerard, shaking his head. 'Not since the war, anyway. There's mostly elves and Samuval's men in this area these days, lying as it does between their respective bases of operation. It's a troubled area, what with the skirmishes between Samuval's and Bitterleaf's patrols. Too far from town.
Most farmers steer clear.'
'Might one side or the other, the elves or Samuval, have killed Sheriff Joyner?'
'Not likely, not just for snooping around, if that's even what he was doing. Their quarrel is usually with each other, not the people of Solace. The sheriff was liked even by them, mostly. Heck, he even played a game of Regal now and then with Samuval himself. Used to go over to Samuval's fortress to do it. That was his way of keeping the channels of communication open.'
'And the elves didn't find that as being a little too friendly with their sworn enemy?'
'Naw. The sheriff used to go up into the mountains once in a while to talk to Kirrit Bitterleaf, too. Not to play Regal, of course; I doubt that haughty elf even knows there is such a game, let alone plays it with any skill. But Sheriff Joyner took a real accepting view of all the peoples of Krynn, as long as they obeyed the law while they were in Solace.'
'But we're pretty far from Solace out here,' Gerard said softly.
'True enough.' Vercleese turned without another word and continued toward the road.
'I suppose I should have a talk with these Ostermans,' Gerard said, falling into step beside his deputy. 'Where would I find them?'
'Oh, I doubt you'll learn anything new from them.'
Vercleese said amiably. 'But you can try. You'll find them most mornings at the market.' They made the return trek to town in thoughtful silence.
CHAPTER 6
Gerard and Vercleese stood outside the entryway to the new Temple of Mishakal, where construction had grown feverish. Stonemasons and carpenters seemed to be competing over which group could raise the greatest clamor. The taste of stone dust vied with the smell of wood shavings in the air. On the ground, blocks of marble were dressed with hammer and chisel before being raised with block and tackle to the upper reaches of the structure, where they were incorporated into the massive walls, with mortar hoisted from below. Timber was hewn into appropriate lengths with axe and adz, split into rough planks with wedges and hammers, then planed smooth for use in the interior. Overhead, tiles were being laid in neat rows along the roof, a relatively noiseless occupation except for the occasional tile that slid free of a workman's hands and flew in a long, graceful arc to shatter on the ground.
Gerard, safely out of range, shook his head at the frenzied activity. It was a wonder no one on the site had been killed, he thought. 'Mayor Palin told me you might find an old friend here,' Vercleese said, peering about the grounds. 'Lady!' he shouted to the hooded figure of a cleric some distance away. 'Oh, Lady! Over this way!'
The cleric, who had been consulting with a man who bore the air of one in charge, looked up at Vercleese's cry and threw back the hood that had obscured her features. To Gerard's astonishment, the individual thus revealed was Lady Odila Windlass. He turned to say something to Vercleese, who grinned back at him as he headed toward Odila. Gerard hurried to catch up.
Just then, the man with Odila blew a piercing whistle, and all noise at the site blessedly stopped for lunch. The man strode away with the plans he and Odila had been discussing.
When Gerard reached the female cleric, he suddenly felt awkward, uncertain whether to embrace her as an old comrade from their days in the knighthood together or to kiss her hand in the more formal greeting that befitted her station nowadays as a titled lady. Evidently, Odila shared his discomfort. Her hand rose partway then hesitated before dropping again to her side. She blushed, her freckles almost disappearing in the rising color of her cheeks.
'Oh, go on, you two,' Vercleese boomed, giving Gerard a none-too-gentle shove.
Gerard closed the gap and enfolded her in his arms, pounding her affectionately on the back.
'Hey, Cornbread,' Odila cried, 'leave one or two ribs intact, will you?' But she sounded as happy to see him
