The Merchant's Partner by Michael Jecks Page B

inspired respect. Even without a weapon in his hand his poise was somehow threatening, with his stolid and compact body moving slowly as if to prevent two of the great muscles colliding under his skin. Usually the eyes in his square face held a kindly light, but not now: Simon had seen that expression before, on the day that they had caught the trail bastons. Mouth pursed, he looked over the faces with disgust and, under his gaze, there was suddenly a shuffling of feet and nervous coughing. A few turned and began strolling away. Others waited a little as if unconcerned, but soon followed.
    The inn had a small screens area, a wooden corridor beyond the door to keep drafts from the hall itself, and beyond a curtain on their right they found a large square room, blocked at the other end by another wooden screen and hanging tapestry. Heavy logs were already crackling and spitting merrily on the hearth in the center of the room. Three large benches crowded round close, so that frozen customers could get to the heat. Though the roof was high above, the room was warm and the atmosphere heavy with the cloying odors of stale beer and wine.
    Simon and Baldwin tramped in together, glad to be back in the warm after their journey, and went straight to the fire. Holding their hands to the flames, they followed the innkeeper’s finger, pointing at a silent figure sitting with his back to the wall on their left. His face was in the dark, but Simon could see two wide eyes staring back at him. When the flames suddenly spluttered and flared, lighting his face, the bailiff started. The farmer’s eyes were wide with terror. A black andwhite sheep dog was seated between his legs, head resting in his lap as if trying to comfort him.
    â€œYou’re Cottey?” asked Baldwin gently, and the ashen-faced farmer nodded. He looked ancient, a tired, drooping and slumped little man.
    Tanner moved away, keeping to the shadows so as not to distract them, and pulling the innkeeper with him. At first it seemed to the constable that the knight and bailiff were unsure whether to question Cottey or not, he was so upset. As if to allay any fears he might have, Baldwin slowly seated himself, the bailiff following suit.
    â€œWe need to ask you some questions, Cottey. Is that all right?” asked Baldwin, keeping his voice low and soft. “You found a body?”
    Nodding, the old man stared at them, then his eyes dropped to the dog at his feet as if in fearful wonder.
    â€œDo you know who it was?”
    â€œYes.” It was almost a sigh.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œAgatha Kyteler.”
    Simon saw his friend start at the name and wondered why as Baldwin continued:
    â€œDid you know her?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid you know her well?”
    The farmer gave him a curious look, as if doubting his reasons for asking, before giving a curt shake of the head.
    â€œWhere’s her body? Did you bring it back with you?”
    â€œNo,” Cottey said, shaking his head. “I left her there. I…I thought I wouldn’t be able to lift her. I asked young Greencliff to watch over her. He lives closest.”
    Simon sighed. “We were told you thought it was a murder. Why? What made you think that?”
    The farmer looked up again and leaned forward, his haggard face moving into the firelight, so that his eyes glittered with a red and yellow madness of anger in the oval face. “Her neck,” he said. “Who can cut their own throat?”
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    Wincing, the Bourc felt that the crick in his neck would never go away as he rose, grunting. The fire was all but gone out, and it took time to tempt it back into life, but when it was blazing, he crouched and bleakly eyed it.
    Leaving the hovel, he stood outside for a moment and looked up at the sky, sniffing the air like a seaman. Plainly the cold weather was here to stay for a while, but although the clouds above were thick and heavy, he felt that they should hold off for a day