Ghosts in the Snow Read online

  "And Vertea?" Dien asked.

  "She worked till close. Why?"

  "Inek says they were together last night."

  "Damn," Marlee muttered. She dropped her pipe in the ash bowl and stomped to the kitchen door. "Vertea! Get your ass out here!"

  A scrawny, tangle-haired girl staggered through the open door. "What? Can'tcha see I'm sleeping?"

  Marlee's fists gouged into her hips. "Inek? Last night? Have you lost all sense?"

  Vertea scratched her backside and yawned. "He offered me some good smoke in trade for a gobble. What's it hurt? Hells, I fell asleep in the middle of it, anyways."

  "It hurts because he's a customer! I don't run a damned brothel!"

  Dien sipped his ale and glanced at Dubric. He set the mug on the bar and said, "Guess Inek wasn't pulling our chain."

  "Apparently not, but if she fell asleep, how strong of an alibi is she? He could have been long gone by the time she awoke." Dubric listened to the tongue-lashing for a moment more, then fished a few crown from his purse. Marlee was still yelling when they left the Dancing Sheep.

  * * *

  Dubric sat alone in the great hall as the dwindling midday crowd finished eating. His plate of boiled vegetables and roast lamb sat untouched before him, but he had refilled his teacup twice as he reviewed his notes.

  The archers Almund and Werian had been sent to watch over Inek the night before. Both had just confirmed that he had returned from the Dancing Sheep after midnight, with a girl, and had not left again that night. Inek, for once, had told the truth. It did not confirm his innocence—he had admitted to knowing the dead girls and could have snuck away without the archers seeing, especially with the tavern wench asleep—but could he have entered and exited the castle grounds without being noticed? What if the killer lived here, in the castle? That would simplify movements and make it easier to hide.

  Dubric ignored the angry mumbling of the crowd around him as he flipped through his notebook, page after page of tiny script, and added names to a list. Names of castle men who had the skills and fortitude to murder five women. Names of men who were known to be armed. Sadly, all were men he thought he could trust.

  His own name headed the list. Next came the three squires, his and Lord Brushgar's: Dien, Fultin, and Borlt. He rubbed his tired eyes—the ghosts flickered but refused to leave, damned things—and he added the six archers: Derre, Egger, Quentin, Ghet, Almund, and Werian. Then, after a few moments of deliberation, he added Lars. No one else was permitted to walk about the castle while armed. At the end of this list he added a single name. Risley Romlin. He had been in the courtyard with a sword that very morning.

  Dubric looked at his list and frowned. Other men had swords, mementos from the war and heirlooms from dead relatives, especially the castle nobility. He added these names to a new list. Risley, Sir Talmil, Sir Knud, Sir Berde… When he finished, he had twenty-two nobles listed. While not all of them were pleasant fellows or popular members of the household, most were loath to get their hands dirty or let raindrops muss their hair. They were as useless as the puppies carried as living decorations by the ladies in King Tunkek's Court. Only one noble on the list had squired, under Lord Bhruic of Rotherwood during the three-moon bloodbath of the Pirate War, no less. Only one had the training to be a killer. Dubric circled his name and sighed. Once again, Risley Romlin.

  Referring to names compiled by Lars and Otlee, he listed every member of the staff, man or woman, who used a knife as part of their duties. This list included almost every member of the kitchen staff, the potters, the glaziers, stable workers, physicians, and others. He smiled and nodded to himself. Risley was not on this list, praise the King! But Risley's primary function was to spy for the King and run other sordid errands. A job requiring talent, patience, knowledge of a variety of weapons, and other unsavory skills. Frowning, he added Risley's name to the third list. He shuddered to think of how many villagers could be included.

  Deciding that the culprit likely lived within the castle, he contemplated all three lists, took a sip of his tea, and started drawing single lines through names.

  Two archers had been in the village watching Inek. A line went through their names. He, Dien, Lars, Bacstair, Flavin, and Meiks received lines, as well. These eight names he added to a fourth list, the clean list. Men he knew he could trust. He frowned. The clean list seemed so small when compared to the others.

  He looked at the rest of the names, nearly one hundred souls on three lists, and sighed. He began drawing lines through names again, fainter lines, for men and women who had missing or malformed fingers on their right hands, who had poor health, who were old, squeamish, physically weak, or were otherwise unlikely to be able to commit the crimes. He knew none were unable—anyone could kill if properly motivated—but the faint lines shortened the list of the most likely suspects. He also marked out the eight angry souls he had dragged to gaol. As he drew the faint lines the list clarified.

  The two bell rang and he lifted his attention from his notes and sighed. Whose leg was he pulling? Certainly not his own. One man had a scratched and bloody cheek this morning, reported officially by six different pages, not to mention the angry gossipers in the great hall this very afternoon. No one else in the whole damned castle was apparently scratched. One man had been seen in the courtyard with an unapproved weapon, a weapon Dubric knew was more than it seemed. One man had the training, the time, and the health, to commit these crimes.

  Dubric stood. One man. One man with a known taste for young women, commoners as well as ladies. One man who happened to be Lord Brushgar's grandson as well as the King's. The son of good friends. The future Lord of Haenpar. A young man he hated to accuse. Damn the Goddess to the seven hells. Why did I need have to have an alibi?

  Dubric grabbed his notebook, slapped it closed, took a last sip of tea, and walked through his ghosts to the main stairs, grumbling all the while.

  * * *

  Dubric stood before Risley's door for a long time while passersby regarded him with apprehensive glances. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, but the tug of the ghosts did not dissipate. J have no real evidence, he thought, nothing set in stone. Only speculation and worry and circumstance.

  He opened his eyes again. And five dead girls. Mutilated dead girls. I had best keep that in mind as I add the son of a good friend to my suspect list.

  Gritting his teeth, he knocked on the door with a shaking hand. Unlocked and unlatched, it opened a crack. May the King give me strength, he thought, hearing Risley moving inside the suite.

  The door flew fully open and Risley stood before him, smoothing his hair and tucking in his unfastened shirt. His feet were bare and embarrassment shone on his face, like a boy who had been caught with his hand in the honeypots.

  When Dubric's eyes passed over him, pausing at his feet, Risley curled his toes and took a quick step back. He shrugged and smiled, holding the door open. "Hello," he said with forced cordiality. "How's the investigation going?"

  "It is not going particularly well," Dubric replied as he stepped inside Risley's suite. The entry room was cluttered with books, the casual regard for their value giving silent testament to Risley's personal wealth. Two chairs and a small table stood near a window and three books had been piled on the floor beside one chair. There were other chairs, but all had books on the seats. A ledger with a broken seal of Haenparan-blue lay upon the floor with loose papers spilling out. Does the boy allow cleaning staff in here? he thought, noting the mess.

  Risley frowned and closed the door. "That's why you're here, though," he said.

  "Yes."

  Risley paled as he picked the three books off the floor and tucked the papers back into the ledger. "Is Nella all right?" he asked, his voice shaking. He clutched the books in his hands, denting a cover.

  Still five ghosts. "She is fine."

  "Thank the Goddess," Risley replied. "You're sure?" He set the books with some others on a shelf, knocking aside a lovely mechanical antique
of pitted and tarnished brass.

  "Yes. Mind if I sit down?"

  Risley's eyes narrowed briefly. He grabbed a discarded pair of shoes from beside the door and yanked them on. "Please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? A drink?"

  Dubric sat on a well-stuffed chair near the window and he looked out to the western courtyard, to the milk barns and the coops. Does he watch the girls come and go? "Water would be fine, thank you."

  Risley disappeared into the suite, then returned with a pitcher of water and two goblets. His hands shook as he poured the water clumsily.

  Dubric politely took a drink before pulling his book out of his pocket. "I need to ask you a few questions." He knew the King's family did not have to submit to preliminary questioning, but surely Risley realized that refusing to cooperate would cause greater suspicion. His response should prove interesting.

  Risley looked at Dubric and nodded slowly, as if attempting to gauge the threat the older man posed. "Certainly. Anything. Ask away." Risley sat across the table from Dubric and held his goblet of water in both hands.

  Dubric opened his book and licked the tip of his pencil. "Where were you three nights ago?"

  "Night of the first murders? I was here, sleeping. I heard about them at breakfast."

  Dubric made a note. "Was anyone here with you?"

  "No," Risley answered, his fingertips paling on the goblet.

  "And the night before last? What about then?"

  "Same thing." Risley took a gulp of his water and slopped a drip onto his shirt.

  Dubric leaned forward. "No one was with you? Come now, Risley, I know you. There had to be someone."

  Risley shook his head and stared at the water. The white fingertips turned pink again. "No. I stopped doing that. No one was here but me."

  "Are you sure?"

  Risley looked up, a quick burst of startled anger in his eyes. "Of course I'm sure."

  "What about last night?"

  "I was here. Alone. Again."

  "What were you doing, all of these nights alone?"

  Risley shrugged and his fingertips paled again. "Working on my receipts and cargo papers, mostly. I'd brought some with me, and Pritchard just sent another batch. They're here, if you want to look at them."

  He is lying. "Maybe later. Were you doing anything else?"

  Risley swallowed his water and smiled. "As a matter of fact, yes. I was trying to figure out if I could bribe some people to give Nella odd jobs so she could pay me off sooner. But I decided she'd find out about it and be mad at me."

  Dubric looked up from his notebook and stared at the young man, holding his nervous gaze. "Do you need money?"

  Risley laughed and seemed to relax a notch. "Absolutely not. I just want her debt done."

  Dubric added to his notes. Risley is not worried about money. "Did you do anything else these past three nights?"

  "I didn't kill them."

  "Did you do anything else?" Dubric's tone remained hard and insistent.

  Risley sighed and leaned forward to put his goblet on the table. "You want the truth? Fine. All I've done these past three nights is think about her. For Goddess's sake, Dubric, it's all I've done since I brought her here. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't get my books balanced." He pointed to his cheek. "I can't even shave anymore, and that's probably why you're here. I know Lars noticed the cut this morning. I have no alibi; I have no witnesses. I spend every moment I can in this castle so I can be close to her, even if I can't see her. I've canceled all my other romantic endeavors, told Grandda Rom no, I can't go hither and yon at his whim anymore, even if he is the King, and have barely spoken to anyone in my family since I brought her here."

  He shrugged and stared -into Dubric's eyes with steady forthrightness. "If falling in love with a commoner from Pyrinn is a crime, then I am truly guilty. But I haven't murdered anyone. I've done nothing wrong. I'm obeying my Grandda's orders as best I can. Not pursuing her is one of the hardest things I've ever done, but so far I've been able to keep myself from groveling at her feet by barely leaving these rooms."

  "You expect me to believe you have forsaken all other women for this one, and that is why you spend all your time in here? That you are so enamored you can barely function? That not only are you sleeping alone, you are choosing to do so? All for her?"

  "Yes. Crazy, isn't it?"

  Dubric smiled, hoping Risley spoke the truth, and he made a note. "Not crazy, Risley. Not crazy at all. It is welcome news to me."

  Risley relaxed back into his chair. "Tell you what, in a phase or two, when her debts are all paid, I'm sure I'll have plenty of alibi. All right? Malanna willing, everyone will know where I am and what I'm doing."

  Dubric nodded and he paused before shifting his tack. "Fair enough. Your love life is your own business. But unauthorized people loitering at murder scenes is mine."

  "You mean this morning?"

  Dubric said nothing.

  "I already told you I can't sleep. I was awake before dawn, staring out the window, my mind on, well…" Risley shrugged and picked up his glass of water again. "I saw Lars stagger out from behind the coops. He looked like he was in trouble, so I hurried out to help him. I didn't see the body until I got there."

  "He mentioned you arrived rather abruptly this morning. Would you care to explain that?"

  Risley muttered into his water, "My suite is right beside the tower stairs. Generally speaking, it doesn't take much time to get from here to the courtyard."

  "Now is not the time for belligerency."

  Sighing harshly, Risley rolled his eyes. "How else would I get there? Fly?"

  "I seem to recall a young man with a penchant for crawling into young ladies' windows late at night after their parents had gone to bed."

  Risley laughed, shaking his head. "That was summers ago! Goddess, I was maybe sixteen the last time I did that!"

  "And, if I remember correctly, the same young man purportedly snuck into Lord Bhruic's castle and killed a group of pirates who had held the castle hostage. Rumor is, a shadowy assassin climbed through a tower window in the dead of night to slit the pirates' throats."

  "Something like that, yes."

  Dubric rubbed his aching eyes. "Have you been climbing through windows again?"

  "This castle is made of granite and it's the dead of winter, Dubric. That's a silly question."

  "I notice you are not answering it."

  "Of course I might be stupid enough to try and climb rough-polished granite that's potentially coated in ice. If I had a death wish, or if my Grandda Rom had run out of other options and ordered me to." He sipped his water and winked. "But I don't, and he hasn't, so I'd have to say your answer is 'no.' "

  "This is not a joke, Risley. Someone is slipping past my guards."

  "It's not me. Check my windows if you'd like. They're all sealed for the winter."

  "Swords are supposed to be sealed away, as well, or have you forgotten?"

  "I haven't forgotten. I'm perfectly aware of the rules. I just choose to ignore some of them."

  "You are not allowed to run around armed."

  Risley sipped the water and stared at Dubric, his eyes growing hard and cold as a muscle in his cheek twitched. "Try to pegging stop me. Unlike the sheep you herd through this castle, I won't count on your false security or hide from the unknown. You've got a lunatic on the loose and anything and everything I can do to protect these girls I'll do. Anyone even thinks about looking at Nella and I'll hack them into little bits, I'll guarantee you that."

  Dubric ground his teeth. "We have the situation under control."

  "Horse piss. You've got five dead girls, that's what you've got, and you nearly had a dead page, to boot. How would you have explained to Bostra that you let his son get killed by a lunatic?" Dubric remained silent and Risley said, "I've worn my sword several times during the past couple of days, in case I happen to bump into the son-of-a-whore who's doing this, and I'm going to continue to wear my sword."

/>   "You are not a member of the security staff, nor a member of the Faldorrahn Army, and cannot—"

  Risley knocked the pitcher aside and it smashed against the wall in a burst of glass and water. "Oh, peg that frigging 'not a member' line! I'm trying to help, for Goddess's sake. I'm trying to catch the bastard."

  But can you control your temper? "That is not your job. It is mine. Your job is to—"

  Risley leaned forward and slapped the table as he interrupted. "My job, for at least the next phase, is to ensure that I don't grovel at Nella's feet and make a total fool of myself in her presence. My duty is to kill anyone who tries to harm innocent people, especially servant girls, and particularly Nella. Do not tread on my job or my duty, Dubric."

  Dubric blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

  "Take it however you want." Risley stared at Dubric as sweat beaded upon his reddening face. He drained his glass of water in a gulp, then rubbed his forehead as his skin returned to its normal hue. "Goddess, I'm thirsty."

  He reached for where the pitcher had stood but a moment ago, then, paling, he stared at the broken glass and wet spot. Risley looked at Dubric then back to the wall, setting aside his water glass as if it were diseased. He mumbled something Dubric could not hear and rubbed his forehead again.

  "How did you cut your cheek?" Dubric asked, pausing in his notations. "One of the victims scratched her attacker."

  Risley braved a nervous glance. "Shaving, this morning. I started drifting and thinking about Nella. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing and I cut myself. That's all." He tilted his cheek toward Dubric. "Take a look. It's not a deep cut, but it bled like a bastard."

  Dubric examined the cut and had his hopes dashed almost instantly. The single cut was shallow, about half the length of a finger, just above and following the jawline. It was clean, straight, and unscabbed. Definitely a cut, not a scratch, and certainly not made by fingernails. The razor was very sharp and Risley had given himself a common shaving cut, nothing more.

  Dubric's eyes widened as sudden implications danced in his head. The blade! Blunt back, the perfect size. He swallowed before he said, "May I see your razor?"