Ghosts in the Snow Page 15

  Risley hesitated before rising from the chair. "All right." He paused, then disappeared into the bath chamber down the hall. A few moments later he came back with a razor and a bloody towel. He handed both to Dubric. "I fished the towel out of the laundry bin. The blood's all mine."

  Dubric glanced at the towel and handed it back. There were a few blotches of blood, but not many. It had merely been a shaving cut after all, barely worth notice. The razor, however, interested him a great deal.

  Dubric turned the folding razor over in his hands, marveling at his luck. He traced his finger along the back of the steel blade, over the sleek ivory casing that protected the blade and whoever handled it, and the shining brass hinge. Grinning, he slipped it into his pocket and pulled it back out.

  "How do you open it?" he asked.

  Risley pointed to a raised panel on the side. "Press here. It will lift right out."

  "Like this?" Dubric asked, and the razor slid open with a soft metallic click.

  "There's a little spring in there, and a latch," Risley said. "Pressing the side releases the latch."

  "And activates the spring. Ingenious." Dubric examined the razor and hefted it in his hand as he gauged its weight. He measured the engraved blade alongside his finger. Tracing along the seal of Haenpar and Risley's name carved into the ivory handle, he noted that the entire piece was immaculately clean. It was a solid, well-maintained razor. "How do you close it?"

  Risley pulled his attention away from the broken pitcher. "Just press it closed. All there is to it."

  Dubric did, pushing against the slight resistance. The latch chirped a sharp faint click and Dubric grinned, feeling like a child with a new toy. He had always found working mechanisms fascinating, but had encountered so very few. "Where did you get it?" He opened and closed the razor a couple of times.

  "There's a smith in Aberville who makes them. My da gave it to me when I turned seventeen summers."

  Dubric paused to make a note in his book. "Aberville is three days' travel to the south, right?" When Risley nodded, he asked, "Is this the only one you have?"

  "I have another, not as fancy, that's in my travel pack."

  "May I see it?"

  "I'll see if I can find it."

  He rummaged somewhere Dubric could not see and returned with another razor, wadded up in a small towel with other shaving supplies. It was somewhat humble, with a handle of polished cherry instead of carved ivory and the blade clear of engraving.

  Dubric hefted it in his hand. The cherry razor was as clean as the ivory one but lighter, and the casing was splintered, worn, and battered from use. "Do you mind if I ask what this cost?"

  Risley shrugged and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "About thirty-two crown, I think. It was middle of the road in price, more or less. Some were rather expensive, but most were under fifty."

  Dubric nodded, opening and closing the second razor as well. "Do you know of anyone else around here with a razor like this?"

  Risley gaped. "You think they used a shaving razor? Goddess, no wonder the murders are so messy."

  Dubric shrugged, resisting the urge to look at the ghosts. " 'Messy' is as good a word for it as any."

  After a moment, Risley shook his head. "No one specific, but any of the squires or officials could have one, I suppose. I'd doubt the commoners would travel all the way to Aberville for a folding razor when there's a steel smith in town."

  Dubric added the information to his notebook. "Have you seen these for sale anywhere but Aberville?"

  "No. Never seen one at all till Da gave one to Aswin. I've never seen any others here, but I'm sure they're around. The smith does a good business."

  Dubric thanked Risley and returned the razors. He added another note, closed his book, and stood. He said, "I have set an order that no woman is to be alone under any circumstances and that they are to be in groups of at least two at all times. Guards will be posted at all entrances and men moving about alone will be stopped and questioned."

  "Will it help?"

  "I hope so, but I doubt it. The staff are shaken, but he is still out there, watching. Surely, he will catch another."

  "It's not me. I swear."

  With that temper? We shall see. You're up to something late at night, and I intend to find out what. Dubric strode toward the door, his thoughts churning. Perhaps I should assign the boy to guard duty. It would quickly eliminate or confirm him as a suspect.

  Risley held the door open and Dubric nodded his thanks as he walked through. "Oh, one more thing," he said, turning. "Would you be able to serve a guard—"

  The door slammed and latched, ending the conversation.

  Dubric took a startled step backward, feeling the cold of a ghost slip against his spine. He stared at the door for a long moment before adding a comment to his notebook. Sighing, he turned and walked away while the ghosts dragged along in his wake.

  CHAPTER 8

  "I can't go to Haenpar," Nella said, throwing used towels into the laundry cart.

  Risley's face was flushed from running. "I want you somewhere safe. The farther from here the better."

  She drew him toward an alcove while her terrified friends watched. "I understand your concern and I have the same worries. But I can't leave. I have a job, and I have to finish my debt."

  "I don't care about the debt," he snarled as he grasped her arms. His touch was urgent, firm, and painless as he held her before him. "To the seven hells with the debt. I want you safe."

  She shook her head, feeling the debt lying heavily in her heart. "No. I'll be careful. I'll—"

  "Girls are dying, Nella."

  "Don't you think I know that?" she whispered. "The staff is so scared barely anything is getting done. We're all jumping at shadows."

  "All the more reason for you to get out of here." He released her arms. "Please. I can protect you in Haenpar."

  "But what about them?" she asked, gesturing back to the girls from her sleeping room. They huddled together in the hall like sheep. "You can't possibly take every female servant to Haenpar."

  He nodded as if accepting her proposal without a second thought. "I will if I have to. If that's what it takes to—"

  "No. You can't. You step within ten lengths of any of them and they'll start screaming."

  He looked at the girls and most of them flinched and took a step back. "They've never been afraid of me before."

  "They're afraid of everyone. You. Dubric. Lord Brushgar. Everyone. Every man in this castle is suspect."

  "But I'd never hurt them."

  "I know that. But someone is doing this. It has to be someone familiar. Someone who doesn't scare us, at least not until they get close. Rianne knew to be afraid, and she's dead. Celese did, too. Trust is in pretty short supply right now."

  Risley took a hesitant breath and asked, "Do you trust me?"

  "Yes." She grasped and squeezed his hand. "I trust you. I tell them they can, too, that if you were a butcher you had more than enough time to kill me before we got here."

  "You're not serious!"

  "Of course I'm serious. There has to be someone we can turn to, someone we can trust, and most of the girls need reasons for that trust."

  "But anyone could be judged trustworthy in the right light."

  "I know," she whispered. "But there has to be someone to trust. I think it should be you."

  "Thank you." He glanced at the girls again. "What do they think?"

  "Everyone has a different opinion. Some trust no one; others think it's a stranger. Stef insists it's Dubric."

  He frowned and shook his head. "It's not Dubric."

  She asked him a question she'd been asking herself. "Are you willing to stake my life on that?"

  He stared at her for a moment, then he nodded. "Yes, I think so."

  She nodded back. "I think I would, too. But I'd still be nervous if left alone with him. I'd want others to know where I was. Just in case. Same with Lord Brushgar. If anyone else came near me while I was
alone, I'd start screaming, or run."

  "But you wouldn't be nervous with me? Or scared? If we were alone?"

  "No. I'd feel safe with you."

  "Thank you," he said, his eyes growing deep and dark, and she thought for sure he was going to kiss her.

  "You're welcome," she whispered and smiled, her heart thudding. "I'd love to go to Haenpar with you. Really. But I can't leave them. Someone has to keep their head around here or more girls are going to die." Her voice turned hard. "I'm not going to let that happen to my friends, if I can help it."

  Risley muttered a curse and slammed the side of his fist against the wall. "Can I at least have you guarded, have you moved to my suite, something?"

  She considered her reply, weighing the assurance of her personal safety against the responsibility she felt for her friends' lives. "I'm not sure how you could manage it," she said at last. "I think there are too many of us to watch over."

  "Maybe so, but my main concern is you. Whatever it takes to keep you safe, I'll gladly do."

  Her eyes searched his and she felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. "Thank you."

  He squeezed her hand. "Even if I can't protect everyone, I'll protect you. Somehow. I promise."

  She smiled and then he was gone, stopping once to look back at her.

  She hurried back to the group and continued through the day, wishing in the secret depths of her heart she'd agreed to go to Haenpar.

  * * *

  "Piss in a cart, Dubric! Arrest him, already. We've all seen the mark on his face."

  "Yer playin' fav'rits!"

  "Five girls dead! Do yer job and hang 'im."

  "Gut 'im like the swine 'e is!"

  Dubric ignored the angry demands of the crowd assembled outside his office. He pushed through them and slammed the outer door in their faces, cutting the noise to little more than a nuisance. He fished the key from his pocket and locked it. His ghosts passed unseen through the crowd and through the thick wooden door. Turning his back to them, he barked, "Dien! Lars!"

  Otlee sat on a bench in the outer office. He had piles of notes on both sides of him, a notebook much like Dubric's on his lap, and an expensive new pencil in his hand. Startled, he turned toward Dubric and a few sheets of paper slipped to the floor. "Sir?"

  Lars hurried through the office door, his hand over his mouth to hide a yawn. Dien followed, lumbering, his hands full of papers. "We're here, sir," Dien said.

  Dubric nodded. "Everyone in my office. Otlee, bring a chair."

  "Yes, sir," Otlee said and leapt to his feet.

  Dubric waited until all three were in his office, then he locked the door. He looked to Otlee first. "You have taken most of the testimonies, and although they are private, witnesses have been known to talk."

  Dien suppressed a snicker and Lars rolled his eyes.

  Witnesses were certain to talk, and both knew it. Otlee did not seem to notice their sarcasm.

  "I've never said a word about the testimonies, sir," Otlee said. His brown eyes were earnest and sure. "Not to anyone but the three of—"

  Dubric waved his hand to cut short the boy's comments. "I know you have not. But today we are doing something different, and this must remain private. No matter what."

  "Sir?"

  "We are about to discuss possible suspects and murder weapons, and everything pertaining to them is to be held in the strictest confidence."

  "I thought only staff—" Lars started.

  "I think our Otlee is deserving of a promotion," Dubric said.

  Otlee paled and looked to the others.

  Dien's chair creaked under his weight as he leaned forward. "Isn't he kinda young, sir?"

  Dubric nodded, his eyes resting on Otlee. "Yes, but he is four or five moons older than Lars was."

  Dien shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir, but Lars came from a ruling house. His father's a castellan. The responsibility might be too much for Otlee."

  "I considered that, but he has done quite well so far," Dubric said. "Remarkably well for a lad."

  Dien said, "He is a quick learner. I guess we could watch over him for a while."

  Lars shrugged. "I think he'll do fine."

  Dubric leaned a hip against his desk. "Otlee," he said, "what we are about to discuss cannot leave this room. Do you understand?"

  Otlee looked at Dien and Lars, then back to Dubric. "Yes, sir."

  "Can you promise to uphold the laws and safety of Faldorrah above all else? Above your family? Above your own life?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Can you promise to give your honest opinion, even if I or anyone else in authority does not agree or see things the way you see them?"

  Otlee tilted his head. "Sir? You want me to promise to disagree with you?"

  Dien said, "No. He wants you to promise to speak up if you do."

  Lars leaned over and said, "It's to ensure no one man makes all the rules and forces others to follow blindly. We need to know all the risks and all sides of the story as best we can."

  Otlee looked at Dubric, then Dien and Lars. "You really want me to have a say in this?"

  Dubric said, "In my opinion, you have a unique perspective on this entire situation. Can you promise to speak frankly, no matter what I think?"

  Otlee swallowed and sat a little taller. "Yes, sir. I promise to speak my mind."

  "One last thing. Can you promise to take a life if need be, or give your own, to protect Faldorrah and its people?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Until death takes you from your duty?"

  "Until death, sir."

  Dubric bowed slightly as he accepted the boy's pledge. "Welcome to my staff, Otlee. After we are finished here today, Lars will take you to the armory and fit you with a sword."

  Otlee let his breath out in a rush and relaxed. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Dien and Lars both patted him on the back.

  Dubric walked behind his desk. "Do not thank me yet. We have five dead girls, no hard suspects, and it will be nighttime in less than four bells." He sat and looked at the others. "I think I have discovered the murder weapon today, and we need to start eliminating suspects. We also need to choose another batch of men to help patrol the grounds. I had considered asking Risley, and I would like to hear everyone's input on that particular idea. I am not certain if we possess enough trustworthy men to watch over him at this point, or if he would even agree." Dubric paused to rub his eyes. "Damn, what a mess."

  He cleared his throat and pulled his notebook from his pocket. "We had best get to work. Otlee, you take notes."

  When Otlee nodded and reached for the pile of clean papers, Lars said, "Don't forget to speak up. It's all right to ask questions."

  "I have a feeling I'm going to have plenty of those." Otlee grasped his pencil and Dubric opened his notebook to Risley's testimony.

  * * *

  "He's gonna get us in trouble," Stef mumbled, glancing to the hall. She stuffed a pillow into a sham and glared at Nella.

  "No, he's not," Nella said with a smile and gathered an armful of dirty linen. Two rooms to go and they'd be done for the day.

  Dari hurried from the bath chamber with dirty towels. "Besides, last I knew, you were already in trouble."

  Stef muttered a low curse as Nella and Dari walked to the hall. Both girls smiled at Risley when they dropped the dirties in the laundry cart. He leaned a hip against the balcony railing and nodded a return greeting. He had stood no closer than fifteen lengths from the girls since arriving not long before three bell. He had not said a word to any of them, not even to Nella, had not tried to touch them, or done a single thing to upset the flow of their work. He only stood and waited and watched.

  Mini came from the next suite with dirty towels in her hands. "Oh, darn it all," she whispered, her face flushed.

  "What's wrong now?" Dari had dropped her towels into the cart and knelt to grab a fresh stack from the shelf below. "Did you break something again?"

  "I gotta pee," Mirri whispered.

  Dari shook
her head and stomped toward the suite. "Great. It's after dark. Couldn't you have gone during our midday meal? When it was still light out?"

  "We've only got two more suites," Nella said. "Can you wait a little longer? We can all go when we're done."

  Mirri blushed and bobbed on one foot. "I'm sorry, Nella, but I can't. I've already waited too long."

  "So go already," Stef said from the doorway. "What's stopping you?"

  "It's dark out there!"

  "I'll escort you to the privies," Risley said from his place at the balcony.

  Mirri took a quick step back, her eyes wide. "Uh, that's all right, I, uh…"

  Nella sighed. "He's not going to hurt you. I promise."

  Mirri looked back and forth between them, and resumed bobbing on the one foot. "I'll be fine," she said. "I can wait a little longer. I think."

  "Oh, bother," Nella muttered and stepped toward the suite door, ignoring Stef s disgusted sneer. "Dari! I'm taking Mirri outside for a minute. I'll hurry back."

  Dari looked up from the fresh sheets she was tying onto the bed. "Be careful."

  Muttering, Stef shoved past her with an armload of towels.

  "I will." Nella turned back to the hall. "Does anyone else have to go to the privy?" she called out.

  Ker exited her room, as did two floor maids and a window maid from down the hall. They huddled together, worried eyes watching Risley.

  Nella smiled and said, "Let's go."

  Mirri glanced at Risley and chewed her lip. "But… but…"

  Nella looked at Mirri, shook her head, and grabbed Mini's arm to get her moving. They hurried down the hall, all six girls clustered together. Risley followed them with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  * * *

  Dubric reviewed the list of that night's suggested volunteers one last time. Again, every name belonged to a family man; two were nobles. "Dien, I will let you notify tonight's batch. If anyone seems hesitant or refuses—"

  "I'll throw their butts in the gaol and worry about it tomorrow," Dien said as he yawned.

  "Lars? Do you know what you're supposed to do?"

  Lars looked up from the slim scrap of paper he had been writing on. "Yes, sir. I'm finishing the note now. My father should be able to send someone to Aberville to question the steel smith. He'll get our message by morning. With luck, we'll get his response day after tomorrow."