Justice for the Damned (26 page)

"On
the night I went to the inn, I saw Sayer and the glover in close conversation.
When I learned that Master Bernard wanted to marry the woolmonger's daughter, I
thought that such speech with a cousin would not be unusual and did not consider
any other meaning. Yet I, too, doubt..." Thomas suddenly brightened.
"What about Master Herbert?"

"Ah,
our vintner! You have little liking for the man, do you?"

"I
do not trust him, my lady," the monk replied with open disdain.

Eleanor
grew pensive, sipped at her wine, and then smiled. "His dress and manner
suggest wealth, but his first wife endured a long illness. If he could not
travel to his vineyards because of her ill health, or the cost of her sickness
was high, I wonder if his income suffered as a consequence. He is very eager,
despite his protestations, to take on a woolmonger's business."

Thomas
nodded, both surprise and pleasure obvious in his expression.

"I
have not met the man," Anne said, "but I must also ask if he is so
eager for wealth that he longs only for a new source of it."

"And
I should ask if it is logical that a man steal a manuscript from this priory
but remain here and sell wool." From the way Thomas clenched his fists,
this statement took some effort for him to make.

"Are
there any others in the village who might be allied to Sayer in this
matter?" Anne asked.

"I
do not believe the innkeeper cares to sell anything but ale and whores,"
Thomas said. "According to the glover, there are still robbers who lurk
near that strange pile of pagan stones, but they do not trouble the merchants
of Amesbury and thus must be local men. If they do not torment the village, why
would they steal the priory's Psalter?"

"Is
the thief a man from somewhere else?" Anne continued.

"According
to the glover, no strangers have shown any interest in the Psalter,"
Thomas replied.

"Then
he is either lying or the thief is a local man. We have solved nothing
here," Anne sighed.

"We
have not, nor do we have time for further debate or questions. Brother Jerome
is in danger." Eleanor's eyes turned dark with anger. "Now is the
time to weave a web like a skillful spider and trap whatever flies we
may." She turned to Thomas. "I have a plot in mind, Brother, but it
would require that you return to the inn."

"The
trap, my lady. How do you propose to set it?"

Chapter
Thirty-Five

The
crow from the nest near the library soared into the sky when Thomas left the
priory. Had he not been told that birds had no souls, he might have concluded
that hers felt an especial delight over her young. With the world rejoicing in
the renewal of life, he grumbled to himself, why must he deal with death?

Nay,
it was neither death nor the suspicion thereof that pricked sharply at his
heart. He knew that well enough. It was the knowledge that he must send Sayer
into a trap, one that might well lead to the man's hanging. The earth joined
his spirit in protest and seemed to snatch at his feet to keep him from his
destination.

When
Thomas reached the inn, he stopped, willing a firmness of purpose to fill his
soul. After all, Prioress Eleanor had ordered him to perform a task, and he
owed her obedience. He might be blinded by the wiles of the Prince of Darkness,
but she was not. He had no right to whine like some swaddled babe. He must...

"Why
such hesitancy, Brother? After two visits, you have second thoughts about
entering our inn?"

Thomas
spun around.

Sayer
stood behind him.

The
monk swallowed, the flame of guilt turning his face hot. "I am
distressed," he said quickly. "Will you share some ale with me?"

"More
questions, monk? I weary of them and even the promise of ale is not tempting
enough to make tolerance bloom."

"I
am through with that. Amesbury Priory must find someone else to solve their
problems."

Sayer's
look softened. He stepped in front of the monk and held the door open for him.
"The priory coin has come most often from your hand, Brother. Let it now
drop from mine. Enter and tell me what troubles you."

Thomas
walked inside. Behind him, the door creaked shut. He blinked at the smoky
darkness and breathed in the sour reek of old sweat.

Sayer
gestured for the monk to follow.

Can
I do this? Thomas asked himself as he settled on the bench. But once the drink
arrived and they were alone, he willed himself to the game and uttered a
painful sigh.

"What
causes your brow to furrow so, Brother?"

"My
prioress says we must leave on the morrow. Although I have ignored all this
until now..." He gestured at the ale, then nodded in the direction of the
vanished serving wench. "My heart grieves for I shall have no such joys at
Tyndal."

Sayer
gazed at him in silence. "Then your last evening must be especially
memorable."

Thomas
tried to look both sheepish and eager, an effort made more difficult by the new
chill in the roofer's voice.

"I
could promise you such a time but do ask if you can leave the priory
tonight?"

Thomas
nodded. "I believe that I can."

"The
wall has been repaired, and the ghost lurks."

Was
the man trying to dissuade him? Thomas asked himself. Was he ignorant of the
toeholds scraped into the repaired wall? Hope warmed his heart. "I have
seen no ghost. Since Brother Baeda's death, Sister Beatrice has ordered me to
lock the library after Compline. Now I sleep apart from other monks and patrol
outside the building with a cross in hand to protect the sacred works therein
from any hellish imps."

"How
clever of Sister Beatrice."

He
shrugged. "None would know if I slipped away as long as I returned by
Matins."

"Then
come to the inn when darkness falls, Brother."

"After
Compline..."

"Nay,
before. Pray if you must, but remember that Matins comes early. I would not
have you cheated of any joy when none will warm you once you return to your own
priory."

"The
library..."

"...
shall be safe enough for one night. You have seen no ghost. Most likely, the
queen's spirit has found whatever she went there to seek. She might well choose
to trouble the monks in their dorter next, or else she has gone back to
Purgatory." He bent his head to one side and studied the monk. "If
you come early enough, I can promise you a private room and an able woman to
serve you the inn's best wine."

Thomas
put a hand to his heart as if to still its sinful beating. "Barring some
demand by my prioress, I will meet you after the evening meal and before
Compline."

Sayer
nodded, slid from the bench, and left the monk alone.

A
black robe of mourning draped over Thomas' heart.

Chapter
Thirty-Six

At
the appointed time that night, Thomas went to the inn. He sat on a bench,
called for ale, and waited for Sayer, but his hand shook when he reached for
the tankard soon placed in front of him. Firmly grasping the thing with both
hands, he managed to quell the disloyal tremor.

Anyone
seeing this sign of apprehension would surely blame it on his great struggle
between the demands of frail flesh and his equally great longing for Heaven, or
so he told himself. Unfortunately, his flesh showed no evidence of interest in
this planned tryst, an observation he hoped no one else made.

Sayer
arrived shortly after, and Thomas persuaded him that he longed for the most
popular serving wench. Maybe he only imagined the hint of disappointment on the
man's face, but once he had given Sayer payment for his night of pleasuring,
the man spoke to the innkeeper and disappeared.

The
moment Thomas and the woman had closed the door to the private room, he fell to
his knees, raised his still trembling hands heavenward, and loudly thanked God
for granting him the strength to win his battle over the flesh.

At
first the woman expressed indignation, but he assured her that he would slip
away unnoticed and the money agreed upon would not be taken back no matter his
change of heart. Her weary face brightened and she winked at him, assuring the
monk that she would enjoy the wine and an empty bed.

Thomas
soon found himself back in the night and hurrying along the path to the priory
and the dark library.

That
the sheriff was still in distant pursuit of his fowl and boar mattered not.
Sister Beatrice had agreed to her niece's plan and promised there would be men
in the shadows surrounding the building, robust lay brothers armed with blessed
cudgels, most likely under the command of Brother Infirmarian. Thomas would not
be alone.

He
looked around. At least I trust the men are there, he said to himself. He could
see no one but took comfort in the hope that they were ready to come to his
rescue with due speed if needed.

In
truth, he did not know exactly what to expect inside the library, although he
had ardently beseeched to go there alone. Prioress Eleanor had conceded that
one man would be less likely to betray the trap, thus increasing the chances of
catching the thief in the act, but she did not think his plan quite safe. Only
when he promised to cry out for the aid of others once he had caught the man
had she agreed. Thomas prayed she was not angry with him, seeing his stubborn
insistence as either disrespectful or disobedient.

He
had another reason for wanting to be alone. Although he knew that Sayer would
be the one most likely caught with his hand on the Psalter, the monk's unruly
heart refused to be silenced, arguing with growing persistence that the roofer
was more misguided than evil. Might Thomas not reason with him tonight,
persuading the man to reveal who was behind the theft and even agree to give
witness to the murderer's deeds? If so, the monk could argue for leniency on
Sayer's behalf.

If
he was wrong and the roofer was a brutal killer, he should be able to detain
him for a short time until the others arrived. The other problem lay in the
number he might meet in the darkness of the library. If more than one was
there, he would be in great danger. In that case, he must count on his own
strength, wits, and the element of surprise to get him out of the situation.

The
library was as profoundly silent as it was deep in shadow. Although Thomas'
eyes were used to the gloom, he felt his way to a hiding place with difficulty.
At least anyone else who came through the darkness would be at equal
disadvantage, he thought, settling into a crouch behind Brother Jerome's work
area. The book chest was directly in front of him.

His
ears prickled. Had he heard a sound or was it just a mouse skittering along the
floor? The silence now seemed full of tiny noises, but as he strained to hear,
he was almost certain that someone was coming.

The
door opened.

A
man entered. He was holding a flickering light.

Silently
Thomas swore at himself for not considering this possibility. Could he be seen
by the light of that flame? He bent down as much as he could.

His
pounding heart quieted as he realized that the thief would not have brought
light if there was anyone outside to see it. That meant he knew the monk was
the only one who might be nearby, and he was supposedly across the river,
busily swyving a woman. The lay brothers must have seen it as well and known
that the thief had arrived. He should take comfort in that, Thomas decided.

The
man hesitated, then silently walked to the book chest.

Thomas
was sure it was Sayer. So that there would be no doubt about the man's intent,
he would wait until the roofer began to leave with the Psalter in his arms.

The
figure bent, holding the light close to the storage box. Within the briefest of
moments, he had broken the lock, lifted the lid, and grasped the Psalter. The
lid dropped with a dull thud. The man turned and walked toward the monk.

Thomas
rose to face him, but something to his left caught his attention. He jerked to
one side. The blow struck the side of his head. Light flashed before his eyes,
and everything went black.

Chapter
Thirty-Seven

Thomas
blinked. He was lying on his side. His head hurt, and there was something warm
trickling down his neck. How long had he been unconscious?

"I
said I would bring it to you." The voice was Sayer's.

Thomas
shut his eyes and held his breath.

"Stupid
pup," a man replied, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper.

Feeling
a wave of nausea, Thomas willed himself not to vomit.

"You
did not recognize a trap when you saw it." The man kicked at Thomas.

The
monk bit his lip but did not groan.

"You
are fortunate that foolish women run this place and sent but one monk to stop
you."

"Did
you kill him?" Sayer asked.