Free A Burial at Sea by Charles Finch

himself, then looked down.
    There was blood spattered across the low railing and a great slick swath of it, drying into a darker color, at their feet.
    “This is our spot, then,” said Martin. He didn’t speak for a moment. “Look at this blood. Halifax—he was the most placid of men. Of officers in this service. I can’t conceive of anyone wanting to kill him.”
    “My question is how it was done.”
    “Isn’t that plain enough?”
    “I suppose—only this area is barely big enough for the two of us to stand. Wouldn’t a fight spill one or the other over?”
    “Maybe it spilled Halifax over.”
    “No, because he had been very precisely prepared before he fell to the quarterdeck, I believe. The real question is whether the man who killed Halifax has any marks on him.”
    “We shall see when all the men are piped up to the main deck for inspection.”
    Lenox shook his head. “I still wonder whether he would have gotten out of bed for a common sailor … met them here … I suppose there are circumstances under which it might have been possible.”
    “A false name, for instance—saying that I or one of the lieutenants wanted to see him there, perhaps a midshipman,” said Martin, “but I think it exceedingly doubtful.”
    “Or perhaps one of the sailors provoked him into coming there, with a threat or a piece of gossip. Mutiny, say.”
    Martin’s face went deadly serious. “No, sir,” he said.
    “I don’t mean that it would have been true. A ruse.”
    Still, the captain didn’t seem to like it. “Well.”
    “Listen—while we have a moment to ourselves—do you know what this might be?”
    Lenox pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and unfolded it, stained red but dry. The object he had found, coin-shaped and -sized, lay in the middle.
    “A large coin, I would have said. A crown?”
    “No, look closer.” He rubbed some more blood off of it, though it was still hard to make out the writing on it. “I’ll need to wash it, but for the moment…”
    “It’s a medal, isn’t it?”
    “I thought so too. Can you identify it?”
    Martin picked it up and turned it over twice, looking much more painstakingly now. “Maybe, once you soak it and the lettering comes clean. It’s naval, I can say that much. Silver. An officer’s medal.”
    “Possibly Halifax’s?”
    “Possibly.”
    “But he wouldn’t have carried a medal with him to such an assignation, would he have?”
    “No, I highly doubt it. It would have been in a box, the sort you keep for cuff links, and worn with his best uniform.”
    “Ceremonial occasions, then. Not pinned to his nightshirt.”
    “Never.”
    Lenox thought for a moment and then sighed. “I suppose we had better go look at his cabin. If I weren’t out of practice I would have done it before. Now someone may have been in it already. Stupid.”
    “Let’s hurry, then.”
    Going down the rigging was considerably easier than going up, so easy that Lenox was fooled into false confidence and nearly slipped a quarter of the way down before he caught himself. On deck Martin barked an order at someone to clean the perch straightaway.
    Carrow and Teddy Lenox were waiting for them on the main deck.
    “Sir?” said Carrow.
    “Mr. Lenox,” said Martin, “would you go to Halifax’s cabin or hear their story?”
    Lenox sighed. “We must hear their story while it is fresh in their minds,” he said. “Perhaps a sentry could be posted—”
    “Very well, it shall be done. Come down to the wardroom,” said the captain to Carrow and Teddy. “We’ll speak there.”
    In the wardroom Carrow told their story. Teddy Lenox, looking in uniform perhaps more suited to his new role, stood by silently. They had both been on the poop deck when they heard a thump. After a moment or two Carrow, curious to see if perhaps a bird had smacked into the ship or some piece of equipment had fallen, went down and discovered Halifax’s body.
    “Did you see it?” Martin asked Teddy.
    “Yes,