Free The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson

fingers.
    Twice he’d been bested in the Shambles. But he’d been stupid to expect anything more. They looked after their own here. Edward and Gilbert could even have been tucked away, looking down at them from a second- or third-storey window.
    ‘Come on,’ he said, putting his arm around Walter’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go home. Do you know who that man was?’
    ‘Julian.’ The lad stared at the ground. ‘He owns the butcher’s shop next to Edward.’
    ‘He looked like more than a butcher to me.’
    ‘They say he’s killed people.’
    From the man’s face, it was easy to believe. He seemed cruel and arrogant. Someone used to being obeyed and making people fearful.
    ‘Why haven’t they hung him, then?’
    ‘I don’t know, John. Maybe they could never prove it.’
    ‘Maybe so. Put him out of your mind. He won’t hurt you.’
    Walter gave a trusting smile.
    ‘Yes, John.’

CHAPTER EIGHT
    The noise persisted. He opened his eyes and it was still there. Someone banging hard on the door.
    John eased himself out of bed. His arm hurt as he tried to dress quickly, dragging on his hose and tying them before pulling on his boots. Katherine stirred but didn’t wake as he slipped down the stairs.
    He had no idea what time it might be. Somewhere in the middle of the night. He turned the key and drew back the bolt, peering into the darkness.
    ‘Master?’
    He squinted, just able to make out the face of one of the bailiffs.
    ‘What is it?’ John asked. ‘What time is it?’
    ‘Not long rung two, Master,’ the bailiff answered apologetically. ‘The coroner sent me to fetch you.’
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘We’ve found Edward and another man.’
    ‘Alive?’ he asked, knowing it was unlikely if the man was here at this hour.
    ‘Bodies. On Tapton Lane.’
    ‘Does he need me there?’ John asked wearily.
    ‘Yes, Master. He said you should come right away.’
    Very carefully, biting his lip against the pain, he drew on his jerkin again the chill outside.
    The town was silent, no lights burning in the houses. A dog was barking somewhere, and he heard a creature snuffling through a midden near St Mary’s Gate. The bailiff had nothing to say, just moving with quick, sure steps along the road.
    It wasn’t too far, less than ten minutes. The moon appeared from behind some clouds, casting light and deep shadows over the land. Finally he heard low voices, and as they came close John could make out the silhouette of a body sprawled on the dusty road.
    The coroner was leaning against the tree, Brother Robert sitting on the ground beside him.
    ‘About time, Carpenter. You must like your bed too much. What do you make of this?’ He gestured at the corpse.
    John knelt. The moon was bright enough to make out the face of Edward the Butcher.
    ‘Who found him?’
    ‘A pedlar who was late on the road,’ de Harville answered. ‘When we arrived, this one wasn’t alone.’
    ‘What?’ He started to rise, gazing around. All he saw was Edward. ‘Who?’
    The coroner shrugged. ‘I don’t know his name. But he was still alive. Two of the men took him back to town. He died on the way. Good riddance to him, too.’
    Gilbert. He’d wager money on it.
    ‘There was a pair of bloody knives by them.’
    Both of them dead now.
    Something about all this was wrong, he thought immediately. It was too convenient. Two wanted men fight and kill each other as they make their escape? He didn’t believe it.
    ‘Has anyone searched the area?’
    ‘Why?’ the coroner asked. ‘We know what happened. We have the men who killed Timothy and Nicholas, the ones who attacked you. We don’t even have the expense of a trial,’ he said with satisfaction as he pushed himself away from the tree. ‘I wanted you to see it. Everything’s done.’
    De Harville waved a hand and the monk struggled to his feet.
    ‘I want to look around,’ John told him.
    ‘Do what you wish, Carpenter.’ He shrugged and began to walk away. ‘But you’ll see