Free Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) by Susan McDuffie

Clarkson. But I beseeched him not to, and finally gave him a silver penny, and Ivo relented. He said he would not tell.”
    “And then what did you do?”
    “I staggered up to my pallet and fell asleep. And heard nothing until the commotion early this morn.”
    “And you know of no other enemies who might have wished to harm him?”
    Phillip thought a moment. “Master Berwyk was complaining the other day that Clarkson had borrowed a copy of his
Isagoge
, by Porphyry, and had not returned it. That is a text of logic,” Phillip added, seeing my confusion.
    “That book was not in his room this morning.”
    “Perhaps Clarkson already had returned it. It was some days ago that I heard Master Berwyk complaining about that.”
    Master Berwyk had certainly not mentioned anything of the sort to me. But somehow I doubted he had gotten his book back, so eager had he been to carry off the books in Clarkson’s chamber.
    “Anyone else?”
    “Well, when Clarkson was elected master, some months ago, the expectation was that Master Delacey would win the election. But he did not.”
    “Did Master Delacey want the position?”
    Phillip shrugged. “It is an honor. But there are many duties involved. Perhaps he did not mind so very much. Master Delacey is intent on studying the canon law.” He stood to go. “If you will excuse me, there is a lecture I must attend.”
    I let him go and wondered whom to speak with next. There was a knock on the door and a young lass entered, carrying an earthenware pitcher. I guessed her age to be about thirteen, or a bit more, barely out of her childhood. She had a thin face, with long brown hair that fell about it, although she had made efforts to restrain her locks with a tie behind. Her eyes were wide, and she glanced nervously behind her as she shut the door.
    “You must be Avice,” I said. “Here, sit down.”
    “Aye, sir, my father was saying you wanted to speak with me. And I brought you some ale,” she said, putting the pitcher and a mazer down on the table between us.
    I poured some ale and took a long swallow. My throat was dry from talking, and the ale was sweet.
    “It be a terrible thing, about Master Clarkson.”
    “Did you know him well?”
    Avice dropped her eyes and stared at her hands on the table. “Oh no, sir, I barely knew him at all. I stay in the kitchens and rarely even speak to the scholars.”
    “But I imagine you notice things. Did Master Clarkson have enemies? Did you hear any arguments between him and the others?”
    Avice raised her eyes. “My father was saying the other day he heard Master Clarkson saying something about heresy. That he’d tolerate none of that here.”
    “Did your father hear who he was speaking with?” Ivo had not told me of that.
    Avice looked confused. “I can’t rightly say. Was it Master Berwyk? Surely heresy is a wicked thing.”
    “As is murder.”
    Avice suddenly began to cry. “I didn’t kill him, sir. It weren’t me.”
    A flood of awkwardness overcame me. So now I had reduced a child to tears. I took a deep breath and tried to gentle my voice. “No one said that you did. Here, stop your tears, sweeting. I didn’t mean to fright you. Stop crying.” My words had no effect, and the girl sobbed more than ever. “Here, have a little ale.”
    I didn’t know what I had said to start the lass crying like that, and I desperately wished she would stop. I poured some more ale into the mazer and handed it to her. Avice sniffed a little and wiped her eyes and her nose with the back of her hand, stopping most of her tears. She took a gulp of ale, then another, then looked up at me. She had somewhat protuberant front teeth, although she was pretty enough with light brown hair and blue eyes. But of a sudden I thought of a cornered rabbit.
    “Last night, did you hear anything unusual?”
    “Oh no, sir.”
    “Did your father leave your dwelling at any time? Did anyone seek entrance to the college late, after the gate was