‘Murder?’ asked Owyn, coming down the stairs. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the innkeeper. ‘But they’re saying it was done over at the Black Sheep Inn.’
James was through the door before the words had vanished from the air, Owyn and Gorath following. He didn’t bother to go and saddle his horse, but rather sprinted through the streets, following the flood of people who swept along like a stream, heading across the bridge toward the main square of the city.
As he neared the square, he found a press of people being held back by a few men with pole arms, all wearing armbands. None of the Royal Lancers was in evidence. James had to push his way through the crowd and when he reached the front, he was barred by a man holding a pike.
James pushed aside the pike shouting, ‘On the business of the Crown!’
The man obviously wasn’t prepared for that and hesitated, letting James, Gorath and Owyn pass. But he managed to keep others back as Richard, Earl of Romney, came striding across the square, toward the fountain. He saw James and exclaimed, ‘Squire!’
James crossed to where he waited and said, ‘My lord? What is it?’
Barely able to speak because of his rage, he pointed to the open door of the Black Sheep Inn and said, ‘Look!’
James hurried to the entrance.
Entering the commons he saw Royal Lancers, sprawled across tables or on the floor, their eyes vacant and fixed. He needed no healer or priest to pronounce the men dead. He looked over at a cowering stableboy, who had found the bodies when he had come in for breakfast an hour earlier, and said, ‘All of them?’
The boy was so terrified he could barely speak. ‘Sir,’ he nodded. ‘The officer is in his room upstairs, and the sergeant and some of the others. The rest died down here.’
Gorath crossed to the table and picked up a mug of ale. He sniffed at it. ‘Poison,’ he said, ‘or I’m a goblin. You can smell it.’
James took the mug and sniffed it, judging the moredhel’s sense of smell keener than his own, for he could detect no odour beyond that of warm ale. He noticed a slight black sediment in the mug. He fished out a tiny bit with his finger, then touched it to the tip of his tongue. Spitting it out, he said, ‘You may be right, and there may be poison in this ale, but what you’re smelling is tarweed.’
‘Tarweed?’ asked Owyn, looking pale despite the number of corpses he had seen already.
James nodded, putting down the mug. ‘Old trick in some of the seedier inns in the Kingdom. Tarweed is nasty stuff in large amounts, but in small doses it makes you thirsty. You lace bad ale with it, and the customers drink it like it was dwarven winter ale.’
‘Can it kill you?’ asked Owyn.
‘No, but there are many tasteless poisons that can,’ said James.
He turned to the boy and said, ‘What’s your name?’
‘Jason,’ the boy answered, terrified. ‘What are they going to do to me?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, why?’
‘I served these men, sir. My master always said the care of our guests was our responsibility.’
James said, ‘Perhaps, but you couldn’t know the ale was poisoned, could you?’
‘No, but I knew something was odd, and I didn’t say anything.’
James was now acutely interested. ‘What was odd?’
‘The men who came with the ale. We buy our ale from the Sign of the Upturned Keg down in Sloop. I know the waggon drivers. This time it was strange men.’
James took Jason by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. ‘Is there anything you can tell us about these men, anything special?’
Jason stared at the ceiling a moment, as if struggling to remember. ‘They were dark men, maybe Keshians, and they spoke oddly. And they seemed worried, but they didn’t say anything. One wore a medallion that swung out from under his tunic when he leaned over to hand a keg down to his partner.’
‘What did it look like?’ demanded James.
‘It had a bird on it.’
James glanced at Gorath and Owyn. ‘What else?’ asked James.
‘They told me to forget I had ever seen them,’ replied Jason. ‘And they smelled funny, like sailors from Silden do when they come here, like sun on canvas and flowers.’
Gorath and Owyn began inspecting the room, while James went outside. He saw Earl Richard, rooted to the same spot he had occupied when James had entered the inn. The shock of the murders had rendered the Earl nearly unable to function. James had seen it before with men who were unused to bloodshed. He hurried to the Earl and said, ‘My lord, what do you propose?’
Blinking as if he had difficulty understanding James, Richard echoed, ‘Propose?’
James pointed at the crowd and said, ‘You must tell them something. Disperse them before things get any uglier than before. Then the bodies must be attended to.’
‘Yes,’ said Earl Richard. ‘That’s so.’ He mounted the fountain and stood where everyone could see him. ‘Citizens of Romney,’ he shouted, and as the words came from him, James could see that speaking before the citizenry was something the Earl did often, for the familiarity of the task returned his wits.
‘Go to your homes!’ commanded the Earl. ‘Stay calm. Black murder has been done and those responsible will be hunted down and punished.’ He jumped down and waved over a constable. ‘I want someone from the Riverpullers and the Ironmongers here in five minutes.’
‘Damn!’ said the Earl to James. ‘I need send to Cheam for more troops. Black Guy won’t be pleased when he learns fifty of the King’s Own have died in my city.’
‘Nor will the King,’ observed James. Seeing the Earl’s face cloud over at the mention of King Lyam, James said, ‘My companions and I will do anything we can to help.’
‘The best thing you can do right now, squire, is find out who is behind this.’
‘I already know,’ said James. He told them of the tarweed and the two men who appeared to be from Silden.
‘Nighthawks!’ whispered the Earl, so as not to be overheard by any of the crowd who were slowly leaving the area. ‘Damn! I almost wish it had been Damon Reeves or Arle Steelsoul behind this.’
‘Why them?’ asked James.
‘Because then I could hang one or the other with cause and end two problems for the price of one. Reeves runs the Riverpullers, and Arle Steelsoul is the head of the Ironmongers’ Guild. They are at the heart of the dispute.’ He indicated two men approaching. When they were standing before the Earl, he said, ‘Tell your respective factions that I have had enough with violence in Romney. I hold the head of the Riverpullers and Ironmongers personally responsible for the good behaviour of both sides of this dispute. Any further violence and I will hang them, side by side, from the city gate. Carry word back to them now!’
The first man, one of the Ironmongers, said, ‘But Arle Steelsoul’s down in Sloop!’
‘Then carry word to Sloop,’ instructed the Earl.
James said, ‘M’lord, I will do that.’ The two men exchanged glances, as if asking who the stranger was to bear such tidings to the leaders of the two warring factions.
The Earl said, ‘Pass the word that Arle and Damon’s lives will be forfeit if there are any more problems in my city.’ The two men bowed and ran off.
‘Can you enforce the threat, m’lord?’ asked James when the men were out of earshot.
‘Probably not, but it may shock them into behaving themselves until the next detachment of soldiers arrives.’ He looked at James. ‘Why do you choose to go to Sloop?’
‘Because that’s where the poisoned ale is from, and because I think we need to continue on down to Silden after that.’
