The Crown Tower trc-1 Read online

  “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to avoid being alone with him,” Hadrian said. “And the locks on the cabin door are well made. I suggest you secure them whenever you’re in your room.”

  “Why don’t we just shutter the entire cabin area?” Eugene asked.

  “I think he might object to being locked out, especially when he paid for a berth like the rest of us,” Hadrian explained.

  “The rest of us are not murderers,” Eugene said.

  “As far as we know, neither is he.”

  “We could tie him up,” Sebastian suggested.

  “Are you serious?” Hadrian asked.

  “That’s a good idea!” Samuel agreed. “We could all have at him. He’s not big. We could pin him down, tie his hands and feet, and then lock him in the hold until the trip is over. Once we reach Colnora, we can turn him over to the city guard. They can take him back downriver and hand him over to the authorities in Vernes. We might even get a reward for his capture.”

  “You can’t do that,” Hadrian said. “We don’t know if he’s done anything wrong.”

  “You saw his eyes. Do you honestly think that man is innocent? Even if he didn’t kill those men in Vernes, he’s done something … something bad.”

  Hadrian had listened to Sebastian’s kind before and always hated himself afterward. People believe what they want when no one offers the truth.

  “And how would you feel if we did that to you?” Hadrian asked Sebastian.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not like him. I’m a decent man.”

  “Are you? How do I know?”

  “Because I’m telling you so.”

  “And what if he said the same thing?”

  “Did he?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Sebastian wore a smug look as he addressed his reply more to the others than to Hadrian. “You didn’t have to. You can tell just by looking at him. He has blood on his hands. The man is evil, I tell you.”

  Hadrian looked from one face to another and saw the inexplicable conviction. Their actions made no sense, until he factored in fear. Fear made all the difference between rational and insane and could even masquerade one for the other. Once a herd starts stampeding, only a fool stands in the way.

  Wishing Pickles had made the boat with him, Hadrian pushed to his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Vivian asked.

  “I can’t agree. So leave me out.” He took a step, then paused. “Oh, and if you try to tie him, shove him overboard, or anything like that, you can expect I’ll help him-not you.”

  Silence followed. Shocked faces stared up as the boat creaked. Hadrian walked toward the stern, hoping to break their line of sight behind the cabin structure.

  “He’s young and naïve,” he heard Sebastian say.

  Hadrian was young. He couldn’t deny that, but he measured the time spent in Calis in dog years. He had learned many things and had been too anxious to seek those lessons, too eager to refuse his father’s tongs and hammer.

  He climbed to the stern and leaned against the gunwale, looking east. The grass was still green in most of the low areas, but leaves on the high slopes were turning. Somewhere in the distance, beyond his sight, stood a tiny manorial village that he had not seen in five years. Hadrian imagined that everything there would have remained the same. Change came slowly to places like Hintindar, where generations lived and died in isolated repetition. Some were bound to the land and unable to leave, others-like his father-were unwilling. The people from his hometown occupied a handful of shacks running along a narrow road between a stone bridge and His Lordship’s manor-a road that began nowhere and ended in the same place. Hadrian had left at fifteen, and this was as close as he’d come to returning … and as close as he ever planned to.

  Picturing the village, he realized he was wrong about the lack of change. There would be something new-a grave marker on the hill between the two southern fields. Most likely it would be just a stick or maybe an engraved board. The name would be burned in but no date. The villagers didn’t understand calendars.

  “Gonna be a nice day, it is,” the steersman said. One hand rested on the tiller and his feet were up.

  Hadrian nodded and realized he no longer shivered. The mist was thinning as the day brightened. Sunlight cut shafts through the trees, dappling the water behind them. The Bernum was a deep, wide river, especially where it neared the sea. The waterway looked tranquil, lazily meandering through the spread fingers of the low hills. But this was an illusion that concealed a fierce undercurrent in which men, women, and livestock had been lost. In spring the lowlands flooded, which explained the lack of farms close to the banks. Occasionally they passed the foundation of a house or barn; the Bernum never permitted crowding, not for long. Hadrian’s father had spoken of the river as if it were a living thing, like an evil woman who lured men to cool themselves in her waters. She would let them swim to the center, then drag them down. He also said that if the river were ever dammed-which he insisted was impossible-thousands of skeletons would be uncovered. The river never gave up her dead.

  Hadrian hadn’t believed the stories. Even as a kid, he hadn’t been the type to accept what couldn’t be seen. His father had told him a great many such things.

  “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” the steersman said with an inviting tone, earthy as well-turned soil. He possessed the engraved face of a life spent on water, his hands a pair of driftwood. “Didn’t see much of you last night. Sorta like that other one-the fella up on the bow. Name’s Farlan, by the way.”

  “I’m Hadrian.”

  “I know. I try to know all the passengers. Well, their names anyway. Don’t want to be too nosy. Some boatmen are. Comes with the territory. Riding the river up and down, all you ever see are the banks. It’s nice to have people to talk to, even if it’s only for the length of the trip. It’s good to meet you, sir. Hope your stay is a fine one. Not like I’m a captain of a ship or nothing, but I like my passengers to be happy with the service.”

  Hadrian motioned toward the front of the ship. “And what is his name?”

  “Oh, him. He didn’t offer, and I didn’t press. He’s the kind you best leave to himself and hope he does the same in return. Don’t want to be irritating a man like that.”

  “And what kind of man is he?”

  “A bit obvious, isn’t it, sir?”

  “You think he’s the killer?”

  “Well, I don’t know either way, but I can’t say I’m not concerned.”

  “If you were suspicious, why didn’t you report him to the city guard?”

  “I should have-would have if I wasn’t so stressed about setting out. All those crates had put us behind schedule, and I don’t like keeping the postilions and their teams waiting. Patrol came by earlier and searched the ship, but he wasn’t a passenger then. He came aboard just as we were shoving off. I was rushing to get under way and just wasn’t paying attention. After we were on the river, I realized how stupid I had been. I should have just let the postilion wait and made an excuse, like I forgot to get enough oil for the lamps or something. But I didn’t, so now I’ll have to wait until we reach Colnora.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ll tell the sheriff about the murders and my suspicions about that one. Sheriff Malet’s a good man … smart. He’ll conduct an investigation and get to the truth of the matter. If I were you, I wouldn’t count on getting on your way straight off. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to everyone.”

  “Well, I’m not in any hurry. I just hope he’ll have better luck with that guy than I did.” Hadrian glanced once more toward the bow and the solitary man standing there.

  They gathered for lunch on the deck, and just as Farlan had predicted, the mist and chill were burned away by a hot afternoon sun. The barge docked at a posthouse, where Farlan secured it by looping a rope around the bollard, and the postilion unhitched his team. A new boy brought over a fresh pair of horses and started attaching their harnesses.

&nb
sp; Farlan set out the midday meal. Nothing warm was brought up, but the cold chicken, day-old bread, and fresh apples made for a better meal than the salted pork and sea biscuits Hadrian had become used to on the Eastern Star. The barge wasn’t soft travel, but it was efficient, operating both day and night. The passengers were little more than extra freight filling open space. The trip cost a copper a mile, which may be expensive to a man used to using his feet but was nothing to someone accustomed to a carriage. Pickles had made a good choice; the ride was gentler than the bounce and jiggle of a coach.

  “So what is it you do, Sebastian?” Hadrian asked before sitting down with his wooden plate. He wasn’t actually interested, but he wanted to steer the conversation away from any plans for the hooded traveler.

  “Are you familiar with Vernes, Hadrian?”

  “Me? No. I pretty much came straight from the ship to the barge. Why? Are you famous?”

  “In a way. I run the most prestigious jewelry shop in all of Vernes.”

  Vivian had resumed the same place from earlier in the day but now balanced a plate on her lap. Her portions were small, the kind of meal a mother might serve to a child. She nodded in agreement. “Sebastian’s is the oldest jewelry store in the city.”

  “Are all of you jewelry merchants?” Hadrian asked.

  “Samuel is my cousin and Eugene is the son of my sister. They learned the business from me, and I loaned Samuel the money to start his own place.” Sebastian gave a wicked smile. “Customers who are angry with my prices or poor service or who just don’t like the cut of my clothing will stomp out of my shop declaring I’ve just lost an important sale. Out of spite they will walk down the street and pay more for a similar item at Samuel’s shop. They think they’re enacting their revenge, but as I am part owner in both, they still pay me after all.”

  “And Eugene?” Hadrian asked.

  “That’s why we’re traveling to Colnora, to get him a shop,” Samuel said.

  Sebastian added, “It’s time the boy went out on his own.”

  “I’m not a boy,” Eugene said.

  “Until you’ve paid back the loan, you’re whatever I say you are.”

  Eugene scowled, but when he opened his mouth, it was merely to fill it with chicken.

  “And you, dear lady?” Hadrian turned to Vivian, who was biting most delicately into a slice of apple. “What puts you here with us?”

  The woman’s smile vanished, her gaze fixated on her plate of food.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  She shook her head but did not speak. Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder and patted gently.

  “Excuse me, please.” She stood and moved to the bow of the barge, left empty because the hooded man was stretching his legs on the towpath.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” Hadrian told the rest, feeling terrible.

  Sebastian said in a supportive tone, “It’s not your fault. I suspect that lady has been through something terrible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Few women travel unescorted. And did you see how little food she took? She is clearly distressed.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t eat much, and she could be on her way to meet, you know, someone.”

  “Perhaps, but I think it’s likely she’s terrified, and the rumors, of course, have us all on edge.”

  Vivian had abandoned her plate and sat on one of the crates staring at the river. Raising a hand, she wiped away tears.

  Hadrian sighed. He had always been a bit awkward around women and often found himself saying the wrong things. He wanted to go to her and lend comfort, but he was sure to just make matters worse. Hadrian didn’t think he could feel lonelier than he already did, but then again, he hadn’t been correct about a lot of things lately.

  After the meal they set off again. Farlan went below to sleep as the relief steersman took his shift. Hadrian failed to catch his name. He was younger and, despite his beard and brooding eyebrows, appeared baby-faced in contrast to Farlan. Taking his post without saying a word, he lacked the older steersman’s friendliness.

  Vivian vanished into her cabin as soon as they set out. Perhaps she worried the hooded man would resume his station at the bow. But the front of the riverboat remained vacant.

  Hadrian spent the day watching the landscape slip by and sharpening his short sword. Maintaining his weapons was as much a habit for him as biting nails might be for someone else. Doing so helped him think, relax, and work out troubles. And he had a need for all three.

  Vivian reappeared shortly after sunset. She didn’t settle in with the merchants this time. Finding the bow empty, she returned there and sat near the swaying light of the lantern as the stars came out. The loss of the sun invited back the autumn chill, and after seeing her shiver, Hadrian walked to the bow.

  “Here,” he said, pulling off his cloak and draping it over her shoulders. “It’s not much, but it ought to help a little.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I should have given it to you earlier. I’m an idiot. I’d like to apologize.”

  Vivian looked up, surprised. “For not lending me your cloak?”

  “For upsetting you earlier.”

  She appeared puzzled, then realization dawned. “Has that been bothering you all this time?” She touched his hand. “Sit, won’t you?”

  “Are you sure? I haven’t been particularly courteous.”

  “Were I to guess, I would think you a gentleman-a knight in disguise.”

  Hadrian chuckled. “Everyone wants me to be a knight.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. I’m not a knight. I’m just not experienced speaking in refined company.”

  “Is that how you see me?”

  “Compared to the folks I’m used to? Yes.”

  Vivian looked down for a moment. “I’m not cultured or sophisticated. I was born poor. Any change in status came through marriage, but now…”

  She let the statement hang for a moment while she stared at the deck.

  “What is it?” Hadrian asked.

  “The reason I’m here … the reason I’m alone … is that my husband is dead. He was killed two days ago, one of those murdered in Vernes. I was afraid for my life and I … and I … fled. Now I think I made a terrible mistake.”

  “Why would anyone want to kill you or your husband?”

  “Daniel was a wealthy man, and a rich man has many enemies. Our home was ransacked. Even the tapestries were pulled down. I was so terrified that I ran with nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn’t even take a cloak. I traded my wedding ring for fare, but I fear I brought my troubles with me. I don’t think the killer found whatever he was looking for, and he has followed me on board to obtain it.”

  “What do you think he’s after?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have it, but he won’t believe me-won’t even ask. He’ll just kill me like he did my husband, then ransack my cabin.”

  She made a slight motion with her head, and Hadrian noticed Vivian was looking over his shoulder. He turned and saw that the hooded man was also back on deck, standing at the rail near the stern. Hadrian prided himself on never judging a person by appearance, but he couldn’t deny the malevolence wrapping that man. His silence and the dark hood, which he hadn’t lowered since they had set out, were disconcerting. He was unsociable and hostile.

  If Hadrian believed in such things, he might suspect him to be an evil spirit, a phantom, or a dark warlock of some sort. This, he was certain, was how such stories started. After the passengers disembarked in Colnora, they would tell their tales of the mysterious, faceless man, and the story would grow with each recitation. Before long, people would gather around hearths to hear about how Death himself haunted the Bernum River, wrapped in a dark hooded cloak.

  “I don’t know what I will do when we reach Colnora.”

  “Do you have relatives there? Do you know anyone who can help?”

  She shook her head and Hadrian th
ought he saw her lip tremble. “This isn’t your problem, is it? I’m sure I’ll get by somehow.”

  “Listen, Farlan is going to alert the sheriff in Colnora when we arrive and there will be an investigation. If the hooded man is guilty, he’ll be tried and convicted. Then you can go back home to Vernes. The thieves couldn’t have taken everything. Your house is still there and you can rent rooms out or something like that.”

  She looked back toward the hooded man and lowered her voice. “What if I never reach Colnora? What if he kills me right here on this barge?”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “I wish I could believe that, but you won’t be able to stop him. He could slip into my cabin, and in the morning I would be dead and no one would care.”

  “Here’s what you should do. Lock your door, and block it with whatever you can find. He won’t be able to reach you without making a racket, and I’ll come right away.”

  She wiped her eyes. “I’ll do that, thank you. I just hope it will be enough.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE HIDEOUS HEAD

  After the beating, even the weight of the empty buckets hurt Gwen’s back and shoulders as they swung from the yoke. Grue had been hard on her for involving Ethan. He’d left no marks, though; damaged goods were sold at reduced rates.

  Reaching Wayward Street’s common well, she dropped the pails and sat on the edge, looking back the way she had come. It was still early, the sun just peeking between the bent roof of the tavern and the lopsided one of the building across the street. Avon had told her it was once an inn, but that was long ago. She could almost picture it. No one stayed there now, except for the rats and the dogs that ate them. The state of the inn was indicative of the whole Lower Quarter, Wayward Street especially-a dead end in every sense.

  For as long as Gwen could remember, her mother had spoken about Medford and how they would one day make it their home. Gwen imagined it must be a beautiful place, full of fine carriages and stone houses. She had dreamed they would live in one of those beautiful homes with a fountain outside for water and market sellers who would sing and chant like those in Calis. Even as she sat on the stone lip of the well, Gwen marveled at how different her reality turned out to be.