The Justice of Kings, page 16
“We have made great strides in the past week,” Sir Radomir said. There was not so much pleasure in his voice as grim professional satisfaction. I imagined that when all was said and done, even if the crime was solved, Sir Radomir was the type of man to consider that they had failed as lawkeepers the moment Lady Bauer was struck dead.
“Aye?”
“The roster of councilmen you asked for,” Bressinger said. “Mayor Sauter provided it to us.”
“Eventually,” Sir Radomir growled.
“Hm,” Bressinger agreed. “It transpires that Lord Bauer may be more involved with the running of the Vale than he has let on.”
“The ‘minor duties’ to which he alluded?” Vonvalt asked.
“Oh yes,” Sir Radomir answered with relish. “The man is responsible for the town’s bookkeeping. All of the Vale’s treasury accounts for money leaving the coffers.”
Vonvalt’s eyes widened. “Faith,” he said.
“Aye,” Sir Radomir said. “He has help, too. A slimy man by the name of Fenland Graves.”
“That’s an odd name,” Vonvalt remarked.
“He’s not from the Vale,” Sir Radomir said.
“I’m to take it Graves does the legwork on the accounts?” Vonvalt asked, smoking his pipe.
“Right,” Bressinger said. “Under the supervision—”
“—and direction—”
“—of Lord Bauer.”
“Lord Bauer controls where the town’s money goes?” Vonvalt asked, his eyebrow arched.
“Aye,” Sir Radomir said. “But it gets better than that.”
“You recall that Bauer said he dealt with the town’s charitable ventures?” Bressinger said.
“From the tax income, yes,” Vonvalt said.
“Well,” Sir Radomir said, gesturing to the stack of ledgers. “We have found evidence of regular—”
“—and significant—”
“—sums being paid to the kloster,” Sir Radomir finished. “Nema, but it took some late nights and sore eyes to pry out that gem.”
Vonvalt sucked on his pipe for a moment, then took it out of his mouth and let a vast cloud of smoke fill the room. “There is a connexion?” Vonvalt said. He of course had seen it immediately, but he was not about to steal the wind from the sheriff’s sails.
“Aye,” Sir Radomir said. “The connexions are ten a penny now, thanks to Helena’s legwork.” I felt a flush of pride despite my exhaustion. “’Tis to do with the timings. Zoran Vogt made his complaint against Leberecht Bauer just over two years ago. Then he withdrew it. A little while later, Bauer’s daughter went to the kloster and hasn’t been seen in the town since. Lord Bauer said she did it out of grief for her dead brother, though even taking that into account, it appeared to be somewhat sudden and unexpected.” He gestured to the dozens of ledgers stacked up about the place. “Since that time, we have seen large sums of money being regularly diverted to the kloster. Do you see?”
Since Sir Radomir was looking at me as he finished, I was the one to answer. “Sanja Bauer is a hostage,” I said. “Lord Bauer is being blackmailed to keep her alive by someone in the kloster.”
Sir Radomir nodded, a look of grim triumph on his face. “We paid the kloster a visit not three days ago, but they fed us some shit about the girl being taken ill, knowing the town ordinances are strict when it comes to contagious pox. We have promised to return when she is better. It only adds fuel to the fire of suspicion.”
“That also explains why Bauer withdrew the complaint so hastily,” Vonvalt said.
“And why he recanted so quickly after blaming Vogt for the murder of his wife.”
“He spoke hotly, without thinking, and then remembered that his daughter’s life was at stake.”
“’Tis the only explanation that fits. His wife is murdered, he blames Vogt – and I tell you, Justice, the man was adamant – then in all but the same breath he withdraws the accusation. A few sharp words from an intermediary, I’ll warrant, and he was put back in his place.”
Vonvalt took all this in. “This is excellent work,” he said. “Both of you. This is exactly what I had hoped for.”
“We could not have done it without your direction, sire,” Sir Radomir said, in what I imagined was an exceptionally rare concession.
“There’s one thing that bothers me,” I said, drawing all of the attention in the room. “Why mark it down in the official accounts? The ransom payments, I mean. Why leave a record at all?”
“’Tis the nature of your Sovan bookkeeping,” Sir Radomir said. “Money coming in and money going out must tally. He runs the accounts but any lord you care to name has the right to inspect them. He cannot fail to record it; he can only conceal it and hope that no one has a need to check the numbers too closely. And gold flows as plentifully as water in this place. I’ll warrant few have bothered to check the records while their pockets are heavy.”
Vonvalt rose, a look of fierce pleasure on his face. “This is more than enough to wield the Emperor’s Voice to maximum effect. I’ll have the truth out of Bauer and Vogt tonight, and more likely than not their brains through their noses. Where are they?”
At this, both Sir Radomir and Bressinger’s features fell.
“That is the bad news,” Sir Radomir said sourly.
“We’ve just got back ourselves from a two-day journey west, to the Imperial wayfort at Gormogon,” Bressinger said tiredly. He performed a little Grozodan flourish, blowing into his fingers and then splaying them as though his hand were the head of a dandelion. “Bauer has gone. Absconded.”
“And Vogt was never here,” Sir Radomir added bitterly. “According to the Merchants’ Guild the man is on a trade mission and has been for some time. Probably fucked off the moment you arrived. That little titbit of news is a few weeks ripe now and it still angers me.”
Vonvalt sighed, deflated. He sat back down. “That is… a shame,” he said, trying to control his irritation. “I had hoped to be done with this business tonight.”
“As had we all, Justice,” Sir Radomir said, reproachfully.
Vonvalt looked up. “Do not take offence, Sir Radomir. It is not a criticism of your office. We must play the hand as it is dealt.”
“Bauer’s man Graves is recently returned from a trip himself, possibly from Roundstone,” Bressinger said. “We have not had the time to question him yet, but he may provide some information.”
“That is better than nothing,” Vonvalt agreed. “Though if Bauer and Vogt are both gone, we will have to be careful about how we approach him. He is likely to have been warned.”
“And his mind hardened in anticipation of the Voice,” Bressinger cautioned.
“Aye,” Vonvalt murmured. He thought for a moment, his mind whirring over with this fresh information like the cogs in the temple clock. “Let us assume, then, that the Bauer girl is a hostage. That tells us two things: that Zoran Vogt is certainly connected to the death of Lady Bauer, however tangentially, and that someone up there—” he pointed to the kloster “—is as well. Tell me, Sheriff: are there any unsavoury characters operating within its confines?”
Sir Radomir shrugged. “None that I personally am aware of. We get the usual complaints, of course.”
“Aye?”
“Abuses of one sort or another. Being a mixed house of men and women and children leads to lecherous behaviour. We hanged a man a few years back for molesting. Cut his cock off to boot. Not in that order.”
“But nothing that gives you a sense of any financial impropriety?”
Sir Radomir shrugged. “The Vale is swimming in money, Justice. There is a great deal of legitimate extravagance. It makes the illegitimate extravagance the harder to spot. As I say, it was only after Bressinger noticed the regular payments to the kloster that I turned my mind to it. And even then it did not faze me that much, not straight away. Lord Sauter is generous with his charitable spending. Had Helena not made the connexion as regards the timing of it all, I might have thought nothing more of it.”
Vonvalt rubbed his chin. “What does the tax money for the kloster get spent on?”
“Alms for the poor. Repairs to the temple and the kloster itself. There is a well-staffed infirmary and hospice up there. Funding missionaries to the Frontier. Arming all those new Templars, the poor sods. I believe they also maintain emergency food stores in the vaults under the kloster, if there is a poor harvest.”
“I fear we may have to engage in some mathematical calculations,” Vonvalt said. “To see just how much is being sent up there. It is unlikely that there are but two men involved in this, given the large sums.”
Sir Radomir took a long draw of wine. “By Nema,” he growled, “this is the last thing I need. A bloody great conspiracy.”
“But as with a wedge of cavalry, Sheriff, there will be but one man at the head of it,” Vonvalt said. “Certainly Lord Bauer remains suspect, though it sounds like his involvement is very much against his will. And now we can be certain about Vogt. But there must be someone else, someone operating out of that kloster. Who did you speak to when you went?”
“No one of importance. A strange old bastard called Walter. Obenpatria Fischer is the head of the place, but he gave us short shrift. The canon law makes them full of themselves,” he added. “They think they are above dealing with the likes of me.”
Vonvalt clacked his tongue. “They are certainly not above dealing with me. But…” he sighed angrily “… we shall have to consider how we approach that thorny issue too. It is true that the canon law gives them some immunity to aspects of my office. Circumspection may be required. I shall see how I get on with Graves.”
There was a pause. We all sat in silence for a moment. Never had the answers seemed so close and yet so beyond our reach.
“Wait,” I said, suddenly. Everyone looked at me inquisitively. I had been lost in my own thoughts, working through the timings of everything again. “The story goes that Sanja Bauer took the cloth because her brother died. Lord Bauer said when we spoke to him that the boy died of a pox.”
“Aye,” Sir Radomir said.
“Well, what if he didn’t? What if the boy died of something else?”
“You mean the boy may have been murdered?” Vonvalt asked.
“If he was, it would give the lie to Lord Bauer’s account of the manner of his death,” I said.
“And prove him to have lied,” Vonvalt said thoughtfully.
“And add another murder to the tally,” Sir Radomir said. “It could provide useful leverage.”
“Nema, Helena, that is a good thought,” Vonvalt said. “The boy may have been slain. A pox will have died with his flesh, but like Lady Bauer’s corpse, the bones will tell us whether he died of a blow. It would be another pillar to bolster our theorising.”
Bressinger was clearly not pleased. “That is an unhappy prospect,” he said. “’Tis nothing we need to concern ourselves with now, surely? Let the lad rest, whatever the manner of his death.”
But Vonvalt was too focused now to pay either of us much attention.
“We have a path forwards,” he said, as if Bressinger hadn’t spoken at all. “Find and question Graves, and send out riders to track down Vogt and Bauer.”
“They will be long gone by now,” Sir Radomir said bitterly. He added a long and loud yawn to this. “Nema, I am tired. Gods know how the two of you are faring.”
I hardly needed reminding of how exhausted I was. Sir Radomir’s own yawn set me off – and Bressinger with him.
“I will think about how to approach the kloster,” Vonvalt said, irritated by this collective display of fatigue. “That is clearly the seat of the conspiracy. In order to maximise our impact, some… subterfuge may be required.” He glanced at me as he said it. “Is this man Graves likely to abscond, too?”
Sir Radomir shook his head. “I’ve a few guards keeping an eye on his house.” He stifled another yawn. “We are about to close the gates for the curfew in any event. The man’ll keep ’til morning.”
Vonvalt rose, and we all stood with him.
“All right,” he said. “To bed with you all, then. Tomorrow, we’ll see what Graves has to say for himself.”
XII
Confrontation on the Hauner Road
“A Justice should never lose control of a situation; he should never enter a place where he does not know the exit and he should never ask a question to which he does not know the answer.”
MASTER KARL ROTHSINGER
Vonvalt roused us unceremoniously at dawn with a pounding on the bedchamber door.
“Up, both of you. We’ve no time to waste,” he called, and we heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor and then down the stairs.
“Nema,” Bressinger grunted as he pressed himself out of bed. “I’m getting too old for this.”
He threw back the curtains. Grey light slanted into the room. The sun was barely over the horizon and cold drizzle filled the streets. Another miserable day in the Vale, but one charged with anticipation. If the questioning of Graves proved productive, the whole matter could be put to bed by nightfall.
I pressed myself painfully out of bed. My legs and back were in agony after the week’s hard riding in the cold. Bressinger snatched up his clothes and left to change next door, and I pulled on my own and ran a brush through my hair.
We met Vonvalt in the dining room. Lord Sauter’s servants had once again gone out of their way to put on a profligate breakfast spread, and I poured out a measure of marsh ale and helped myself to a slice of piping-hot meat pie.
“I’ll not beat about the bush with this man Graves,” Vonvalt said through a mouthful of food. “We’ll go there straight after breakfast.”
“What of the kloster?” Bressinger asked. “Have you settled on a course of action?”
Vonvalt inclined his head. He was about to say something when a hammering at the front door stole everyone’s attention. After the usual muffled words and slamming of doors and boots, the door to the dining hall was flung open and Sir Radomir entered, looking flustered.
“Your man, Claver,” he said, out of breath. “He’s back and moving south on the Hauner road, with the Templar host from Vasaya.”
Vonvalt immediately pushed himself to his feet. “How far?” he demanded.
“Ten, maybe fifteen miles south. They must have passed us in the night.”
“Our horses!”
“I have already given orders for them to be made ready,” Sir Radomir said, but he was talking to Vonvalt’s back as the man swept out of the room.
My heart pounded as the rest of us scrambled after him out of Lord Sauter’s residence, pausing only to don our cloaks. In minutes we were atop our horses and roaring through the streets of the Vale, Vonvalt bellowing commands to the bewildered townsfolk to make way. Behind us, Sir Radomir and a party of town watchmen followed.
We thundered through the Veldelin Gate and made straight for the Hauner road south. Our horses kicked up great tufts of mud and grass as their hooves pounded the rain-softened turf. The morning weather showed no signs of improvement, and it did not take long for our clothes to become sodden. After a few minutes we had to bring the horses down to a moderate canter. It felt slow and counterintuitive, but the horses could only gallop for a few miles before they were spent.
We caught up with the tail-end of Claver’s train after a couple of hours of hard riding. It was a slow-moving caravan of hundreds of men, horses and carts. All were wearing the black livery of the Savaran Templars with the prominent white star over the chest. Some were clearly lords, who sat atop expensive war horses and had teams of retainers leading more horses and carts full of strongboxes. The rest were knights of varying means. Some were mounted and carried lances and shields; more still were dismounted and trudged along the road with nothing more than a pack and sword. Interspersed among them were purple-cassocked Neman priests, holding aloft copies of the Nema Creed on poles festooned with pennants or braziers.
We rode parallel to the Hauner road. The going was tougher, particularly given the side of the road had been turned to claggy mud by the rain and the foot traffic seeking to avoid the Templars. But it was still quicker than trying to thread through the vast quantity of men and materiel.
The caravan was spread out over most of a mile. As we rode past we began to attract a significant amount of attention. Heads turned and voices faltered. Whispers and muttering chased us like the cold breeze. After our experience with Westenholtz, and the fact that at least some of these men were his retainers, I took little comfort from the protection Vonvalt’s status was supposed to afford us.
Claver travelled with affected humility, and looked a far cry from how he had when we had travelled with him all those weeks before. He walked shaven-headed and barefoot like a penitent and his purple robes looked threadbare. He did not read the Creed or exhort or sing; he simply strode on in silence while lords jostled obsequiously to be near him. I wondered what had happened to his horse.
“Patria,” Vonvalt called out as we pulled alongside the man. “You have amassed quite the retinue.”
Claver smiled thinly, as though he had expected us to catch up with him. I wondered if they had deliberately travelled past Galen’s Vale at night, to avoid just such a confrontation. The men around him eyed us warily.
“Sir Konrad,” Claver said. He managed to freight the two words with condescension. Though it had not been long since we had last seen the man, he looked older and more imperious. He did not have the agitated, excitable air of before. This was a man who had that intangible quality that only comes with having the protection of very powerful men.
“Tell me, Patria; are the men who murdered the inhabitants of Rill among this host? It would save me a great deal of time if I could hang them all in one sitting.”
I had to stop my mouth falling open. I looked over to Bressinger, who remained admirably impassive. Sir Radomir, however, was unable to conceal a flash of surprise.
