"Can I get you something to drink, sir, while you await the Captain?"

"No, thank you, Lumiere"

The bald man nodded, and then moved away, leaving the Lieutenant of the Black Watch to sit and stare at the fireplace, a small wooden block . sitting on the table before him. Long minutes passed as Marcus sat there silently waiting for Ian to join him, wondering how he could explain what he had done. Finally, the sound of the guards just inside the firehall doors coming to attention drew his gaze in that direction, and he rose as Ian entered and began walking across towards him.

"Oh sit down, Marcus. It's too late in the day for us to be proper." Ian drew up a chair and sat, stretching his legs out and signaling Lumiere to bring two ales. "So. How did things go while I was in Riga?" He nodded thanks to Lumiere, flipping two gold coins to the man, then slid one of the ales across to Marcus, his hand brushing the toy block as he did. "Did the merchants get off to StormDragon alright?"

"Aye. Right after the first shipment of lumber from there arrived." Marcus took a sip of ale, carefully wiping some foam from his mustache with one finger before continuing. "And Lady Selia returned home, right after your uncle managed to provoke her into resuming her dragon form."

Ian laughed. "He told me that would work! Well, the place is still standing and Ashe is not burnt to a crisp, so I have to admit his plan worked." He took several swallows of his own ale, then sat back in his chair, a long arm reaching out towards the toy block to tap it lightly with his index finger. "And what of this?"

Marcus reached over, picked up the block, turning it over in his hands. He looked across the table at his friend. "Let me tell you about it. Then you can act as you see fit." He took another sip of ale, then began to speak...

The dead man's name was Osric, and he ran a small silver shop in the Camelot marketplace. You and Lady Blackhawke had been gone for two days and I had hoped the killer would stay quiet even after you left. But instead I found myself in a shop so small I could cross it in six strides, looking at the body propped on a stool so his back rested against the wall. Clutched tightly in his hands was a toy block, the letter "O" crudely painted on the sides. Off to the other side of the room were the dead man's brother Cedric and sister- in-law Mathwny; the woman's features were pale with shock and Cedric was stroking her hair and whispering as I approached, trying to shield her from seeing the body.

"Can't I take her from here?"

"In a moment. I'd like to ask her some questions first. Mistress Mathwny, you found the body, I understand?"

She nodded slowly. "He was so still. He didn't move."

"She screamed and I ran in to see what was the matter. Osric was dead. I found My wife passed out on the floor, and no sign of the killer. Just my brother sitting there, the damn block in his hands, his throat slashed." Cedric spoke with anger, and his wife reached up to take one of his hands the sleeve of her dress falling back a bit to show a dark bruise on her wrist. "Can I take her upstairs to lie down for a bit?"

I nodded, then watched as he helped Mathwny climb the ladder to the loft overhead until they vanished from view. Then I turned back to Osric's body and the guard from the Watch standing nearby. It was Pedyr, one of the old veterans we reassigned to town patrol after the Orc wars, a good man, steady as a rock in a fight. He watched with interest as I crouched beside the stool and looked the dead man over.

"Ugly business, hey, Lieutenant?"

"That it is, Pedyr." I looked closely at the wound, then noticed that there was blood on the wall higher up behind the dead man's head. I moved it forward. The back of the skull had been crushed by a heavy blow. "Tell me, Pedyr, what do you know about Osric here and his shop?" I eased the head back and sat back on my heels to look up.

"He's been here five years. Inherited the place from his father, and Cedric and the woman showed up last year to help run the place. Nice enough sort." He handed me a rag from the worktable to rub the blood off my fingers. "Only time there was ever trouble here was at MidWinter."

I stood. "Oh? What happened?"

"The usual. Too many drinks to celebrate, some stupid argument, and him and the brother ended up in a fight. Mathwny got in the middle and had a split lip. I told them to behave or it was a night in the dungeons for the two of them, and things quieted down. Quiet as mice after that." He looked at Osric's body, then shook his head. "It's all Cedric's now, I suppose."

I took another look around the shop. "Pedyr, could you go fetch some of the men to come take the body to the church? I expect the family will want to have him waked as soon as possible. The old man stared at me a few seconds, then like the soldier he had always been, he nodded and followed orders. He turned and walked out through the front door, the only exit . I heard the ladder creak as Cedric climbed down from the loft.

"So…aren't you going to call out the Black Watch and look for the killer? He could still be nearby!"

"Yes, he's very close." I pried the toy block loose from Osric's hands and Cedric's face paled. "Tell me, Cedric, you didn't come here from Flaxley, over in Ireland, did you?" I tossed the block casually from one hand to the other. He followed the movement with his eyes as he paled further and shook his head. "We're from Wessex, British born and bred."

"Well, there you have it. All the previous victims were from Flaxley. This is obviously an attempt to cover up Osric's death by making it appear one of the Flaxley deaths. But see here? The letter is painted on the block, not carved. And it's the wrong letter."

"Wrong letter?"

"Aye, the killer is spelling out a word with the blocks. I won't tell you what the word is, just that there is no 'O' in it." Cedric didn't say anything. One of the boards creaked up in the loft overhead. "And finally, Osric was already dead when the throat was slashed. That blow to the head killed him, most likely from that hammer there on the counter, the one that's still wet from being washed."

Cedric seemed to sway a bit, then took a deep breath. But before he could say a word, Mathwny spoke softly from the loft. "Leave him alone. I did it." She climbed down the ladder and walked over to join her husband.

"Mistress, could you roll back your dress sleeves?" She did as I asked, revealing bruises on both arms, the type of bruises left by hands gripping too tightly. "Are there bruises elsewhere on your person?" She nodded. "Tell me, Mathwny: did Osric force himself upon you?"

She nodded again, then buried her face in her husband's chest as she began to cry and Cedric held her protectively. "My brother was always after her. He tried to have his way with her back at MidWinter, but she fought him off until I came in and hit him. He promised to leave her be after, not wanting us to leave him without help here if we went back to Wessex. And he did, until today. He…." His own eyes began to fill with tears.

"So, after he was done, he turned away, and Mathwny grabbed the hammer and hit him?"

"Aye. When she saw he was dead, she screamed, and I came."

"And you had the idea to make it look like the work of the Flaxley killer."

Mathwny looked up, drying her eyes on her dress sleeves. "He did it to protect me. Please, let him go. I'll confess."

I looked from one to the other, and knew at last I was hearing the truth.

Ian looked across the table at his friend. "So. Where are Cedric and Mathwny now, Marcus?"

"Somewhere over the border into Wessex by now, I should imagine." The lieutenant took a swallow of ale. "It would have killed them both, Ian, to go to trial. She would not have been convicted, I think, but the shame, the looks from the townsfolk..." He shook his head. "That would have been a death sentence."

"You let them go."

"Aye, I let them go. They left Camelot two days later, selling the shop to the apprentice of another silversmith for a fair price and then left. So, there you have it. I let a killer go free. For now, most think it was another killing by the madman."

"And they can keep on thinking that for another day or two, then we'll announce it was the work of a thief who Osric discovered in his shop and who last reports have put on a ship fleeing to France."

"Sir?"

Blackthorn reached out and took the toy block. "Marcus, I've known you over twenty years now, and I trust your judgement. More than that, I trust your heart. If you believe justice is best served by letting that couple go free, I will abide by that decision." He stood, regarded the block in his hand, then tossed it into the fireplace. "Let it go. We have a far worse criminal to stop, don't we?"

He waited as Marcus stood, then the two walked out of the firehall and across to the barracks.

Behind them, the block sat atop the fire, until Lumiere came and stoked the fire once more, burying it beneath the logs.

Blackthorn 07/2001


Field of Death: The Lost

As the servant stoked the fire and buried the small block beneath the other embers of the fire, he smiled to himself and watched through the window as the two men walked away together. He hadn't heard the story that past between them, but he knew something of a mystery was at hand and he enjoyed that his game was making merry those around him. The summer air was warm and moist and the dusk had provided just enough darkness so as not to be seen at the angle he stood.

Satisfied, he turned and moved up the path and around the castle, making his way through the little known gate whose path leads to the open marketplace. No need to conceal his features now. Wearing a cloak on a warm evening like this would only draw attention to himself. Instead he walked along the edges of the narrow streets, glancing in each shop along the way and nodding to those who looked his way. A pleasant smile was his mask to these people now. His otherwise normal attire would conceal whatever else he needed for the time being.

After a while of walking, his path lead him out of the township and into a more rural area. Larger buildings gave way to smaller ones and even some homes with thatched roofs and walls. Another smaller marketplace now emerged from seemingly nothing. A less busy place than that which he had just left. Less commerce. Less crowded. He could now afford a more generous eye to the people milling through the square as he made his way past it. It was rare to see one of the guards of Camelot patrolling the dirt streets of this small village. It's people were quiet and he had never hunted here.

Turning a quick corner, his destination came into view. With dark gray stone walls and a tower far too tall for such a short building, this church was the spot he would find tonight. As be approached the short set of stairs that would take him to the large oak door leading into the church, he paused and turned to lean against the side of the building and take a breath. His eyes moved slowly up to look to take in the tall tower once again, the bells hanging impotent in their place.

His eyes closed as if on their own as he heard them ring again, not in the world he lived in but in a place long ago. Like shades, the bells rang in his memory. They would call the families to church each Sunday morning. They would wake him from his sleep, his only escape from the life he was imprisoned within.

How he had longed to be among the clean faced children, dressed and proper, who were lead through the large wooden doors of cathedral. They would play afterwards in the yard while their parents would talk under the shade of the large tree. Sometimes, he'd cry out to them, but they would never hear. Not past the sound of the bells. Not past the sound of their own filthy voices.

His eyes sprang open as the door creaked open and a man stepped out just a bit, an ash pan in his hands. The man tilted the pan over the other side of the stairs, emptying it, then steps back through the doorway.

Shamus looked back down the street as he waited and then followed.

"Bloody hell!"

The old man's voice echoed off the walls of the small church as he shook his finger, which was now wet with blood. Dominick had long been the caretaker of the church and his duties included cleaning and various repairs when needed. He moved slowly down one of the aisles and took a cloth from a small cart he'd been pushing with him along his tasks. With a grumble, he tossed his broom into the shallow cart and began pushing it back up the aisle toward the doorway.

"You should watch your tone in a house of worship," a voice echoed back at him from somewhere within the church.

"Aye. I'll watch it," Dominick replied without looking up, busy with his own tasks.

"You know," the man stepped out from the small alcove in the rear of the church and continued to speak in an almost soothing voice, "I have been pondering the ways of the Lord. Our worship and our lives must exist together or all is lost."

"Aye," said Dominick without looking up still, his back turned to the man. He had long heard this type of personalized sermon from many of the church's people and paid little mind to it anymore. Instead, he continued his work of dusting the backs of the smooth, dark wooden pews, his hand now wrapped with a cloth.

He could hear the footfalls of the man as they echoed over the ornately tiled floor. He was moving up the main aisle and toward the small altar that was the focal point of the church. The old man glanced over his shoulder as the man knelt before the altar and crossed himself, sending his fingers to touch his forehead, his heart and his shoulders in turn.

The man stood and lowered his head a man then lifted his eyes to the altar again and spoke without turning a look at the old man, "I should like to dine alone tonight in my chambers."

"Aye, Father. I'll make arrangements."

Ernie 08/2001