The bitter smell of incense filled the air as he spoke the long string of familiar Latin words, his back turned to the church as he completed the final prayer of the mass. His head lowered as the bell began to ring, calling out to the community in celebration.

As after each mass, he turned and quickly stepped the few paces through the door that lead to the rooms behind the altar. The room painted in pristine white; the scent of mass lingered even there

"Dominick!" he calls as he carefully removes the sacred robes of his calling.

"Aye, Father," Dominick appears as he always had, from seemingly nowhere and with the same two words in reply.

"I shall be visiting the Tonnar family this evening for dinner. Will you have my carriage ready for me?"

"Aye, Father," the voice of the old man now heard as he walked away.

"Better yet," the priest calls out toward the servant, "I shall want a horse to ride. I see no reason to burden a carriage man on this day of rest."

Only a mumble of reply could be heard from where Shamus now stood, straightening his finely cut sleeves. He looked in the mirror as he finished grooming himself and a slow smile met his lips.

~~~

"What're ya talkin' about, laddy?! Are ya daft?"

The old woman's voice had always bitten through him like a cold breeze. When Travis O'Donnell had first come to live here to meet and be with his father, Tuckian, his teacher's harsh words and stern looks upset him. He was even known to cry on a number of occasions, but he had become resilient to her sharp edges. He knew there was a nice person in there. She had shown herself once when he fell in the garden and she comforted him with an oddly soothing voice.

Her name was Sandel Ursa Hopkins, but she made Travis call her 'Miss Ursa'. His mother had asked her to move here when they had come to live in Camelot. He was just a little boy then, though. He was nine now and he knew what was what.

"No, Miss Ursa. I am not daft." A reasonable response to her question.

The old woman stared at him before shrugging and speaking in a low grump, "Wull, I think ya are."

Travis smiled and sat back down, as it would seem he won this argument. He always knew when he won an argument because she would stop yelling.

"In all my years of teachin', I don't b'lieve I ever had a child so disagreeable as you with yer studies, Boy." She sat down in her seat and stared at him again, "Yer father and uncle, both, were arn'ry, but you got a special spark." After a pause, she almost grinned and leaned forward, "You're doin' very well. Never stop questioning, boy. That's how we learn and grown= ." She slowly reached to take his hand in hers, her fingers cold as they clasp his tightly.

Travis nodded to this, feeling the importance and weight of the statement by the look in her eyes.

She squeezed his hands a moment longer then smiled only slightly, a certain spark of encouragement adorning her face, "Now, if you could just rub off a little on that cousin of yers." She smirked and turned in her chair then looked back with a wave of her hand, "Go on! Go play!"

Travis didn't hesitate to gather his books and parchments then scurry toward the door, "Bye, Miss Ursa!"

The old teacher shuffled some papers in front of her, not turning to look at him and reveal the tender smile on her face.

~~~

"You're horse is ready, Father."

"Thank you, Dominick," the priest said with a glance up from his work, a pastime he'd taken up long ago.

"What're you working on today, Father? Another toy for the Tonnar lass?"

Another silent nod to the old man and then he paused to look up at him, "Woodworking has always been my one passion. I'm certain the Lord would forgive this singular vice."

"Aw, Father. The Lord don't mind a little carving now and then, does he?"

The priest smiled with a slight shrug as he packed the woodworking instruments into his satchel and stood, "I should think not, Dominick. I should think not."

Ernie 08/2001


Field of Death: Part XV

Three men sat late into the night in the Great Hall of Camelot, the table before them covered with scattered scrolls, paper, and tankards of ale; large tankards of ale. Behind the bar, Lumiere was watching them balefully, no doubt wishing they would finish so he could get some rest before preparing for the next day's breakfasts. Instead, one of them held up his hand and signaled him over to the table.

"Another round, Lumiere!" Timmons handed the bartender his mug, then reached over to grab those in front of Blackthorn and Marcus. "We may be here awhile." He turned back to his friends as Lumiere walked away muttering in French. "What were you saying, milord?"

Ian tossed the list he had been reading on top of the rest. "Not a name starting with the letter "U" in the bunch. Just the one that the killer already murdered."

"Bastard's becoming arrogant, if you ask me." Marcus stopped long enough to let Lumiere place his refill on the table before him. "He killed Louis O'Malley right out in front of our very gates!"

"That might work in our favor, Marcus. He may be too cocky now, and slip up. That still doesn't solve the problem of who he will go after next. There's not a "U" left!"

Timmons took a long pull on his ale, then set it aside to take up a piece of parchment. "Ah, I should have known! You can always tell the work of a monk or priest. Quite a fine hand, this one had. Must have taken three or four days just to write two pages of names!" He shook his head in disbelief, then looked closer at the parchment. "Hello! What's this?"

"What's what?"

"Give me that list of victims, would you, Marcus?"

The lieutenant shuffled the loose papers and then handed a page across the table. "What is it?" He looked over at Ian, who seemed as much lost as he was by the sergeant's outburst.

"That's it! They are all on this list from a church in Flaxley, or most of them are! See?" Timmons handed the records back to Ian, who placed them where Marcus could see them as well. "Those are parish records. The priest, whoever he was, must have sent these along to the Bishop here when the migration from Flaxley began, a list of the communicants and family records."

Ian ran a finger down the list. "He's right! Look at this, Marcus!"

Timmons rummaged among the papers again until he found a map of Flaxley. "Now, read me where they lived in Flaxley. Slow, now!" For the next ten minutes or so, Marcus read off the information as Timmons carefully made small crosses on the map with quill and ink, Ian just watching his subordinates and letting them go with this line of thought. It wouldn't be the first time his two friends had come up with a solution to a problem they were facing. Finally, the Sergeant tossed the quill to the table, capped the inkpot, and spread the map out so all three could see it at once. He pointed at the center.

"They all came from right around Flaxley Town, and went to the same church."

"Are you sure?" Ian looked upon it with a skeptical expression.

"Aye, milord. We know they were all prosperous there. They'd all go to the main church to worship." He took a sip of his ale. "Not for just that, mind you. Sunday church is a social event as well; folks want to see what the others are up to, and to be seen themselves."

Ian nodded thoughtfully. In fact, he had never been inside a church during services, and rarely spent any time around the outside of one. His ears, although only slightly pointed, had aroused parishioners occasionally, and his reputation as a user of magic only added to the tension. "So. They all went to the same church in Flaxley. Do you think Shamus did as well?"

"Aye, I think he did. His father was originally a merchant, wasn't he? Oh, he'd have gone there. Just for the business talk after Mass was over."

"Then we can rule out these folks from the outer districts?" Marcus took the pertinent sheets and put them in the semblance of a neat pile. "And are there any names starting with U on what the priest sent?"

"I think we can concentrate on the area close to town, aye. But, no, not on these lists for the name. But…" Marcus held up a finger. "We can send a messenger to Flaxley and ask for a more complete list of the parishioners. He may even know something about Shamus!"

*********

"So you sent a messenger?"

It was several hours later, and Ian lay in bed with Skye. She'd been awake, waiting, when he'd come home, and had listened with a thoughtful expression as he told her of Timmons' discovery, leaning on an elbow so she could see Ian's face.

"Aye. He's already on his way. And we have Evan and Matthew Blair working on finding the other people on the list that are still alive. But no names start with the letter `U'. What do you think about all this, love?"

Skye grinned. "If anyone knows anything about all those people, it be yon priest. When my brother Michael took the vows, my other brothers were beside themselves with glee. They thought their fortunes were made."

"Why? Because Michael was a priest?"

"Oh my, yes." She turned over to blow out the candle on the table by their bed, then lay her head on Ian's chest and laughed. " Our Ma chased them about the house with a switch until they swore to leave Michael be. It nearly broke their poor piratical hearts. All that information he could have passed along from just listening to the merchants and ship captains talk. You'd be surprised."

"No one ever pays attention to the priest."

Blackthorn 08/2001