The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (18 page)

Hardly able to contain her excitement, Seline even forgot about the purchases she’d intended to make. She had much more important things on her mind.

S
ullyan tapped at Patrio Ruvar’s door and heard his call of welcome. She entered with Cal and Tad behind her, and they removed their cloaks and hung them on pegs. Ruvar appeared at the far end of the hallway and greeted them warmly. He had changed out of his cleric’s robes and once again wore everyday clothing. Sullyan saw Cal shake his head. It seemed he still had trouble equating the revered head of a strict holy order with this very ordinary young man.

Ruvar beckoned them into his living space, where breakfast foods were laid out. The aromas of tea and fellan pervaded the air. The cleric bade them sit and served them himself, holding up a hand at Sullyan’s protest.

“There’s no formality here, Colonel, except in the execution of our office. We are all equals in our faith; my position as Cleric Patrio is more ceremonial than hierarchical. Any one of us might have been chosen for the role at Damas’s passing.”

“And why were you chosen, Patrio?” Sullyan asked casually. Cal wasn’t the only one to wonder about this cleric’s worldly demeanor and casual mode of dress.

Ruvar smiled his charming, sideways smile. “I think we understand each other a little better now, Colonel, don’t you? Why don’t we dispense with titles and relax our stiff courtesy? You may call me Ruvar. I was selected to become Patrio because I was educated and initiated in Port Loxton, under the guidance of His Immanence Lord Neremiah.”

“Ah!” Pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Sullyan. Ruvar’s sideways glances and defensive attitude toward her talents now made sense. He must have feared she would judge him by Neremiah’s actions during the Baron’s trial. She decided to reassure him.

“I hold nothing against Lord Neremiah, Ruvar. His part in Baron Reen’s defense was engineered and directed by Sofira, acting under the influence of Reen himself. I believe he meant no harm toward me and he has made no outcry against Artesans since the Baron’s downfall. And my given name is Brynne.”

Ruvar inclined his head as he sat opposite her, having served himself with warm bread and soft cheese. “His Immanence and I have corresponded since the trial of the Baron.” This drew a narrow look from Sullyan, and his attitude became apologetic. “Neremiah was shocked by the Baron’s violent prejudices, and I think he felt guilty for allowing himself to be used by Reen. He was most anxious to know whether the Baron harbored any feelings of resentment toward him.”

Sullyan snorted indelicately. “His Immanence has every reason to feel guilty. He could have put a stop to most of the Baron’s scheming had he not been so weak. And he need not have asked
you
whether Reen harbored resentment. I could have told him the answer to that.”

Ruvar regarded her with sympathy. “Reen hurt you very deeply, didn’t he?”

“Hurt me? He damned near destroyed the
world
!”

Sullyan’s vehemence shocked them all. Cal and Tad glanced from her to the Patrio in consternation. Ruvar’s eyes stretched wide and Sullyan passed a hand across her face. “Forgive me,” she murmured, “I ought not to have said that.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Ruvar said. “There’s clearly far more to the matter than I was told. I was elected Patrio because I was born and raised in the outer world. It was felt my familiarity with such things would relieve others less worldly of the task of dealing with the unknown. Damas never went off the island, and I know he found it hard coping even with speaking to the fishermen who supply us. It is necessary to have someone who knows their ways and can spot the ones who try to cheat us. We are maintained by the Matria Church in Port Loxton and the Arch Patrio would be angry if he found the fishermen squandering the gold he sends them to pay for our supplies. It is one of my tasks to see we are kept adequately provisioned, and that the quality of goods is consistent. So you see, Brynne,” he smiled at her, “there’s no real mystery behind someone my age holding so august an office.”

Sullyan retuned his smile, grateful for his lightening the mood and ignoring her uncharacteristic loss of control. She took another swallow of fellan and he wisely returned to the subject of her visit. “I hope you were able to satisfy yourself as to the facts concerning the Baron’s suicide?”

Her voice was soft in the quiet room. “I have gleaned everything I need from the available sources, thank you. I have quite enough information to complete my report to the King. I have only three final questions for you, if I may, and then we must take our leave and begin our voyage home.”

“And what are they?”

“The first is this: Both you and Frar Durren mentioned the Baron had taken to leaning heavily upon a cane for support, yet Durren did not see it as he watched Reen’s progress up to the peak. Was the cane ever found?”

Ruvar frowned, his dark brows creasing. “Not that I know of. But I can tell you Reen would never have made it up to that peak without his cane. It never left his side and he was unable to walk without it. I suppose it must have fallen into the sea when he jumped. Your second question?”

“Did the Baron enter into correspondence with anyone while he was here? I assume members of your order may send messages to their families via the supply boats?”

Ruvar thought a minute, frowning. “I believe the Baron did send a few letters. But you must understand, I don’t pry into my clerics’ personal affairs. Letters are placed in a box in my study and are never examined before Varian gives them to the fishermen. Likewise, any messages that return are left in the box for collection by the recipient.”

She was disappointed. “So you cannot tell me to whom the Baron’s letters were addressed?”

“No.” Ruvar’s frown deepened, clearly unhappy at her tacit suggestion that he should.

“Do you recall anything about the return letters which might give some clue as to who they were from?” she pressed. “Would Varian?”

He looked scandalized. “Neither of us ever looked at them. Letters are private.”

Deciding she would learn no more from him on this matter, she asked her final question. “Can you tell me either the names of the fishermen who ferried Frar Serrin back to the mainland, or the location of the village he came from? I believe it would complete the picture if I could speak with the young man himself. He could probably shed more light on why the Baron chose such a desperate exit from this world when he had seemingly been content for nearly three years.”

Ruvar seemed happier with this line of enquiry. “Hmm. I wouldn’t like to speculate as to your success with Serrin. He was always a morose and reticent young man and his association with the Baron improved his demeanor not one whit. But you’ll discover his character for yourself if you can find him. Unfortunately, though, I can’t help you with that either. We have as little contact with the fishermen as possible; we don’t ask their names. It’s rarely the same men twice in a row. And the only thing I know about where Serrin came from is that he was unwanted by his parents and sent here as a last resort. He was so resentful and angry over their actions that he never spoke about where he came from. I got the impression his village was farther along the coast to the south. More than that I cannot say.”

He spread his hands ruefully. “I am truly sorry not to be of more help to you in these matters. The fishermen should be able to tell you more about who ferried Serrin that day, and maybe they know more than I about where he came from. You will have to stay the night at their village anyway. There’s a freshening easterly beginning to blow and you’ll have a long and uncomfortable beat back to shore.”

An hour later, having taken their farewells and gathered their gear, they made their careful way down the icy steps toward the waiting sloop.

“What did he mean, ‘a long and uncomfortable beat’?” asked Cal suspiciously. He had his pack slung over his shoulder, plus the bundle of the Baron’s personal possessions. “What is a ‘beat,’ anyway?”

Sullyan grinned at him. “Beating into the wind, is what you do when you have to sail in the direction from which the wind is blowing. We need to sail east, but the wind is blowing from the east and no boat can sail directly into the wind.”

“So how can we get back?”

“We will have to tack.”

“What the hell’s a ‘tack’? First beating, now tacking! I really don’t understand all this sailing business.”

“Have no fear, Cal. Just do as you are bid and all will become clear. At least I can moderate the strength of the wind, so we will not get too wet. But it would take more power than I care to expend to alter the wind’s direction. Tad, step into the boat and take the packs, will you?”

Despite Sullyan’s taming of the wind, it was a rough and freezing romp over the waves. The icy spray drenched them from the start as the little craft sliced and drove through the mounting waves. Cal and Tad learned all they cared to know about tacking: turning the prow of the boat through the eye of the wind so they steered a zigzag course closer and closer to their destination. As they finally neared the shore, having taken a good two hours longer over the return journey, the hills and cliffs of the mainland provided some shelter from the full force of the wind and the waves lessened. By the time the entrance to the reef came into sight, they sailed a much calmer sea.

It was coming on for midafternoon and there were other vessels about. Sullyan could see they were generating their fair share of curious stares. The returning fishermen probably recognized the craft as belonging to old Jeriko and couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw it was handled by three strangers. Sullyan ignored them, concentrating on navigating the entrance to the bay.

Taking the tiller from Cal, she swung them about one final time and headed for the gap. The wind was on the beam and she told the men to pay out the sheets, allowing the sails to take more wind. The little sloop passed safely through the reef and entered the much calmer waters of the shallow bay.

Instructing Tad to drop the headsail, Sullyan aimed for the jetty. She caught sight of Jeriko standing on the strand and knew the old fisherman had been watching for them. She was determined to bring his craft to rest as easily as she could. Some of the fishermen had already anchored their craft and were unloading the day’s catch. A couple of them walked down the jetty to take the sloop’s mooring ropes.

Using the last of the vessel’s momentum, Sullyan swung the tiller over and brought the boat alongside the jetty. She couldn’t avoid the jolt as the craft struck the wooden structure, but all in all she thought they had done a workmanlike job. Tad and Cal threw the lines to the waiting fishermen and Sullyan smiled up at Jeriko as he came hobbling toward them.

He looked his vessel over critically. “Well, I must admit I’m surprised to see you back in one piece. That were quite a blow came up overnight.”

One of the fishermen straightened from fastening the sloop’s painter. “They was lucky for sure. I ain’t rarely seen an easterner drop like that one.”

Jeriko held out a hand to Sullyan and she allowed him to help her from the boat. “You see we have brought her safely home, Jeriko. I thank you for her loan.”

The old man snorted. “Loan, nothin’! You paid me the worth of my craft and still returned her unharmed. I don’t call that loanin’. Here,” he said, noticing their wet, bedraggled clothing, “you need to get yourselves dry and warm.”

Sullyan agreed. The wind might have dropped, but the sea spray had been icy and they were all beginning to shiver. Jeriko picked up her pack and waved with one hand. “C’mon, lass, you can use my house to dry your things. Don’t you worry about your beasts. I looked after ’em well enough. We’re havin’ a barn feast tonight to celebrate a good catch; you’re all invited. I expect you can use a good meal after what them hermits’ll have fed you.”

They allowed Jeriko to lead them to his small cottage where a welcome fire blazed in the hearth. He showed them where to heat water and then left them. Once he was gone, they stripped off their wet clothing and spread it to dry, using the hot water to warm shivering muscles.

Sullyan waited until they were all dressed again and had brewed the inevitable fellan. She knew what her own feelings were about what they had learned, but wanted to discover whether the men had come to the same conclusions as she.

She glanced at them over a steaming mug. “Well, gentlemen? Your thoughts, please.”

Cal gazed at her as he sipped his scalding brew. “I’m not sure I believe the whole story,” he said. She encouraged him and he carried on. “For one thing, I don’t like that knife. There’s no way he could have slit his wrists if it was as blunt as the one Varian showed us. And for another, there was all that blood.”

“Yes,” added Tad. “There was far too much blood.”

Sullyan agreed. She knew they would pick up that point. They were all well acquainted with how much blood a human body contained and how it bled when injured. “Go on.”

“Well,” said Cal, “if all that blood did come from the Baron, there’s no way he could have climbed that peak. He’d have bled out by the time he reached the passageway. And no one mentioned seeing a trail of blood leading away from his rooms.”

That was a good point, she reflected, and one she had not noticed herself. Disregarding the size of the blood pool, if the Baron had somehow managed to slash his wrists with that dull knife, he would have left a trail a blind man could have followed. And Frar Durren said Reen’s hands and clothing were still wet with blood when he had seen him toiling up the track. So if it hadn’t come from the Baron’s wrists ….

“Well done, Cal, I had not thought of that. And Ruvar told us, did he not, that blood was found on the rocks where the Baron cast himself off. So why not on the ground outside his rooms or on the trail? Now, what about Frar Durren’s description of the Baron just before he jumped?”

Neither of the two men had picked up the point that most bothered her, and they frowned in concentration.