Oh, for goodness sake, Nola thought in exasperation. How had Kirwyn pulled that off? Still, it was none of her business.
She was happy to gather from what she overheard that Brinna and Alan had not been murdered, nor apparently was anyone blaming the two servants of the house for the murder. And she was happier still co hear nothing about a buckec, or witchcraft, or a pair of serving women who had been dismissed earlier on the same day of che killing. She was not happy to learn that word had been sent to Lord Pen da ran, whose estates included che town of Haymarket, and that the lord had sent one of his minor lordlings to seek out more details of the crime.
So. Someone was asking questions and looking around.
But surely he wouldn't be looking around the root cellar, she told herself. Not so soon.
Or would he? One of the things Nola learned was that the silversmith's money was missing: The silver he had fashioned into jewelry and trinkets was still there, scattered about the floor and his body. But the strongbox was opened - indicating the silversmith had been compelled to show the thief where his money and unworked silver was hidden - and now it was empty. Yet Innis had shouted out in alarm just as the killer struck him. The question that seemed to be on everybody's lips was, How had the intruder, carrying all that money, gotten out of the house, out of the yard, and off the street so fast?
Nola knew there had been no intruder, but she also wondered, briefly, what Kirwyn had managed to do - before witnesses began arriving - with the contents of the strongbox. But a more important question was, What would this Lord Pendaran's agent assume the killer had done with the missing money? Everyone seemed convinced the murderer was an outsider; but, still, Nola guessed, a thorough search would have to include the silversmith's yard. A very thorough search might include the house.
What if the house had been searched already? What if she was already too late?
Nola began to seek out a place where she could be alone to work a spell, so that she could magically peek into the house to see what was happening, see if it was safe to return. There were certainly enough puddles from the night's rain. All she had to do was find one behind something, or in an out-of-the-way corner, or -
She was so busy craning her neck to see between the vendors' stalls that she walked into someone.
"Excuse me," she mumbled, still searching the ground off to the side.
"It's all right," said a voice she recognized. "But it's easier to see where you're going if your eyes and your feet are pointed in the same direction."
Nola looked up and found herself facing Brinna.
"I - I'm sorry," Nola stammered.
"It's all right," Brinna repeated. She smiled co show she really meant it, and for a moment Nola forgot that Brinna couldn't recognize her and saw only a ragged and dirty twelve-year-old boy, a clumsy stranger.
Seeing Brinna's familiar and friendly face, Nola had to fight the inclination to blurt out, "I need to calk to you. I know who killed Innis, and I fear your life is in danger, coo. Please crust me." But Nola herself trusted no one. How could she ask someone to have faith in her? She had spent too much of her life hiding secrets.
And then the moment was gone. One of che three young women clustered around Brinna elbowed Nola out of the way. "We were talking," this one sneered, in that tone used solely by irate young women between che ages of thirteen and twenty to boys too young to be worth notice.
One of the others tugged on Brinna's arm, almost causing her to upend the basket in which she carried the items she had bought in the market, turnips and onions being what Nola caught a glimpse of. Brinna's friend demanded of Brinna, "Tell us about this man Galvin that Lord Pendaran sent."
Brinna turned away from Nola and answered, "I told you. He's asking about last night - "
"I don't mean that," the woman said. "I mean, what's he like?" And before Brinna could do more than open her mouth, the woman continued. "Reaghan says he's very attractive."
Brinna laughed. "Reaghan should know. She nearly fell out of the window trying to get a better look."
Reaghan must have been the one with the pointy elbows. She looked down her nose at the others and said, "Well, he was worth the risk. He has beautiful eyes."
"He does have kind eyes," Brinna agreed.
"And a very nice smile," Reaghan added.
"And many questions," Brinna said, indicating - Nola thought - more sense than all three of her friends combined.
The third friend said, "I don't know. If he looks as good as Reaghan says, I'd let him ask mc all the questions he wanted, and I'd admit to anything for him."
Empty-headed fools, Nola thought. She'd heard accounts of how witches were questioned, and she didn't find amusing the thought of being willing to admit to anything.
Nola couldn't just continue to stand on the fringe of the group, hoping to pick up information about what had happened last night. Any moment now one of Brinna's friends was sure to comment on street urchins who eavesdropped on the conversations of their betters. Besides, they were only eager to hear about the man who had been sent to inquire about the murder. Apparently they had learned earlier all they wanted to about the murder itself. Reluctant as Nola was to separate herself from the one friend she had in Haymarket, she drifted away from the four young women.
Almost at the end of the row of vendors, she found a spot behind one of the stalls that was awkward to get to, and was shielded from easy view. Best of all, it included a nice puddle. Nola took out her square of wool that held the hairs. Let this be Alan's, she hoped. She hated the thought of seeing Kirwyn, dreading that she might accidentally witness him killing someone else, unlikely as that was.
Nola glanced around to make sure the place was truly as deserted as it seemed, then she whispered the magic words and tossed the curliest of the brown hairs into the muddy water.
To her relief, Alan's form appeared in the puddle, standing in the silversmith's shop. He had his arms crossed over his chest and he looked both nervous and guilty about something. Nola could sympathize; she, too, had a tendency to look guilty when anything went wrong, even if she had nothing to do with it.
It turned out Kirwyn was there, coo, after all, looking puffy-eyed and distraught. Liar, Nola thought.
And then there was one more man, who had to be the one sent by Lord Pendaran, for she could tell by his clothing that he was neither artisan nor simple townsman come to join the household in mourning. Lord Galvin, the young women had said. Nola probably wouldn't have noticed if Brinna's friends hadn't made such a fuss - for she didn't think people's appearances were what was important - but she supposed he was good looking, and Nola decided to hold that against him. In contrast to Alan's air of threatened anxiety and Kirwyn's act of grieving son, Galvin looked mostly tired and impatient. So, Nola thought, someone else who was already half exhausted this morning from having traveled through the night and been caught in the rain. She had no sympathy to spare for him. He was young, which hinted at a lack of experience in dealing with murder. Which could mean good or ill as far as Nola was concerned. On principle, she concluded it probably meant ill.
Alan was talking, and because his voice was quiet and there was noise from the street by the market stalls, the water didn't carry his words to Nola.
Lord Pendaran's man spoke more confidently, and his voice was clear. He said, "So when you ran into the serving girl - "
"Brinna," Alan said, and Nola caught from the other's expression that he had already been told the name and could remember it on his own, thank you, being the clever person he was, in a lord's employ and not just some servant in a silversmith's household.
"When you ran into Brinna," Galvin repeated, in a tone that could have been patience or condescension, "it was on the hall side of Master Innis's bedroom door, and she had not yet opened the door?"
Apparently this was a reiteration of something Alan had said, and Alan didn't immediately recognize it as a question. "Yes," he said, just as Galvin gave up waiting and urged, "Is that correct?"
As though working to rouse himself from his grief, Kirwyn said, "She should be back from marketing soon." He turned to Alan to complain. "You had no authority to give her permission to go. I always told my father you were next to useless."
Alan said, "I thought Lord Galvin was finished with the questions he was asking her."
Galvin didn't answer.
Kirwyn started to say something else, but Nola ran her hand through the puddle, dragging the hair out over the edge to end the spell. It was time to stop watching and act.
She had to get into the silversmith's house, and she knew that Brinna was out among the market stalls telling everyone what had happened, and Kirwyn, Alan, and Lord Pendaran's man were in the shop. There might not be a better time. She climbed out over the guide rope that held the awning over the stall and made her way toward the street where the silversmith lived. Had lived.
If she was lucky, she would be in and out of the house in the time it would take to make up a bed and not a person would notice her. But just in case some neighbor did see her entering through the kitchen door, she had better look like someone who had a right to be there. She didn't want to look like a stranger, for fear of shouts of "The intruder came back!" Nor should she look like herself, for that could be even worse if anyone recognized her as the one who had come around here two days ago seeking work - che strange one, with the stranger mother, who had been asked to leave.
So, while no plan seemed safe, the least dangerous was to look like Brinna, because Nola knew for a fact that Brinna was away in the market and that the curious people of Haymarket would likely keep her there for much longer than Nola needed.
So as she rounded the last corner she dropped the glamour that made her look like a boy and took on one that made her look like Brinna.
Nola opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
And found a man in there, a soldier by the look of him, poking among the pots and crocks. "Hello again, Brinna," he said when he saw Nola. "Everybody's waiting for you in the shop."
Chapter Nine
STORIES FLOODED INTO Nola's memory of witches captured: stories told to her by her mother as warnings, and tales told by people who didn't know Nola was a witch and who shared their accounts as entertainment, ot to satisfy themselves that honest folk always won out in the end over monsters and demons and witches and other such evil creatures.
Nola cook a step back, and the soldier caught hold of her arm, firmly though not roughly. He must have seen she was close to panic, for he spoke reassuringly, as someone might to a skittish horse, "Easy there, now, I mean you no harm."
He didn't look especially cruel, but neither had the children in one village whom she had seen throw rocks at an old woman, an old woman who had evoked their suspicion because she shook and twitched and had a film over one eye.
Nola tried to pull free, thinking that if she could just get to the door...
If she got to the door, he would follow her.
And she couldn't pull free in any case. He didn't even have to strain to hold on to her.
"What is it, girl?" the soldier asked. He must be with chat man Galvin, she collected herself enough to surmise, one of Lord Pendaran's guard. And very obviously he had already spoken once with die real Brinna.
So far he was being solicitous of her trembling and obvious fear. Nola estimated that wouldn't last long before he scarred to wonder just why she was so anxious when Brinna would know that he had cause to be here.
She let her free hand flutter over her heart, co acknowledge that she had been frightened, and gave a ragged half-laugh, half-sigh to show that now she was over it and embarrassed at her foolishness. "I'm sorry." she said. "You startled me. For a moment I didn't know who you were and I thought..." She forced herself to remember the sight of Kirwyn bringing the hammer down on his father's head, which caused her to shudder, which would have co be Brinna's reaction, too. She shook her head. "Ic was silly of me."
"Not at all," the man said, though his face indicated he thought it was very silly of her. He nodded toward the hall. "Lord Galvin is in the shop with Master Kirwyn, and he's eager co speak to you, to hear in more detail your account of what happened."
He still had his hand on Nola's arm, probably less to hold on to her than to indicate that he wanted her to keep moving. But even if he let go, Nola realized, she would never be able to dash to the door, open the latch, run into the courtyard, keep running around to the street, and lose him in a town she barely knew. She would have to do what he said: go calk to this man Galvin.
Take your time, she wished at Brinna. The last thing she needed was to have the real Brinna come home. Tell EVERYBODY in the market EVERYTHING.
Still, what kind of situation was she putting Brinna into? Once Nola escaped and Brinna came back, what then? She could just imagine these men of Lord Pendaran's saying to Brinna, "But the last time you were here you said..."
But what could Nola do besides go along with this for now?
The only way to get to the shop without going back outside was to go through Innis's room. Nola wasn't aware of balking until the soldier tightened his grip on her arm. She had no idea what to expect: Would che body still be there, lying in a pool of blood?
It was, and it wasn't.
Innis had been moved from the floor, but he was definitely still in the room. That had to be him on the bed, even though his body had been covered with a blanket. Nola hastily looked away and her gaze went to the floor, to the section that could be taken up - under which Innis had hidden his strongbox, and by which ie had died. Someone - most probably Brinna - had worked hard to clean up the blood. Innis's bedroom was the only one in the house that had a wood floor, and the disadvantage of wood over rushes or a rug was chat you couldn't just pick up what was soiled and replace it with fresh. The blood had soaked into the wood and seeped into the cracks, and even now there was a stain that could have been a residue of the blood itself or perhaps just a water spot where Brinna had soaked the floor while trying to get the blood up. Whether the stain was blood oc water, the smell of blood still hung in the heavy air.