A Vein of Deceit by Susanna Gregory Page A

attacker?’ Michael was asking.
    Carbo breathed in deeply, and an uneasy expression crossed his face. ‘Can you smell garlic?’
    ‘Garlic?’ queried Michael, startled. ‘No. Unless Agatha put some in my midday pottage …’
    ‘There!’ exclaimed Carbo, snapping his fingers and beaming. ‘It has gone! All is well again.’
    ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Michael, regarding him askance. ‘But you were about to describe—’
    Carbo closed his eyes, and began to speak in a curious, chant-like manner. ‘The man I saw. A youth or small man. Well dressed.
     Scholar’s uniform. Neat hair. Good boots – black, like coal.’ His eyes snapped open again, and he grinned broadly. ‘Coal is
     a marvellous thing, although it brings out the worst in people. Do you not agree?’
    Michael blinked. ‘I have never given it much thought, frankly. Is there any more you can tell us? This was an attempt on a
     man’s life, and we are eager to catch the culprit, lest he tries it again.’
    ‘I can tell you he should have darkened his face with coal-dust, because then I would not have seen him loitering in that
     doorway, waiting for his prey. He would have been invisible.’
    ‘Do you think Langelee – the big man – was his intended victim?’ asked Michael.
    ‘Yes – he let other folk pass unmolested, and only made his move when the big man came. He knew who to kill. Can you smell
     garlic? I smell garlic.’
    ‘Lord, Matt!’ exclaimed Michael, when Carbo had been sent on his way with money for a decent meal. ‘He is as mad as Clippesby.
     What is it about the Dominican Order that attracts lunatics?’
    ‘You should speak to Prior Morden about him,’ said Bartholomew, concerned. ‘He is obviously ill, and should not be wandering
     about on his own. He needs care and attention.’
    ‘Very well. Do you think we can trust his testimony?’
    Bartholomew shrugged. ‘He confirmed what Langelee said – that the culprit wore academic garb.’
    Michael was thoughtful. ‘His description of the culprit’s neat hair does not sound like Gosse, either – Gosse is virtually
     bald. So perhaps this is one crime of which he
is
innocent. But speak of the devil, and he will appear, because there is Idoma.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Gosse’s sister. Folk say she is a witch, but only because they are afraid of her. Obviously, it is easier to be frightened
     of a witch than admit to being intimidated by an ordinary woman.’
    Bartholomew studied Idoma as she approached, and supposed she was an impressive specimen. She was taller and broader than
     most men, and many of his younger students would have been proud to boast a moustache like hers. Her hair was bundled under
     a wimple, but the tendril that escaped was jet black. It matched her eyes, which were oddly expressionless, and reminded him
     of a shark-fish he had once seen off the Spanish coast. The similarity was enhanced when she opened her mouth to speak, revealing
     two rows of sharp, jagged teeth. AndSuttone had been right when he claimed she was a cut above the average villain, too – she carried herself with an aloof dignity
     that indicated she was no commoner.
    ‘Lost any more chalices recently, Brother?’ she asked gloatingly.
    ‘Why?’ asked Michael coldly. ‘Which ones has your brother stolen now?’
    ‘You cannot make that sort of accusation,’ said Idoma, stepping forward threateningly. Michael held his ground, so they were
     eye to eye. ‘Our lawyer says so.’
    Michael smiled without humour. ‘But your lawyer is not here, is he, madam? What did Gosse do with my College’s cups? If they
     are returned, I
may
be persuaded to speak at his trial – the one that is a certainty, given the number of crimes he commits. A word from me may
     see him escape the noose.’
    ‘Do you have proof with which to accuse him?’ Idoma asked, unblinking eyes boring into his.
    Watching them bandy words, Bartholomew found it was easy to imagine her sitting over a cauldron,