The Merchant's Partner by Michael Jecks Page B

as Baldwin’s eyes accustomed themselves to the dark inside the small cottage. It was not as well built as the other houses in the village. In place of the solid timber beams, the gaps filled with cob and dirt to give a weatherproof shell, this place was a simple wooden shed, with earth and straw plastered on the outside to stop drafts.
    One window high in the northern wall gave a little light into the gloomy interior. From it he could see that there was one almost square room, with a tiny attic area which had a seven-runged ladder leading up to it. Baldwin could make out the rugs and furs that made up the bed in it. Beneath, all was cluttered. In the center sat a fireplace, around which stood two small benches. To the right was a table, covered with earthenware pots and a variety of twigs, leaves and roots. A pair of large flat granite stones sat near the fire, which must have been used for grinding in place of mortar and pestle.
    All over the floor were pots and vessels containing seeds and leaves, some fresh, some dry, giving the room a soft and musty odor. Around the walls and from the beams hung clumps of other branches and drying flowers, but it was to his left that his eyes were pulled. There had been a similar table to that opposite, a simple affair built of roughly hewn planks on top of a pair of trestles, but here it was fallen, as if pulled or yanked over into the room, away from the wall. The collection of herbs and other plants was scattered all over the floor, and broken pots lay underneath the toppled balks of wood.
    â€œWait here,” said Baldwin shortly, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the floor around the table. Walkingpast the constable, he moved forward slowly, gazing at the wreckage while he wondered whether there had been a fight.
    Turning, he looked at the other side of the room. There, he saw, the table was standing hard against the wall. The pots around it on the floor were neatly organized on both sides, as if placed in military lines. He wandered carefully toward it and picked up a pair. One contained what looked like several twigs of yew, the other held leaves and stems from a juniper. He replaced them thoughtfully and strolled back to the fallen table.
    Here, it appeared, the same pots had stood at either side, with some resting on top. There were several more smashed on the ground, and leaves and roots were scattered all over the floor. Baldwin crouched down and picked up a few. Mostly they appeared to be different herbs. He smelled thyme, basil and sage. And something else. Over the heavy musk and the thick pine, he could smell the decaying sweetness. As Simon came in, darkening the room as his body shut out the light from the doorway, the knight’s fingers encountered the slight stickiness, chilly and thick on the floor, directly in front of the table.
    â€œFound anything?” Simon asked from the entrance. He saw the knight turn, his face sad and reflective.
    â€œYes. This is where she died. Her blood is all over the floor.”
    Sighing, the knight slowly traced the cloying mess from one extremity to the other. It seemed to have settled in pools on the ground, as far as he could see in the darkness. Mostly it had congealed, but here and there the thickest gobs still held viscous proof of their provenance. Tanner crouched by the fire. There was nochance of resurrecting the flames of yesterday, and he resigned himself to starting a new one so that they might have light.
    Soon the flames were rising languidly from a small mass of tinder, and the constable found a small foul-smelling tallow candle which he passed to Baldwin, who waited by the table, crouching.
    Taking the candle, the knight peered round, grunting occasionally to himself. To Simon, standing by the door, he looked like a hog grubbing for acorns. On hearing a muttered call, the constable strode to Baldwin, then lifted the bench while the candle was held to the top and sides, then the bottom and finally the