The Unlikely Spy by Sarah Woodbury

to indicate that the man could
straighten. “We are here about the death of your niece’s husband,
Gryff.”
    Iolo stared at them for a count of five, to
the point that Gareth was wondering if Rhun should repeat what he’d
said. Then Iolo said, “I see.” He turned to look into the recesses
of the tent behind him. “As you can see, Madlen is distraught.”
    “I can only imagine what she must be
feeling,” Rhun said.
    Gareth took the picture he’d sketched of
Gryff and handed it to Iolo. “Just to be clear, this is Gryff?”
    Iolo took the paper. “That is well done!
Yes, that is Gryff.”
    “What was Gryff’s relationship to you?” Rhun
said.
    Gareth was happy to let the prince keep
speaking. He was good with people and had made Iolo feel at ease
with grace, especially given that they’d gotten off on the wrong
foot at the start.
    Iolo’s brows drew together. “Is there some
purpose to these questions, my lord? Gryff is dead. What more is
there to say?”
    “We’re just following up. A man died,”
Prince Rhun said. “We want to be thorough.”
    Iolo continued to look puzzled. “I thought
Gryff drowned in the millpond?”
    Gareth grunted. He didn’t like to lie
outright to anyone, even suspects in a murder investigation. Lying
was for criminals, and if Gareth lied to them, pretty soon it might
be hard to tell who was who. “Any time a man dies prematurely,
questions must be asked. The monks, for example, are concerned
about the nature of his death.”
    Iolo had a naturally ruddy complexion, and
with this comment, some of the color left his face. “Are they
wondering how Gryff got there? Do you think he might have—” Iolo
swallowed hard, “—done himself in?”
    That wasn’t what Gareth had been thinking at
all. He’d just been trying to deflect Iolo’s queries, but his
question gave Gareth a moment’s pause. Since he had known it was
murder from the start, he hadn’t considered the various reasons a
man might die if it wasn’t, and the specifics of what people might
think. “We are pursuing every line of inquiry.”
    “How else does a man end up dead in a
millpond in the middle of the night?” Rhun said, taking up the
questioning again.
    “Slipped, perhaps,” Iolo said. “Gryff often
drank more than was good for him.”
    “While the idea that Gryff took his own life
surprises you, the idea Gryff might have died because he was too
drunk to save himself would not?” Rhun said.
    Iolo shrugged and began rearranging the
piles of cloth in front of him. It was as if he’d lost interest in
the conversation, but his hands shook before he clenched them into
fists and stilled them. “It isn’t as if he could swim, and a drunk
man, as we all know, has little control over his limbs.”
    “Do you have any idea what he might have
been doing at the millpond in the early hours of the morning?” Rhun
said.
    “The pond is on the road between here and
Aberystwyth village, is it not?” Iolo said. “Maybe he got lost on
the way to our lodgings from the fair.”
    “Maybe,” Rhun said.
    “I’m sure you know your business, my lord,”
Iolo said, suddenly turning affable. It was the third persona he’d
put on in what was still a relatively short conversation. “Gryff
was a dreamer. Why he did or did not do anything has never been
clear to me.”
    “Yet you kept him on,” Rhun said. “He
married your niece. So we ask again, what was his relationship to
you?”
    “He was my apprentice—” Iolo waggled his
head, his eyes turned upward for a moment, “—well, my journeyman. I
had hope that he would take on more and more of the duties of a
master draper, but—”
    Rhun tipped his head. “He was not doing
so?”
    “He never proved as capable as I would have
liked,” Iolo said.
    Silence fell for a moment, punctuated by
Madlen’s sobs, still ongoing in the background. Gareth could see
her, hunched over on a stool with her face in her hands. Prince
Rhun had done an excellent job questioning