To Kill or Cure by Susanna Gregory

instantly fatal. He fell from his horse as
     he died, and a hoof probably caught his head on the way down.’
    ‘Someone must be pleased. He thinks the crime has gone undetected, because everyone is assuming the mare is to blame. What
     happens if the body-washer notices this wound?’
    ‘I disguised it, and Mistress Starre is not the curious type anyway. What shall we do now?’
    ‘Visit the Angel and ask questions about Ocleye. He isa townsman, so his death is none of my affair, but your discovery suggests the matter might bear some probing.’
    ‘Good,’ said Bartholomew, beginning to walk more briskly. ‘And while we are there, we can ask if anyone has seen Blankpayn.’
    The Angel was set back from the road, separated from it by a pretty courtyard with a well. It was a substantial building,
     and offered rooms for travellers, as well as stabling for horses. It was known for clean bedding, sweet ale and generous breakfasts,
     as well as its famous pies, so was popular with visitors and locals alike. The main chamber was a large, busy place that smelled
     of pastry and woodsmoke. The flagstone floor was always scrupulously swept, and any spillages were immediately mopped up by
     Candelby’s army of polite, well-dressed pot-boys.
    The tavern was full for a morning when there was work to be done, but Bartholomew soon saw why. Candelby was in a chair near
     the hearth, holding forth. Sitting across from him was another familiar figure. Arderne was looking pleased with himself.
     He wore his scarlet robes, and through a window Bartholomew could see his brightly painted cart parked in the yard at the
     back of the tavern.
    ‘You want a pie?’ asked a yellow-haired pot-boy. He spoke softly, so as not to disturb the listeners. ‘But be warned: Master
     Candelby says we cannot sell them to scholars any more, unless they pay triple.’
    Michael grimaced. ‘I wondered how long it would be before he decided to use his pies against us. But I am here to see your
     master, not to eat. You can talk to me while we wait for him to finish his yarn. How well did you know Ocleye?’
    ‘Not very,’ admitted the lad. ‘He came to work herefairly recently, and tended to keep himself apart from the rest of us. He was decent, though, and always shared the pennies
     he got from our customers, so we all liked him. I am sorry he was murdered by one of your lot.’
    ‘And
I
am sorry he stabbed a scholar,’ retorted Michael. ‘But, as we have lost a man apiece, I hope the matter will end there. I
     do not suppose you have seen Blankpayn, have you? He seems to have gone missing – as has one of our students.’
    ‘Falmeresham,’ said the boy, nodding. ‘Carton came here last night, asking if we had seen him.’
    ‘And had you?’ asked Bartholomew.
    The lad shook his head, starting to move away. ‘I saw him make a dive for Blankpayn, but then those Carmelite novices rushed
     me, and my attention was taken with fending them off.’
    Bartholomew watched him go, then turned his attention to the gathering by the hearth. Candelby was still speaking, and his
     audience was listening in rapt admiration. Arderne looked like a cat that had swallowed the cream, relishing the awed looks
     that were continuously thrown in his direction.
    ‘So Magister Arderne took his feather and tapped it three times on my left hand,’ said Candelby. ‘At first, nothing happened.
     Then there was a great roaring, and my senses reeled. I heard a snap, and when I opened my eyes, there was my arm as whole
     and sound as it had ever been.’
    ‘Did it hurt?’ asked Isnard the bargeman. It was a tavern, so Bartholomew was not surprised to see Isnard there. The chorister–bargeman
     liked ale, and his missing leg meant work was not always available, so he often had time to squander in such places.
    ‘Not one bit,’ declared Candelby. ‘I thought it would – bone-setting is a painful process, as many of us can attest.But when Magister Arderne cured me with