Murder by the Book by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

Michaelhouse, will not know what it is like to be hungry.’
    Michael, Bartholomew and Cynric said nothing, but the truth was that their College was not wealthy at all, and they understood all too well what it was like to exist on meagre rations. They possessed several fine buildings, along with land that kept them supplied with vegetables, but their roofs leaked, they were crippled with debt, and a fire had not burned in the hearth for weeks. Not even a windfall resulting from a recent journey to York had helped them for long.
    ‘So you are a poacher,’ surmised Michael, fixing Browne with an icy glare. ‘How often do you raid University property, exactly?’
    ‘Bagging the occasional carp hardly makes me a poacher,’ objected Browne indignantly, although Bartholomew was sure the law would not agree.
    ‘Was the corpse here yesterday?’ snapped Michael impatiently.
    ‘If so, I would have reported it then,’ Browne shot back, then added defensively, ‘Not that I visit every day, of course.’
    ‘Of course.’ Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘We need to tug him out. I am not sure how, though – he is some distance from the bank.’
    Bartholomew fashioned a grappling hook by tying one of his surgical implements on to a piece of twine. Then he flung it towards the body, aiming to snag it and draw it across to him. Unfortunately, it was caught on something below the surface, and the makeshift device was not strong enough to let him pull it free.
    ‘You had better wade in after him,’ said Michael. ‘Or we shall be here all day.’
    ‘You do it,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘My remit is to tell you how he died, not go paddling about in dirty ponds while you stand by and make unhelpful suggestions.’
    ‘
I
am not going,’ said Cynric firmly, when the monk turned to him. He crossed himself with one hand, while the other gripped a couple of the talismans that hung around his neck. ‘This pool is infested with an evil kind of faerie.’
    ‘Surely, you have a charm to protect you?’ asked Michael irritably. ‘You seem to be wearing at least four, not to mention pilgrim tokens and a holy relic. No one in Cambridge is better protected from wicked spirits than you.’
    ‘Almost certainly,’ agreed Cynric comfortably. ‘But I am still not going in that pond.’
    ‘Nor am I, lest you think to ask,’ said Browne. ‘It is not my responsibility, either.’
    ‘And I cannot swim,’ added Michael. He grinned rather triumphantly at Bartholomew. ‘So either you must do it, or we shall have to wait until a beadle deigns to arrive.’
    As it was nearing the date when his students would take their final disputations, and he was keen to return to College to make sure they were hard at work, Bartholomew sat down and began to untie his boots. Michael was right: it might be some time before a beadle – one of the army of men he hired to keep unruly scholars under control – put in an appearance, because they were still busy ensuring that no trouble was bubbling after the Convocation.
    ‘It will not take a moment,’ said Michael consolingly. ‘Then you can return to terrorising your pupils, and I can continue to soothe ragged tempers over this library. You know what happened the last time our Colleges and hostels took against each other.’
    Bartholomew was unlikely to forget the events of the previous February, when a ruthless killer had fanned the flames of dissent between the University’s warring factions. He stood and put one foot in the water, but it was bone-chillingly cold – far more so than he had expected – and he withdrew it hastily.
    ‘Just jump,’ advised Michael. ‘It will be unpleasant for an instant, but then all you have to do is wade a few steps, grab the corpse and haul it back to us.’
    ‘There is a platform just under the surface,’ supplied Browne, rather more helpfully. ‘Built to allow servants to walk out and catch the fish with nets. You can see it if you look carefully. Use