Music of the Distant Stars by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online

Ida had supplied the fabric for her shroud. It might have been because the alternative – that her killer had been so cold-blooded in his meticulous preparations that he had taken it with him – was just too harsh. For the second time that morning, I realized I was weeping.
    My aunt made a soft sound and put her arms around me. I leaned against her, taking comfort from her warmth, her nearness and her love. She said, quite crossly, ‘Sir Alain, Lassair has borne enough. Please let me take her home, for there is nothing more that she or I can do here.’
    I thought she had gone too far. Whatever a local justiciar might be, I was sure they did not permit the likes of Edild to speak to them so curtly and, in effect, tell them what to do. Possibly Sir Alain did not realize this, for, far from being angry, he jumped up, helped Edild and me to our feet and said, ‘Of course. I am sorry. Lassair – go home now, rest, and if I need to speak to you again, I will come to find you.’
    I felt we ought to go before he changed his mind and got cross after all. I grabbed Edild’s hand, muttered, ‘Come on, then,’ and led her away.
    I risked a glance behind me as we hurried back over the water. He was standing where we had left him, staring down at Ida’s body. His head was bent, and I thought his hands were clasped in front of him.
    He looked as if he were praying.

FOUR
     
    E dild tended me solicitously for the remainder of the day. There was plenty of work to be done – we are usually kept busy, even in the middle of summer – but she insisted that I do nothing more arduous than wash out empty bottles and make them ready for new preparations and remedies. I would rather have done what I usually do, which is to take my share of the less demanding conditions that are presented to us by the villagers, because being forced to concentrate on something more exciting than bottle-washing would have taken my mind off Ida’s round, pretty, dead face. Still, Edild had her reasons. She keeps telling me that a healer must turn all her mind to every single patient, even those with something mundane like corns or a crop of boils, and she probably suspected that today I would have found it difficult. She’d have been right.
    Catching her between patients – she was washing her hands in a bowl of warm water scented with lavender oil, and the smell was delicious – I said, ‘Edild, what’s a local justiciar?’
    She paused, then resumed her washing and said, ‘King William has, I believe, a new system for promoting law and order. Apparently, he wishes to ensure that justice is done out in the more remote parts of the kingdom, and to this end he has appointed men to judge the graver mis-demeanours, attend meetings of the shire courts, observe how rulings are given out and, in general, ensure that the law is upheld.’
    She did not ask why I wanted to know. I decided to tell her, anyway. ‘Alain de Villequier is our local justiciar.’
    She gave me a serene smile and said, ‘I know.’
    I did not bother demanding how she knew. My aunt seems to have the ability to pick information out of thin air; either that or she is exceptionally observant and just keeps her eyes and ears open. Instead I said, ‘Do you know anything else about him?’
    Just then there was a very timid tap on the door. It sounded as if Edild’s next patient had arrived. My aunt looked at me, sympathy in her eyes. ‘I can see you’re burning with impatience, but you’ll have to wait,’ she said kindly. ‘As it happens, I do know more about Alain de Villequier, and I promise I’ll tell you later.’
    I took myself out to the barrel in the yard behind the house to resume my bottle-washing. I could hear muttered words from inside the house, but deliberately I made myself deaf to what was said; it’s another part of my healer’s training. Instead, I filled my mind with a question: what did my aunt know of our new justice man, and how on earth had she found it