The Broken Token by Chris Nickson Read Free Book Online

hard at Worthy, wondering at the meaning beneath the words. He desperately wanted to smash the smugness from Worthy’s face, but knew better than to do it. He breathed
in and out slowly and said, “I’d be interested in knowing if she had any friends, or any regular customers, anyone who knew her.”
    “You know me, always of service.” This time the grin was wolfish. “If I find anyone, I’ll let you know.”

8
    Nottingham had scarcely returned to the jail before a messenger arrived, summoning him to an audience with the Mayor. He’d expected it, and sooner rather than later, but
he’d still hoped for a small reprieve, at least until tomorrow, when he might have known a little more about the murders.
    Edward Kenion had only been sworn into office ten days before, and this would be their first official meeting. Kenion would be eager to establish his authority as Mayor, and that meant he would
want a quick solution to the preacher’s murder to gain the confidence of the merchants and the Corporation.
    Grimly, Nottingham ran a hand through his hair, and vainly tried to brush the worst of the dirt off his old coat before walking over to the Moot Hall.
    The elaborate two-storey building stood like an island in the middle of Briggate, forcing traffic to flow around it. In the cellar lay a dank, secure jail for prisoners committed to the Quarter
Sessions for serious crimes, a place to pass the days until sentence of transportation or the noose. The ground floor was given over to the Shambles, the city’s butchers’ shops. Around
them the paving stones were permanently discoloured by blood, and a small pack of salivating dogs circled hungrily all day, fighting as they hunted for offal and scraps.
    Upstairs, however, it was a different world. Everything was quiet and luxurious. The wood was polished to a deep, lustrous brown, and the rooms had thick Turkey carpets to hush the footfalls.
The business of the city was carried out and the future of its citizens decided in meetings and unreported conversations. The windows, appropriately, looked down on the bustle of Leeds.
    Kenion was waiting for him, not yet quite at home in the Mayor’s chamber. He’d hold the position until next September, then another alderman would take over for the following twelve
months. Nottingham had seen them come and go, some venal, a few good, most just taking it as their reward for faithful service.
    To his eyes Kenion appeared nondescript, a man of average height, with a pale, astonished face and hook nose, neither thin nor fat, a fellow who seemed to disappear into his wig and clothes. But
that anonymity only made him all the more dangerous, the Constable decided. He’d want to make his mark if he could. What happened now would set the tone between them for the next year, and
they both knew it.
    “Sit down.” Kenion gestured at a chair, and Nottingham folded himself into it. The Mayor remained standing.
    “I’ve had Alderman Rawlinson here,” he began slowly.
    “About Mr Morton’s death, of course,” the Constable said smoothly, hoping he could put the Mayor on the back foot. “A terrible business.”
    “Yes.” Kenion seemed a little nonplussed and Nottingham continued to take the initiative.
    “I understand how devastated he must feel,” Nottingham glided on. “Mr Rawlinson was in shock when I broke the news to him this morning. After all, he invited the man here to
perform good works. Then Morton was abused while preaching, and finally murdered.”
    “What are you doing to find the culprit?” Kenion asked briskly, trying to retake control of the discussion.
    “Everything we can.” Nottingham held out his hands, palms up. “We don’t know much yet. But I’ve got men searching for the place where the murders took place, before
the bodies were moved to the yard. And I have people trying to trace Mr Morton’s movements last night.”
    The Mayor nodded in approval.
    “Good, good.”
    Nottingham hesitated