To Kill or Cure by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

all of you, and do not come out again until you are in a
     more peaceful frame of mind.’
    Bartholomew was astonished when people began to do as they were told. There were some resentful grumbles, but it was not long
     before the horde had dissipated.
    ‘Where is Falmeresham?’ demanded Bartholomew of Carton, who was standing uncertainly nearby. ‘I thought he was with you.’
    ‘I thought he was with
you
,’ countered the Franciscan alarmed. ‘I saw you dash towards him, but I had no wish to fight Blankpayn and his henchmen, so
     I hung back.’
    ‘He will have gone home,’ said Michael, still glaring at the dispersing mob. ‘He is not a fool, to loiter in a place where
     daggers were flailing.’
    ‘He could not go anywhere – he was stabbed,’ said Carton in a hushed, shocked whisper. He put his hand to his side, just above
     the hip bone. ‘Here. I should have overcome my terror and tried to reach him.’
    ‘Easy,’ said Michael. There was blood on Carton’s mouth, indicating he had not been entirely successful in avoiding the violence.
     ‘We will find him.’
    ‘Perhaps Blankpayn took him prisoner.’ Carton declined to be comforted, and was working himself into an agony of worry. ‘Perhaps
     he intends to hold Falmeresham hostage, to blackmail our University over these rents. He is Candelby’s lickspittle, and will
     do anything for him.’
    ‘Blankpayn does not have the wits to devise such a devious plan,’ said Michael. ‘Falmeresham will be home at Michaelhouse.
     Go, see if you can find him.’
    The friar hurried away, anxiety stamped across his portly features, and Michael sighed. ‘Lord save us! Will you fetch a bier
     for Lynton, Matt? We cannot leave him here, because our students may use his corpse as an excuse foranother fracas – claim he was murdered or some such nonsense.’
    ‘Actually, Brother,’ said Bartholomew softly, ‘he died because he was shot. He
was
murdered.’

CHAPTER 2
    The conclave at Michaelhouse was a pleasant chamber adjoining the main hall. It was the undisputed domain of the Fellows,
     and they used it when they met to discuss College business or to relax in the evenings, leaving the hall free for students
     and commoners. It was an arrangement that suited everyone – the senior members had a place where they were safe from the demands
     of overenthusiastic students, and the junior ones were left to their own devices for a few hours, as long as they were not
     too unruly. Fortunately, the students liked being trusted, and were invariably better behaved when they were alone than when
     anyone was monitoring them. The upshot was that Michaelhouse had a reputation for harmony among its scholars, and Langelee
     had been asked by several envious masters for the secret of his success.
    However, there was none of the usual laughter and music in the conclave or the hall that Easter. Kenyngham’s death created
     a pall of sadness that hung over everyone, and the College had never been so quiet. Langelee, who had been fretting over the
     fact that he would be three teachers short in the forthcoming term – with two away and one dead – asked his four remaining
     Fellows to join him in the conclave an hour before dawn the following day. They would hold an emergency meeting, during which
     a replacement for Kenyngham would be chosen. It was an unusual time for such a gathering, but Langelee was not a man to dither
     once his mind was made up.
    Bartholomew was early, so he began to prepare the room while he waited for the others. He placed stools around the table,
     retrieved the College statutes and the Master’s sceptre from the wall-cupboard, and found parchment and ink so Wynewyk could
     make a record of the proceedings.
    ‘I did not sleep a wink,’ said Michael, when he arrived a few moments later. He took his customary seat near the window. ‘Neither
     did you. I heard you come home just moments ago.’
    ‘I was out all night, looking for Falmeresham,’