Anthology - Realms of Mystery Part 4

"But why would Niall kill Cole? He could never farm that much land by himself." Portnoy asked theobvious questions whenever Ogden failed to ask them of himself. In his more patient moments, Ogden could appreciate that quality. More importantly, he would appreciate having Portnoy's hulking presence beside him when he confronted Ericson. It was well worth the trip back to the inn to fetch the lad.

"Some men can't own to their own failings," said Ogden!

"But Cole didn't take that land away from Niall."

"No, but Niall might still see it that way. Some Northmen have ice in their hearts, and there's no telling what they'll think is fair."

"That's stupid," replied Portnoy plainly.

"Aye," agreed Ogden. "That it is."

They walked a while in silence, and then Ogden said, "Enid was the one who slipped in to open the door."

"Aye?" Portnoy feigned indifference, but Ogden knew better. Portnoy had been smitten with the la.s.s since childhood. Unfortunately for him, Mane was the most active in courting her attention. Portnoy could never work up the nerve.

"Aye. I'd asked Mane to do it, but he balked."

"Aye?"

"Aye. I think he shrank a bit in Enid's eyes."

Portnoy didn't say anything to that, but Ogden watched him from the corner of his eye. The lad smiled to himself, and Ogden saw his lips silently trace the word "good." He let it lie at that.

As they approached Niall's farm, the first serious doubts began to form in Ogden's mind. If Niall had killed Cole, how had he managed to bar the doors from the inside as he left? And how had he killed the wizard without leaving a mark? Niall wasn't the sort to poison a man he could break across his knee.

By the time Ogden and Portnoy came within a hundred yards of Niall's house, Ogden was sure he had been misled. He turned away from the cottage and began circling the farm. Portnoy followed obediently, without asking why they'd turned. Eventually, they reached the pond behind Niall's farmstead.

It was frozen over. The light breeze swept the snow from its face, revealing its smooth, hard surface.

Ogden turned around, and he and Portnoy retraced their steps. Then they walked all the way around the other side, once more reaching the pond. On this side, nearer the house, Ogden saw where Niall had chopped out a block of ice. The flat chunk lay on the ground. The blue shadows of Niall's boot prints lead a winding path from the house to the water's edge, then back.

Ogden winced at the pain in his foot, and Portnoy was puffing with exertion. The boy could stand to lose some of that weight, thought Ogden. Together, they stopped to catch their breaths and observe the snowy field.

"What do you see, lad?"

"Uh . . . Niall's house? The barn? The well? Those trees?" Portnoy's eyes scanned the field for other guesses.

"Right, but what don't you see?"

Portnoy frowned and stared at the land they'd circ.u.mscribed with their path. Ogden studied the lad-for so he still considered Portnoy, even though the youth had grown taller than his uncle-watching for some glimmer of deductive reasoning. Portnoy would never be a village sage, but there was something more than moss growing between his ears.

Or so Ogden always hoped.

"Boot prints!" the boy exclaimed. "They don't leave!"

"Aye," agreed Ogden. "They go from the house to the barn, and then they wind over to the pond."

Ogden frowned at the ragged trail, wondering why it was so irregular. He hoped that Ericson wasn't drunk. The man was mean enough sober.

"He hasn't left the farm since last night," added Portnoy. "There hasn't been enough snow since last night to cover up his tracks." The cold had brought the blood to his cheeks, and he beamed at Ogden, watching for some sign of approval. The man rewarded him with a nod, but he frowned.

"Unless Niall has learned to fly, how'd he get to Cole's home and back?"

"It must be someone else," said Portnoy. The disappointment in his voice was obvious, and Ogdenknew just how he felt.

"Perhaps." Ogden had been suspicious of Cole's note from the beginning. How would a murdered man find the time to scrawl such a message? And what murderer would leave it behind, even if he couldn't read it?

"Look there," said Portnoy. Ogden's eyes followed the lad's own stare toward the farmhouse, where a fur-clad figure stomped toward them. His breath made plumes in the late morning air as the man approached.

"Well a day, Niall Ericson," greeted Ogden.

"Constable," said Niall simply. His voice was hard as winter granite. His lips were red beneath his dirty blond beard, though his skin was stone pale.

"Will we have more snow tonight, do you think?"

"What d'ye want?" said Ericson curtly. His flinty eyes invited no more small talk.

"The wizard Cole's been murdered," replied Ogden.

"And what does that have t'do with me, then?" The man's tone had turned menacing, and Portnoy began to fidget beside his uncle. Even though the boy was of a size with Ericson, Ogden knew the man must frighten him.

"Maybe nothing," said Ogden. He glanced past the mar toward the house, then met his eyes again.

"But the mage wrote down your name just before he died."

Ericson looked genuinely astonished. "Why would he ... ?"

"You won't mind our looking around a bit, then?"

Ericson stared back at Ogden's face. Ragged lines creased his face, and his eyes narrowed to black slits. Ogden noticed that the clouds of Ericson's breath had halted, and he tensed for an attack. Now he wished he'd brought more than Portnoy with him.

Finally, Ericson sighed impatiently and barked, "All right, then. Make it quick!" He turned quickly and stalked back toward his house. Portnoy hesitated, looking to his uncle for a cue. Ogden nodded, and they both hurried to follow Ericson back toward his cottage.

"You follow his boot prints," said Ogden. "See where he's gone this morning. Then take a look in the barn. I'll peek inside the house."

"Aye," agreed Portnoy. He trembled with the excitement of a wolfhound pup on its first hunt, and off he went.

Ogden followed Ericson to the door of his house, but there he paused. The threshold was swept clear, but to one side a white glaze of ice covered the snow. At least he throws out the spoiled milk, thought Ogden. Ericson must be a better housekeeper than anyone expected. Ogden stepped inside the cottage.

The odor immediately changed Ogden's opinion of Ericson's domestic talents. Even through the wood smoke, the interior smelled of unwashed clothes. To Ogden's left there stood a table cluttered with dirty pots and bowls. One of them, a small shallow basin, was freshly broken. Ericson must use them all before washing any, thought Ogden.

Ogden took a step toward the table and nearly tripped on something that rolled beneath his foot. At the base of the table lay a pile of potatoes, half-tumbled by Ogden's careless step. Behind them, three full potato sacks leaned against the cottage wall.

Ogden stepped carefully away, then turned to look across the room. He saw a pile of furs and blankets covering the lone bed. Beside it, a trio of chairs lined the wall, each piled with smelly clothing.

Nearby, the hearth fire snapped and hissed as Ericson stabbed it with an iron stoker.

"I haven't left my land all morning," said Ericson. His tone had softened, but he still sounded gruff and unfriendly.

"Aye, that I believe," said Ogden.

Ericson grunted in acceptance of Ogden's answer, but then he jutted his jaw defiantly. "Then what do you want here?"

"Hmm," replied Ogden, casting about a few last glances at the house. He walked outside once more. He saw Portnoy returning from the barn, frowning with frustration."Just sheep," reported the boy. "Sheep and feed and only what else you'd expect to find in the barn."

Ogden only nodded. He was close to reckoning some connection between Ericson's cottage and Cole's. In most ways, the two homes couldn't be more different. Something continued to niggle at Ogden's mind, however. And the man had greeted him as "constable." He knew there was trouble this morning.

"Why would a man chop ice from pond water?" Ogden asked, more of himself than Portnoy.

The boy answered anyway. "Yuck. Who'd drink pond water?" Even he knew that still water, even frozen, was likely to make the drinker sick.

"There's perfectly good snow everywhere, too."

Portnoy shrugged and looked at Ogden's face. The man's brow was creased in impatient concentration. Portnoy imitated his expression. The family resemblance was striking, but neither of the Ffolk noted it.

"He didn't want anything from the pond . . ." began Ogden tentatively.

"... he put something into it!" finished Portnoy, grinning.

"Let's have a look," said Ogden. Both men stepped toward the frozen water.

"That's enough," boomed a voice behind them. They turned to see Ericson, still gripping the iron stoker. Its tip glowed red. "You've had your look around."

"True enough," said Ogden. Now he knew he should have brought more men along. He knew at last how Ericson had murdered Cole, but now he'd let on what he had reckoned. By the time he could return with help, Ericson could destroy the evidence rather than just hide it. If he and Port-noy stayed, however, how would Ericson react?

"We'll be on our way, then," said Ogden. "Come along, lad." He chucked Portnoy's elbow, though his eyes remained locked on the fiery stoker in Ericson's hand. Portnoy followed dully, distracted by the problem of what Ericson had put in the cold water.

They walked toward the pond, the way they'd come. Ericson followed. When Ogden glanced back at the man, he saw that the tip of the stoker whipped up and down in agitation. Ogden instantly regretted bringing Portnoy along for this visit. The big lad's presence might be a deterrent against attack from most men, but Ericson was desperate and dangerous. Ogden increased his pace, and Portnoy did the same.

"That's far enough." Ericson's voice was calm and strong now. Ogden knew that meant he had come to a decision.

"Run, lad! Fetch help!" Ogden shoved Portnoy and turned to face the brawny Northman. He might not be able to disable the man, but at least he could give the boy a good start back to the village. Ericson growled deep and loud. Ogden whirled to face his attacker, crouching low and throwing up his left arm.

He felt the blow of the stoker break his arm.

All the strength drained from his ruined left arm as the Northman raised the hot bar again. Ericson's face was a twisted ma.s.s of veins and sinew. He grimaced so hard and wide that his mouth threatened to open up over his entire face. His eyeb.a.l.l.s rolled in their sockets.

He's going berserk, thought Ogden fleetingly. He'll tear me apart. Ogden braced himself and stepped toward his attacker, throwing all of his weight into a low, sweeping punch. His fist caught Ericson just below the ribcage, and the north-man's dirty breath blasted Ogden's face.

"Huh!" Ericson grinned even wider, white flecks dotting his beard. "Ha!" He smashed his forehead into Ogden's face. The innkeeper felt his nose go flat with a sickening crunch. Red light exploded behind his eyes. He felt his brain rolling untethered in his skull, and the earth rolled in waves beneath him. He tried to step back, but his legs betrayed him. He fell back hard, and the impact chased the wind out of his lungs. Ogden lay helpless on the snow.

Ericson loomed forward, a giant against the white sky. With both hands he raised the poker above his head. The black bar rose higher and higher, Ogden thought, high enough to pierce the roof of the world. And then he saw that Ericson himself was rising.

"No!" The hoa.r.s.e cry was Portnoy's, but all Ogden could see was the great awkward figure of Ericson flying through the air. He heard a heavy thump and an inarticulate grunt. His limbs still feltstringless, but Ogden rolled toward the sound.

Not five yards away lay Ericson, stunned and blinking. A big shadow moved toward him on the snow, and Portnoy's heavy steps followed close behind, quickening in a charge.

The Northman rose to meet his new attacker, his rage broken but his desperate will intact. The poker remained in his grip.

"Portnoy, don't!" Ogden tried to yell. His voice was as weak as his battered body. The lad wouldn't have heard even the most thunderous bellow, from the way his head lowered in determination.

The lad closed as Ericson swung his bar. The weapon struck Portnoy's big round shoulder and bent, but the blow did nothing to slow him. Both giant figures crashed to the ground, and Ogden imagined he could feel the resulting tremor. He tried to stand but managed only to put his hands and knees beneath him. He looked up to see Ericson and Portnoy rising from their tumble. Port-noy now held the iron stoker.

The Northman looked at the mangled weapon in Port-noy's hand, then at the face of his foe, who seemed none the worse for the mighty blow. He turned and fled.

Portnoy started after him.

"Wait!" wheezed Ogden. His voice was returning, and with it some strength. He pushed himself up to one knee and pointed vaguely toward the fleeing Northman. "Look where he's going."

Ericson ran awkwardly, his feet sliding on the icy surface of the pond. As Portnoy and Ogden watched, the northman's feet shot out, and he hit the ice with a terrific crack. Even at this distance, Ogden could see the blue lines form under the Northman's fallen body.

He tried to stand, but first one and then his other leg thrust through the broken surface into the frigid water. Jagged teeth of ice grated and groaned, and the Northman sank deeper. He scrabbled for a hold, but found none. Ogden saw his adversary's eyes meet his one last time, and then the northman's face fell still. Without a cry, Ericson slipped into the icy pond.

"... and when we searched the pond where he'd been chopping, we came up with the bag."

Portnoy's voice had dropped low and frightening. He was developing a talent for storytelling. It was not easy for him, for he had always been awkward around crowds. He left out the parts where he'd been most frightened, and that helped, too.

"What was inside?" Enid whispered theatrically. She had heard the story earlier, but more villagers had gathered at the door to the Hart, waiting for Lord Donnell and Ogden to finish their private discussion of the day's events. Among them stood Lord Donnell's guardsmen, themselves commanded to wait outside with the rest. Like the other villagers, they burned with curiosity about the death of the wizard Cole. Fortunately, Portnoy was there to satisfy their curiosity at once.

"The wizard's cat!"

After an initial "oh" of understanding, the audience was suitably puzzled.

"His cat?" Mane had arrived late and was mystified by Portnoy's revelation.

"It was his familiar, you see. If a wizard's familiar dies, so does he." Portnoy hadn't known that for certain until Ogden had said so, and even Ogden had to consult Megan, who everyone was pretty sure was a witch, even though she didn't have a familiar of her own.

"Oh!" Now the listeners nodded and nudged each other.

"Uncle Ogden saw milk and a broken bowl at Niall's house. Niall was too mean to set out milk for a cat, so he must have put it out to lure the poor thing close. Then he grabbed it, popped it in a potato sack, and drowned it in the pond."

"So Niall killed Cole without ever leaving his cottage," Enid concluded for him. Mane gave her and Portnoy a suspicious glance. It made Portnoy feel uncomfortable and vaguely proud.

"Why didn't you see the cat's footprints coming up to Niall's house?" asked one of the older villagers, quite sensibly.

Portnoy nodded, expecting this question, too."The cat walked over across the pond, where the wind had blown away the snow before it could settle. Where it walked from the pond to the door, Niall had stamped out its tracks with his own. That's why his trail was so ragged. He had to go everywhere the cat had-"

Behind Portnoy, the front door of the inn opened. Out walked Lord Donnell, a tall, lean man who wore his dark beard neatly trimmed. His blue winter cloak was finer than those around him, but not so fine as to seem out of place. Behind him stood Ogden, his broken arm bound and splinted, and hanging in a clean linen sling. His broken nose was darkly bruised, but packed full and near to its original shape. The faces of both men were aglow, and not entirely from sitting too close to the hearth.

"Let the gossip begin!" declared Donnell. His eyes were weary from his journey and from the unfortunate news- not to mention Ogden's ale-but he seemed satisfied if not cheered by his constable's report.

"I suspect you're a bit late for that," said Ogden, looking at Portnoy. The big lad looked like a child caught stealing a neighbor's apples.

"But I thought it would be all right to-"

"Oh, it's all right, lad," interrupted Donnell. "But did you give the whole story?" He turned to address the crowd as a whole. The setting sun made his shadow huge against the wall of the inn. "Did you tell how you fought Niall Ericson single-handed, defeating an armed Northman warrior with your bare hands?"