The King's Justice by E. M. Powell

Author:E. M. Powell [Powell, E. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542046015
Google: RkyftAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1542046017
Goodreads: 36261376
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

Stanton had been going to walk to the quarry to fetch Thomas Dene but decided to ride instead. He reckoned the big stonecutter might be a bit less intimidating from the back of a horse. Four hooves would also get Stanton out of there a lot faster if the man refused to come with him, a refusal Stanton guessed might be emphasised with the man’s big fists.

He’d been pleased when Barling had given him his instructions last night. The idea of Dene having to come back to the hall with him to face the clerk’s enquiries had appealed to him.

But it had appealed to him after a decent bellyful of ale.

This morning, with the rising sun already a broiling disc in the sky, he wasn’t so sure. He shifted in his saddle and patted Morel’s neck. She’d get him out of there. No question.

The road down to the quarry was steep and the loose stones weren’t good for iron-clad hooves.

Stanton dismounted and led Morel down. The quarry still lay in shadow, though it wouldn’t be for long. Down below, he could see the thin plume of smoke that would be Dene’s fire rise in a straight line in the windless air. Good. If the man had broken his fast, it might put him in better humour.

He half slid on a stone, Morel’s reins saving him this time.

Finally, they were down. ‘And in one piece, eh?’ He patted her dark brown neck, and she nuzzled his hand with her soft nose.

Stanton left her free to search the ground for the odd tuft of grass that had forced its way through the stones. She wouldn’t run off from here.

Now that the noise of hooves and feet scrabbling on stones had stopped, he realised he could hear no other sound. No ring of hammer on stone like there had been when he first came here. An efficient hammer as well. A row of fresh, raw slabs leaned against a big boulder.

‘Dene?’ His voice sounded odd down here. Flat. Not much of an echo. ‘It’s Hugo Stanton.’ He licked the stone dust that already coated his lips, so fine it was invisible to the eye but must fill the air.

No reply.

‘Aelred Barling, the King’s clerk, requests your presence.’

Nothing.

The stonecutter must be in his wooden hut, next to which the fire burned. There was no other sign of him.

As Stanton made his way over to it, a rattle came from the side of the quarry. He paused and looked around. ‘Dene?’

No. Only a loose rock that had lost its grip on the steep quarry side, rolling and bouncing down in little puffs of dust before it came to a rest.

He carried on to the hut, past the fire. To the doorway. The open doorway.

‘Dene?’

After, he couldn’t remember what he screamed. How loud. How long.

All he could remember was running, running for Morel, her back, her long legs that would take him, get him out of there.

Remember too the sight in the shed, which would never leave him.

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