Witchborn by Nicholas Bowling

Author:Nicholas Bowling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicken House

HOPKINS

The Swan’s common room fell completely silent when Hopkins and Caxton stepped through the door. That always pleased him. He took a moment to taste the air and savour the patrons’ fear.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ said the innkeeper, standing stout and red-faced next to the fireplace. ‘Or is it good evening? Neither one nor t’other right now, is it? Can I get you something to eat and drink?’ There was a false, forced jolliness in her voice that Hopkins despised. It wasn’t working, either – all of her customers were still silently watching Caxton, who hovered ghostlike at the door, as though forbidden from entering the homes of the living.

‘Neither, thank you. But we would like to speak with one of your patrons. A Solomon Harper.’

The woman frowned and scratched her head, a worse actor than those he’d questioned in the inn yard of The Popinjay. ‘Never heard that name before, I don’t think.’

‘Are you quite sure?’ said Hopkins pleasantly. ‘He may have come here in the company of a girl who we would very much like to speak to.’

The innkeeper shrugged. ‘Don’t get many girls around here, neither. Unless you mean Martha. Martha!’

Her bellowing was enough to break the spell cast over the common room, although the conversations that were struck up now lacked ease and laughter.

The girl emerged sullenly from the kitchen, her dark, fine hair stuck with sweat to her forehead. She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

‘What?’ she said.

‘That isn’t her,’ interrupted Hopkins. ‘We are looking for an Alyce Greenliefe. Very short red hair. Shaven-headed. From her time in Bedlam.’

The innkeeper threw a glance at the serving girl, which he noted, and then bustled over, wiping her hands on her apron.

‘Bedlam? Well, I’m sure I don’t know who it is you’re talking about. Not seen Solomon round here for weeks, and if I’d served a lunatic I’m sure I’d remember it.’

‘I see,’ said Hopkins, his eyes still on Martha. ‘This is a shame. Well, since we’ve had a wasted journey, I suppose I should stay for an ale after all.’

‘I am sorry, sir. Was the girl a relative of yours?’

Hopkins smiled. ‘A relative, no. Her mother and I were very close friends, though.’

The innkeeper looked at him oddly, at least three different expressions fighting for control of her face. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘like you say, things won’t seem quite so bad after an ale or two. Would your friend like something too?’

Hopkins shrugged. ‘Possibly. He can’t say one way or the other. I think he’ll be happy to stay outside.’

‘Very well.’ The innkeeper smiled unconvincingly and went back to the kitchen, and Martha followed her, muttering something.

Hopkins surveyed the other patrons. Everyone was taking stiff, tentative sips at their drinks, snatching glances at him over the rims of their tankards. Their eyes darted away again as soon as they met his. He smiled back at them and straightened the pearl buttons on his doublet.

While he was getting the measure of every man in the inn, Martha came over and threw his mug of ale heavily down on to the table.

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