Read Online Secret Murder: Who Shall Judge? by Ellen Kuhfeld - Free Book Online
Authors: Ellen Kuhfeld
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in groups. There’s just one of her.”
One of the horsemen came in. “I just got back from Matilda’s, and heard you were talking of her. She’s in bad shape—just waved at us to let the horses into the paddock, then covered her eyes up again.”
Benedict leaped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of deaths, enough of threats. Worry about Otkel yourselves. Here, by God, is something I can handle.” He strode off. “Hob! Joseph!” he cried. “Stir yourself! We’ve horses to care for!” The three walked off in the direction of Matilda’s paddock.
“I wonder if he realizes he just leapt from the cauldron into the fire,” Olaf said dryly.
“Still, he has a point,” Ragnar said as he rose. “Business goes on. I think it’s time to sell more iron, and maybe some fabric and a bit of jewelry to go with the fabric.”
There was a shriek outside, and Gunnar’s voice raised in curses. The four Northmen ran out of the booth and around to the cooking area, loosening their weapons as they went. They found Gunnar by his cauldron, enormous spoon in one hand and a grimly satisfied smile on his face.
“Some scruffy Englishman was snooping around the back of your booth,” he told Ragnar. “He was so busy eavesdropping he didn’t notice me. I got him right on the cheek with boiling stew. He headed off into the crowd as if there were a Northman after him.” Gunnar pointed with his spoon.
“He was probably just a beggar,” Ragnar said. “I think your generosity in giving food to a beggar is very commendable.” They all had a good laugh, then Ragnar and Olaf went back to their sales tables and took them over from their assistants.
Ragnar looked over the crowd with suspicious eyes. It was as brightly-colored as ever, moving ceaselessly to and fro, but he looked for stillness, lack of color. That fellow over there, at the potter’s—he wasn’t really interested in the crock he was examining. And Ragnar’s booth was well within his range of vision.
As Ragnar watched, the potter spoke to the man. Ragnar knew without hearing what the two were saying: “Pardon, friend, is there anything I might interest you in?” “Just looking, just looking.” Shortly the man moved on to the next merchant. Again, Ragnar’s booth was well within his view.
One of the neighboring merchants, a cutler who specialized in Surtsheim iron, came by carrying bread, cheese, and a bucket of ale from the tavern. He hailed Ragnar in a friendly manner. “There certainly have been big happenings! All the merchants are buzzing over Thorolf’s death. They can’t get enough news. I’ve had several people asking me about that confrontation you had with Thorolf, yesterday. And I hear Matilda and the merchants near her paddock have been plagued with questions all day, too.”
Ragnar gave a twisted smile. “It’s a pity nobody saw Thorolf getting killed. That’s the tale most of them would like to hear. But you make do with what’s available.”
“Too true, too true! Must be going, I’m carrying everybody’s lunch. Good sales!” And the cutler strode merrily off, cheese bouncing in its net against his back.
Ragnar gestured to Gunnar to take the sales table, then went over to Olaf. “We’re being watched by Englishmen. Best we do little and say less.”
“What makes you think so?” Olaf asked.
“Well, there was Gunnar’s eavesdropper. And then I saw this fellow over at the potter’s....” Ragnar gestured in that direction, then realized the man was gone.
“Maybe we’re all on edge and seeing things,” Olaf said. “Or maybe the watchers have realized we’ve noticed them, and withdrawn. Either way, the answer’s simple and just what it’s been all day: we sell our wares, and don’t go anywhere alone.”
Olaf noticed a man in a tastefully gaudy herald’s tabard, looking at his booth. He held up a bolt of brilliant red cloth. “Brightly-colored cloth, my lord, guaranteed not to fade! Just the thing for
One of the horsemen came in. “I just got back from Matilda’s, and heard you were talking of her. She’s in bad shape—just waved at us to let the horses into the paddock, then covered her eyes up again.”
Benedict leaped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of deaths, enough of threats. Worry about Otkel yourselves. Here, by God, is something I can handle.” He strode off. “Hob! Joseph!” he cried. “Stir yourself! We’ve horses to care for!” The three walked off in the direction of Matilda’s paddock.
“I wonder if he realizes he just leapt from the cauldron into the fire,” Olaf said dryly.
“Still, he has a point,” Ragnar said as he rose. “Business goes on. I think it’s time to sell more iron, and maybe some fabric and a bit of jewelry to go with the fabric.”
There was a shriek outside, and Gunnar’s voice raised in curses. The four Northmen ran out of the booth and around to the cooking area, loosening their weapons as they went. They found Gunnar by his cauldron, enormous spoon in one hand and a grimly satisfied smile on his face.
“Some scruffy Englishman was snooping around the back of your booth,” he told Ragnar. “He was so busy eavesdropping he didn’t notice me. I got him right on the cheek with boiling stew. He headed off into the crowd as if there were a Northman after him.” Gunnar pointed with his spoon.
“He was probably just a beggar,” Ragnar said. “I think your generosity in giving food to a beggar is very commendable.” They all had a good laugh, then Ragnar and Olaf went back to their sales tables and took them over from their assistants.
Ragnar looked over the crowd with suspicious eyes. It was as brightly-colored as ever, moving ceaselessly to and fro, but he looked for stillness, lack of color. That fellow over there, at the potter’s—he wasn’t really interested in the crock he was examining. And Ragnar’s booth was well within his range of vision.
As Ragnar watched, the potter spoke to the man. Ragnar knew without hearing what the two were saying: “Pardon, friend, is there anything I might interest you in?” “Just looking, just looking.” Shortly the man moved on to the next merchant. Again, Ragnar’s booth was well within his view.
One of the neighboring merchants, a cutler who specialized in Surtsheim iron, came by carrying bread, cheese, and a bucket of ale from the tavern. He hailed Ragnar in a friendly manner. “There certainly have been big happenings! All the merchants are buzzing over Thorolf’s death. They can’t get enough news. I’ve had several people asking me about that confrontation you had with Thorolf, yesterday. And I hear Matilda and the merchants near her paddock have been plagued with questions all day, too.”
Ragnar gave a twisted smile. “It’s a pity nobody saw Thorolf getting killed. That’s the tale most of them would like to hear. But you make do with what’s available.”
“Too true, too true! Must be going, I’m carrying everybody’s lunch. Good sales!” And the cutler strode merrily off, cheese bouncing in its net against his back.
Ragnar gestured to Gunnar to take the sales table, then went over to Olaf. “We’re being watched by Englishmen. Best we do little and say less.”
“What makes you think so?” Olaf asked.
“Well, there was Gunnar’s eavesdropper. And then I saw this fellow over at the potter’s....” Ragnar gestured in that direction, then realized the man was gone.
“Maybe we’re all on edge and seeing things,” Olaf said. “Or maybe the watchers have realized we’ve noticed them, and withdrawn. Either way, the answer’s simple and just what it’s been all day: we sell our wares, and don’t go anywhere alone.”
Olaf noticed a man in a tastefully gaudy herald’s tabard, looking at his booth. He held up a bolt of brilliant red cloth. “Brightly-colored cloth, my lord, guaranteed not to fade! Just the thing for
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