A large crowd had already gathered by the time Tisdale's messenger brought Lillet, Gervase, and Hathorne into the village. One thing seemed a human constant, whether it was in the city with its teeming masses or a small town like this one, and it was that death attracted attention. Perhaps it was a morbid thrill at another's misfortune, a need to confront the perceived threat face-to-face, or just the soul seeking confirmation that this time the dark angel had passed the onlooker by. Lillet didn't know, but the effect was no mystery, even if the cause was.
The more violent and shocking the death, the bigger the crowd.
Lillet saw several faces that she recognized among the press of people: Father Dubbel (perhaps there in his official capacity), the sexton, Molly Bogle, and Ms. Henry the undertaker. The young constable from the jail was out front with another man, holding the throng back.
The building they'd been brought to was a small shop on the west side of town, a bit north of and on the opposite side of the street from the Green Man. From an iron post over the door hung a square wooden sign, painted with the mortar-and-pestle symbol of an apothecary. The crowd parted readily for the new arrivals, mutters of both relief and suspicion going up at the sight of the witch-finder and Mage Consul arriving together. Tisdale, a grave look on his face, came out of the shop as they approached.
"Your Excellency, Master Gervase," he greeted them. "I'm glad my men found you."
"There has been another outrage?" Gervase questioned.
Tisdale nodded.
"Yes, there has." He turned to the crowd and raised his voice. "Listen, you all! It's true, there's been another killing. We're investigating the crime now. If you have any information to offer, then stay here and we'll hear what you've got to say. Otherwise, go on about your business! We don't need a mob getting in our way."
"What difference does it make?" someone near the back called out. "What good have you done so far?"
"You're not going to let that witch near the body, are you?" someone else shouted.
"Probably put a curse on it, she will."
"How do you know she's not the one doing it?"
"Now, see here—" Tisdale started, but Father Dubbel cut him off, the old man's voice rising sharp and stern. It shouldn't have surprised Lillet—he did, after all, make his living preaching from the pulpit, so it was only natural that he'd have a strong public speaking voice—but it still did.
"Stop this talk, all of you," he instructed them firmly. "One of us, another of our friends, lies slain, and it does us no credit with God or each other to be speaking from foolish ignorance in our fear. Now, Her Excellency is the duly appointed representative of Her Majesty, and moreover has come to this village at the request of Archbishop Beringer and the Church."
"The High Church and the capital!" hissed another voice in the throng. "Gold-draped princes who think more of money than God." Unlike before, though, this remark did not give rise to a number of follow-up comments from others, but fell into a chastened silence. The priest's voice obviously still carried weight in the village, even at the expense of Gervase's attempts to claim a greater spiritual authority.
"You heard the man," Tisdale said. "We have work to do; now get on about your business and let us attend to ours." He turned to his constables. "Don't let anyone in, here or around back, unless I send for them."
"Will you be sending the body around right away?" Ms. Henry spoke up.
Tisdale nodded.
"We should, although it will depend on how long it takes us here."
"All right; I'll wait."
Gervase, for his part, turned to his man and said pompously, "Hathorne, stay here and assist the sheriff's men in keeping the area secure from onlookers."
"Yes, sir."
For his part, Tisdale directed a sour look at Gervase, making Lillet suspect that the sheriff didn't greatly appreciate the witch-hunter's condescension. She supposed the comment reflected badly both on Tisdale himself and the competence of his men, but also on the villagers and their likelihood to disorder and riot. While Lillet could understand how the latter implication from an outsider might give offense, in this case she had to agree with Gervase as a fellow outsider. A push or two in the wrong direction and the mob could easily have turned against her in their fear.
"Come with me, and I'll show you what we've found; maybe you can make something of it. I hope that you have strong stomachs, though," he added as he brought Lillet and Gervase into the shop. "This is the worst one yet."
"The man who brought us here said that you couldn't tell whom it was who was killed," Lillet said.
"Oh, we know. It's Ms. Rosemount Graves, the apothecary. This is her shop. But it took a bit of attention to realize it."
The shop-room looked to be neatly kept, with the floorboards swept clean other than a track of muddy clots running from the front door across the room to a back door, which stood open, probably spilled from the investigators' boots. The shelves behind the counter seemed curiously bare, as did the ones against the wall, with great gaps in the bottles and pouches like the spaces between the teeth of some of the old gaffers from the inn. Then Lillet recalled Father Dubbel's mentioning that Gervase's activities had included the destruction of half the apothecary's stock of herbs and tinctures.
"Hah!" Gervase said, smacking his leg with a sharp crack. "Three times makes a pattern, then!"
"What do you mean?"
"It's quite simple, Sheriff. Consider this devil's victims. One, Jackson, a drunkard blundering home from a debauch in liquor. Two, Duvel, a coquette awaiting a lecherous tryst. Three, Graves, a purveyor of potions and philtres slain here amidst her wicked works. Evidently, it was the sins of these corrupt souls that offered the gap in the protection of faith that let the devil come and drag them off to their eternal punishment."
"My God, is that genuinely what you think?" Lillet all but exploded. The man's towering ignorance of magical practice was bad enough on its own, but this, this went far beyond that. She'd clearly been right when she'd accused him of wanting the killings to continue. "You're going to stand up in front of everyone and declare that God deliberately let these people be torn to bloody ribbons? That they deserved what happened to them?"
"Of course a damned soul like yourself would never understand the ways of God. In the Holy Scriptures it reveals that He has permitted devils to wreak their work among the sinful wretches who turned their faces from the covenant of salvation."
"That is the most twisted misreading of both Scripture and the present facts I have ever heard! How could you possibly think such a thing?"
"As a salutary lesson to the pious, who waver in their faith due to the temptations the Devil offers through people like you. A taste of hellfire in this life to illustrate what it is they risk if they turn aside from the righteous path laid down for us."
"So first you preach that God is a small-minded, hateful bigot, and now that He is a back-alley thug who uses threats and violence to keep people in line? It's quite remarkable how exactly your blasphemy paints our Creator as nothing but another version of you yourself!"
Gervase drew himself up, affronted.
"You dare impugn my piety? I am a man of God! I have lived my life in service to His will, and if I should state that my virtues are Heavenly ones—while your twisted mind tries to make of them flaws—it is because I aspire and strive towards them while you and yours turn your faces from salvation."
"I'm not a parson or a magician," the sheriff put in dryly, "so these spiritual debates are a little outside my area of expertise. As a man of the world, though, I'd suggest that it might not be the best idea to announce that the late sweetheart of the magistrate's nephew was killed for being a slut and only got what was coming to her while he's still grieving over his loss. Unless you have evidence to confirm your theory, it might be better to keep it to yourself."
It was, perhaps, mean of her under the present circumstances, but Lillet couldn't help but enjoy the moment as Gervase was brought up short. Considering that the witch-hunter's only actual authority under the law came from the magistrate, it would be terminal idiocy for him to pick a fight with Cavit, particularly on such emotional grounds. Indeed, it might even end up in him being challenged to a duel by William Cavit, depending on how much of the gentry's social codes the upper-class burghers of Caithshire chose to follow.
Not that challenging someone to a fight over a loose tongue isn't painfully stupid all on its own, she thought, but there are times when it has its advantages.
"Very well," Gervase finally muttered with bad grace after his face had run through a gamut of emotions. "But the truth cannot be altered simply because it is politically inconvenient"—he put the full force of his sneer into those two words—"to mention it."
"Do you know, that may be the first thing I've heard you say that I genuinely agree with," Lillet remarked brightly. "It's too bad that you're completely wrong about what the truth actually is, but I do applaud the sentiment."
"If you're saying that he has it wrong, does that mean that you've found the answer?" Tisdale pounced on the implication at once.
Lillet shook her head.
"Not all of it." Gervase had interrupted her before she could gather the final pieces that would let her prove what she believed, after all. "But some of it, and I'm definitely certain that he's wrong. The idea that God would deliberately set a devil on Jacob's Creek to harvest the souls of sinners to frighten everyone else into line defies everything I've ever learned about devils in my magic studies, and I'm sure if you ask Father Dubbel he'll tell you it's equally bad theology. It sounds more like the excuse a fanatic would use to justify committing such acts himself."
"You dare to accuse me of these atrocities!" Gervase exploded.
"Atrocities? A minute ago you said they were God's punishment of the damned. Which is it, witch-hunter? Are you sorry that you couldn't do this holy work with your own hands?"
"Your Excellency! Master Gervase! A woman has been brutally killed here. Your religious differences can wait!"
"I am not—" Gervase started up, but was cut off.
"Enough, I said! Magistrate Cavit may have appointed you a special investigator, but so long as I'm the sheriff I am still the senior lawman and if I do not want you here I can order you out—both of you, since Your Excellency's authority as a court minister doesn't extend to the investigation of crime scenes unless a determination has been made that magic was involved in the commission of the crime! Now put aside your private squabbles or by God I will put you aside until you can!"
The raw heat in his voice surprised Lillet; it was quite different than how he'd been the day before. But then again, of the three of them, Tisdale was the only one who'd seen the body. If it was anywhere near as awful as it had been described, it was the kind of experience that could alter a man's perspective.
Satisfied for the moment that Lillet and Gervase would remain quiet, the sheriff turned and started for the back of the shop.
"It's this way."
He opened the door, which led to a short hall. A staircase led up to the second floor, where no doubt Ms. Graves had lived. At the far side was a door that took them into a good-sized workroom, with drying racks, mixing tables, and the various instruments of the herbalist's art. Like the storefront, it appeared too spacious, like a half-empty box, probably due to the same cause. Tisdale didn't stop, but continued through the room to the back door, which led out to an herb garden surrounded by a four-foot picket fence that was likely for keeping children and animals out of poisonous herbs.
It had posed no barrier to whatever had wreaked the slaughter within.
For the first time, Lillet looked upon the ruin worked by the so-called Demon, and while she was near-certain the name was technically inaccurate, it was easy to see how it had been given.
Rosemount Graves had been a plump woman in life, and had worn a plain brown dress with a touch of white trim at the hem and cuffs. The dress fabric was liberally stained with blood, and had been rent and torn in several places. One leg had been severed completely from the body, and the flesh was stained and mottled with that poisoned corruption Ms. Henry had described, black and decaying. The body was horribly torn, a great rent across the midsection, and the face half-destroyed, the skull crushed in as if seized in some massive vise, only the teeth-marks told that it was, rather, massive jaws that had done the horrid work.
It was all too easy to understand what the messenger had meant, about them being unable to tell whom the victim had been.
Shivering, Lillet hugged herself and looked away. She'd seen things as bad or worse before—again, the Theater District killer came to mind—and she suspected that there had been many more that had been erased from her memory by the unwinding skeins of time, but she hadn't become so hardened that she could shrug it off causually, not without something that needed doing to command her attention.
She took a glance at Gervase, and on his face found a look of black hate as he took in the horror.
"It may be our lack of faith that leaves us vulnerable to this monster," he ground out through clenched teeth, "but it is not God who sends it among us. Rather, it is He who is our shield and our armor, and who will stand as our shining sword against the loathsome powers of darkness. I swear that I shall not rest until this evil is purged from our midst," he finished, clenching the Venerable Jacob's silver cross in his fist.
The earnest dedication combined with the complete ignorance of the truth so defined the fanatic that it made Lillet want to weep with frustration. Only in the mind of a person like him could combine without hesitation or irony the genuine desire to destroy the creature that could inflict such horror with the belief it could have been drawn down on its victims by their lack of faith. He wasn't turning it to his own purposes through some ulterior motive like she'd accused him of; these were his honest beliefs about what was happening.
Lillet found that even more frightening than the idea that Gervase was a politician manipulating things towards his own agenda. Another shudder ran through her as she shied away from the thought. Thinking of Pyotr Maudite, anticipating his execution by fire, she wondered whether Gervase or the thing that had butchered Ms. Graves was the worse murderer.
Perhaps it was that thought which gave her the energy to gather her will.
"When did this happen?" she asked the sheriff.
"Sometime during the night. We know that because her dress was soaked by the rain and because there's less blood on the ground and the body than there should be to judge from the extent of her injuries. Since we know from the other crimes that the Beast isn't a blood-drinker, the rain had to have washed it away, and it stopped at five in the morning."
"But, if you don't know precisely, does that mean that no one heard her scream or cry out?"
He shook his head.
"No one, so far as I can tell, and this garden isn't very isolated, only a little bit north of the center of town."
"It's ranging farther away from the Gallows Tree," Lillet said. "Maybe because of the rain, it couldn't find so handy a victim as it had before. You wouldn't want to be out in it if you didn't have a good reason. Come to think of it, why was she out in the garden in the rain?"
"I'm not sure. She might have heard a noise, or maybe she was covering up some of her herbs to keep them from getting damaged by the weather."
He gestured to a kind of frame that had been set up around one of the garden beds, with a canvas sheet half-draped over the broken pieces of wood.
"It looks like whatever did this crashed through the cover here, but again there's no tracks despite the rain turning the garden bed to mud, and the plants in the bed are undisturbed. I could see it not leaving tracks if it was an astral creature like you were saying yesterday, but then how would it have broken the frame?"
Lillet shook her head.
"It wasn't astral; I was definitely wrong about that yesterday. I wish one of the other killings had been in town like this one; I might have realized the pattern earlier."
"What pattern?"
"Grass, plants, earth, all these were left untouched, while a human-made structure..." She plucked at the edge of the canvas. "Well, you can see. I think whatever it was came along, saw her, and leapt over the fence. It landed at least partly on this, breaking it down under its weight—see here, where it looks like claws got caught and hand to rip free? Then it struck before she had a chance to react, maybe from behind." She could almost see it in her mind's eye: the herb-woman tending to her plants, the crack of wood, her turning to see what it was, eyes widening as she caught the first glimpse...and then nothing, as the massive jaws closed over her skull.
Lillet shook her head again and let the sheet drop.
"If no one heard anything during the attack, how did you find the body?"
"Actually, it was my housekeeper, Mary. She hasn't been feeling well since yesterday's trial, so she came to buy a tonic to settle her nerves. When Mary found the door locked at a time when Ms. Graves was usually open, she came around to see if she was out back. She looked over the fence and saw the body, and ran shouting for me at once."
Lillet supposed that she might have heard the commotion, had she not either been focused on analyzing the tree or fighting with Gervase at the time.
"That must have been hard on her."
"Very much. She prides herself on bearing up under anything as a mark of a good housekeeper, but no one who isn't either experienced with this kind of violence or just plain heartless could see something like this and shrug it off. I left her at home with a cup of tea; her statement was simple enough and there's no reason why she should have to face this again."
A small part of Lillet was meanly glad Mary Framboise had been the one to stumble across this horror. She shouldn't feel that way, she knew, as all the housekeeper had done was to tell the truth in court, under oath. It wasn't she who'd turned that truth into an indictment of magical practice completely against the spirit of the law.
Lillet wasn't a saint, though. She still was in some part glad the woman had felt some of the pain she'd helped to give to others.
"I see." The sheriff turned to face her directly, his face intent.
"Does this tell you anything, Mage Consul?"
"I...yes, a little." A breeze kicked up and swirled Lillet's long hair across her face; she combed it back with her fingers. "At least, I have a theory as to what is happening, and why."
"Well?"
Lillet shook her head.
"I said that it was only a theory. I don't have proof of it, yet." Indeed, though she was confident enough, she had her doubts still. She wasn't an investigator, after all; the assembly of clues into a whole picture was not her forte, and it was only because most of those clues were about magic and Runecraft, her area of best expertise, that she had any surety that she was right.
"So, tell me and we'll investigate."
She shook her head.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff, but there's nothing you could do. It's a matter of magical research, you see, and I'd rather not waste your time—"
"At the least, if we know what was happening, we could protect ourselves."
"No, if I'm right, there's nothing you could do."
The color drained from his face, and he took a step back.
"Nothing? You're saying that there's no way to stop this thing?"
"Ah! No, that's not it! I mean, there's no way that me telling you about it will give you any way to protect yourselves. There's always an answer."
Gervase's lip curled. Unable to hold his tongue any longer, he thrust himself into the conversation.
"I see," he sneered. "Your Excellency assures us that there is a solution, but apparently only you can provide it, and you won't tell us what your so-called theory is or how you plan to lay this devil with your black arts."
"I'm just learning from your example. I don't want to spout off half-formed ideas as if they were a revelation, then be made to look like an idiot when they prove to be wrong. So, I'm going to keep my mouth shut until I have something helpful to say."
"Why, you—"
"And now, I think we've wasted enough of Sheriff Tisdale's time and temper, so I'm going to take my leave and see what I can do to prove or disprove my idea. I'm sure you might want to do the same."
"Oh, I'm quite certain of that," he said darkly, and spun on his heel to march out of the garden the way he'd come.
"I apologize for losing my temper. Again," Lillet told Tisdale.
"I can understand. Just be careful of yourself. Gervase isn't the kind of man it seems wise to prod and provoke."
She nodded.
"Yes, that's probably the case. It's just that when I see something like this"—she gestured at the corpse—"and then I hear him spew the bigotry and hate that he calls faith, I find it hard to hold myself back."
Tisdale's face hardened.
"Don't misunderstand, Your Excellency. I don't disagree with Gervase about sorcery. It's just that given that magic created this problem, magic may be the only way to stop it. Then it and you and all these devils can leave us be."
"Then you're in luck, Sheriff. If I'm right, devils and sorcery play no part in either the cause for these killings or their solution."
With that parting shot, she turned, and left him there in the garden, following the way Gervase had gone back through the apothecary's workroom and shop.
Out front, the crowd had disbursed, the priest's exhortations apparently having done their job. The constables had spread out in response, some going around back to watch the garden, with only one remaining by the door.
She found Gervase and Hathorne there as well, the witch-hunter's expression as black as ever. He came towards her at once.
"Get out of my way," she told him flatly. "I've wasted enough of my time arguing with you."
"Your precious 'theory,' no doubt. You tipped your hand before a witness, Lillet Blan. A series of unnatural deaths, caused unquestionably by magic. And now here you are, with a magical solution. A mysterious cure for what ails us that only you can provide."
"I don't like what you're implying, Gervase."
"And why should you? You stand exposed with one of the classic tricks of the witch: to win power and influence by 'solving' a problem you yourself created. We see it more often with men like Maudite, to win a market for his talismans and potions. But you, no, you are playing for higher stakes—for the minds and souls of these innocent people—to trick them into seeing magic as their needful ally against the darkness!"
"That's your most pathetic excuse yet," she shot back.
"You dare to deny it?"
"Of course I deny it. It's nothing more than the deluded fantasy of a madman."
"Brazen whore! Your devil's work shall not go unpunished! Do you think I do not know what you were about last night? I had believed your actions to be relatively innocuous, a desire to keep God's good justice from visiting your associate, but now I know differently! You went out in the storm last night, and you called your demon down upon this town as you had twice before! Court minister or not, I will see that you burn for this!"
His voice rose as he spoke, so that by the end of his rambling accusation, he was shouting in the open street, drawing the attention of more than one passerby, as well as the constables. Spittle flew in Lillet's face with his manic howling; she wiped it away on the back of her sleeve.
"I'm tired of this," she told him flatly. "You've run through three different versions of who or what is responsible for the killings just since we were told about this one. First you blamed God, then the Devil, and now you're back around to me, when the plain truth is that you have no idea at all what's happening or why. All you can do is lash out at everyone and everything around you, with all the hate and bigotry that you devote your whole existence towards. So, fine. Please, try your best to find evidence that your bishop could take to Her Majesty. You'll have to work at it, since unlike what you're used to you'll actually have to show proof of an actual crime, and at least while you're doing that you won't be hurting anyone else. And who knows? Maybe if you keep snooping into my business you'll at least be around to do some good when I catch whatever actually is responsible."
With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk towards the entrance to the village, leaving him fuming in place behind her. After a moment's pause, his voice rose angrily in her wake.
"Do not think that you can escape me!" he cried. "You are the Devil's get, and I shall see that you receive the justice that is due to all witches! The law may shield your witchcraft, but not the vile deeds you commit with it, and I shall be there to catch you out at them!"
Unseen by Gervase, Lillet's lips curled upwards into a smile.
Perfect, she thought. If he keeps to that, then I just might be able to finish this off, after all!