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CHAPTER 5
I’m halfway home when I hear a shout.
“Catrin!”
Magister Thomas runs at me, cap askew and black cloak flying out behind him. “Thank the Light!” he gasps. “Where have you been? I heard there was a murder.”
I don’t realize how precarious a hold I have on my emotions until I’m in his arms, sobbing.
“Rising Sun,” Magister Thomas whispers into my hair. “You’re cold as ice.” He strokes my back for several seconds, then pulls me back and holds my face inches from his. “Why, Catrin?” He keeps his voice low, but I’ve never heard him so angry. “Why were you here and not at the Sanctum?”
Tear flow down my cheeks and over his thumbs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babble. “I was there, but I saw—I saw…”
The architect’s hands tighten. “Whatdid you see?”
“A man. Near the Sanctum,” I gasp. “And I heard—”
I break off. WhatdidI hear?
“You heard the woman who was killed?” he whispers, horrified.
It’s hard to nod with him holding me as he does, but his handskeep my teeth from chattering. I also remember why the architect can’t be seen anywhere near here. “We n-need to go,” I tell him.
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry for being so upset. I was just frightened.” Magister Thomas pulls his cloak off and settles it around my shoulders. The warmth steadies me enough for him to guide me along minor streets to our back door, where the housekeeper waits for us, wringing her hands.
They seat me near the kitchen hearth fire, and Mistress la Fontaine starts pulling the pins from my wet hair. Magister Thomas kneels and takes my filthy hands in his, looking up into my eyes. “What happened, Catrin?”
Slowly, I tell him about the scream which startled me, though I don’t mention my fall or seeing blood on the wall. Then I describe the man in the square and going to look for the source of the cry, also leaving out the whispers telling me to go home.
Magister Thomas sighs and shakes his head. “What possessed you to go into that part of the city, at that hour, alone?”
How can I explain? “I don’t know. I just—I just knew someone needed help.”
The architect exhales slowly and glances up at the housekeeper standing over my shoulder, clutching a handful of pins. “Howdid you know?” he asks. “Did you hear something? Something more than just a scream?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat, shaking my head and sniffling. “I just knew.” A fresh sob breaks from my chest. “And I was too late!”
Magister Thomas rises higher on his knees and grabs my shoulders. “Praise the Light you were.”
I lean away. “How can you say that?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been able to stop him!” He shakes me with every word. “He would’ve had to kill you, too, to keep you silent!” The magister stops and reels himself in slowly, likea kite he’s afraid will break free if he pulls too hard. “Cat, what happened to that woman wasnotyour fault.”
“It was Perrete,” I whisper. “And the killer did… terrible things. Her eyes—” I squeeze my own tight in a vain attempt to shut out the vision.
Mistress la Fontaine crosses her arms. “I knew that girl was up to nothing good.”
“Quiet,” Magister Thomas snaps. “No one should speak ill of the dead. Especially one who died so horribly.”
I’ve never heard him speak this sharply to the housekeeper, not even after a kitchen fire burned half the house and all his sketches. Nor has he ever been as cross with me as he has been tonight—twice.
“What if someone knows she was here?” I ask. “The venatre will want to question you.”
Magister Thomas blinks. “A venatre has been assigned? For someone like Perrete?”
I nod. “His name is Simon. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s a relative of the Montcuirs.”
There’s a long silence as the architect strokes his beard and stares into the hearth fire. Then he pulls his hand away and rubs his fingers with a frown. I suspect the coarse hairs have irritated what appear to be a number of fresh cuts on them.
