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Straightening his back, Simon walks right up to the watchman. “I am the provost’s appointed venatre.” The title doesn’t roll easily off his tongue, but he’s apparently decided it has some uses. “Do you have anything notable to report?”
The man jumps to his feet, pulling his halberd to his side. “No, sir!” he answers respectfully. “No one has tried to get past me or the watch before.”
His ready acceptance of Simon’s authority is likely due to a passed-down description. That left eye of his is a pretty distinct way to identify him.
Simon sighs in exasperation. “No, I wouldn’t think so. I have some inquiring to do, so consider yourself dismissed for the next hour.”
“Thank you, sir.” The guard hurries off, eager to make use of his sudden free time.
“Well, Venatre,” I say. “Where do we start?”
Simon scowls. “We can start with you never calling me that again.”
I knew the word made him uncomfortable, but it’s obvious he actually hates it. “Sorry, Master Simon.”
“Simon. Just Simon.” He shakes his head. “Light of Day, we’re the same age.”
“You’re two years older,” I correct him.
He blinks. “Really?” Suddenly he flushes and looks away. “Close enough. I’ll call you Cat if you call me Simon, agreed?”
“Agreed. So where do we start, Simon?”
He glances around. “Let’s begin with the woman you saw after finding the body. Where were you exactly?”
I move to stand next to the barrel. “Here.”
Simon steps up beside me and looks down the street. “And which window did she look out of?”
“That one.” I point to the house six doors away. “The one with the repaired board that’s not painted yet.”
He frowns and squints where I indicate. “You saw that at night?”
My fingertips tingle with a sudden anxiety. “The moon was very bright.”
“All right. We’ll start there.” Simon leads the way to the door below the window. The woman who answers his knock holds an infant to her shoulder and looks very much like the face I saw that night.
“Good day, madam,” Simon begins, and she raises her eyebrows almost into the fringe of the sweat-stained cap on her head. “I’m investigating the murder two nights ago. I need to know if you saw or heard anything.”
“I heard nothin’ till everyone was on the streets.” She steps back to close the door.
“Wait!” I say quickly. “What about the woman who was up with the baby?” Ignoring Simon’s confused look, I push on. “One of your neighbors said she yelled at someone for waking the child.”
The woman snorts. “Wait here.” She closes the door.
Simon frowns. “She wasn’t the mother you saw? She had a baby, so I just assumed.”
I study the grain of wooden door to avoid looking at him. “That woman’s eyes were blue.”
“You saw that from this distance?” Simon glances back at the alley. “If the guard was over there, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to distinguish his eye color, and it’s broad daylight.”
Fortunately the door reopens at that moment, and a woman close in looks and age to the first one peers out. They must be sisters. “What do you want?” she asks.
“Nothing difficult to answer,” Simon says amiably. “Just that I was told you saw someone on the street the night of the—”
“Murder?” she finishes, and he nods. “Aye, I did. I leaned out of that window”—she points upward while tilting her head up the street—“and saw a fellow emptying his guts over there.”
“So you were already awake?” he asks. “For how long?”
