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Simon thanks her and steps away to instruct the guard in how he wants this area watched for anyone who lingers or passes by more often than seems reasonable. Apparently he believes the murderer may come back to look at the place. Though he acted earlier like he was the wrong person to lead the investigation, he clearly knows what to do.
My gut also says the man running across the Sanctum Square was important, but I’m not sure how to approach the venatre with my information. Maybe I should speak to Juliane. Though she was schooled at the abbey under Mother Agnes, I was too young to have had much contact with her, and I highly doubt she remembers me. Even so, I suspect she’s my best chance of being listened to.
One doesn’t simply grab the arm of a comte’s daughter,however. I settle for sidling up next to her and saying quietly, “My Lady, I may have seen the man who did this.”
Instead of acknowledging me, Juliane snaps the fingers of her right hand twice, making Simon look around to her. His eyes—there’s definitely something odd about the left one—shift to me, and he gives a tiny nod. Only then does she turn to face me, asking, “What did you see?”
Did he just give her permission to speak to me?
“I heard a scream, sometime after midnight,” I answer, aware the venatre is watching us. “A bit later I saw a man running across the Sanctum Square.”
Simon draws his brow low. “What did this man look like?”
“I don’t know. It was dark, and when he turned down a side street, I lost sight of him.”
“Why were you out at such a late hour?” The venatre steps closer, studying my unusual outfit.
“I was doing an inspection for the master architect.”
Simon’s gaze stops at my feet. “There’s blood on your trousers and boots.” His eyes snap back up to my face. “Oh yes, you’re the one who found the body.”
I nod, fascinated by what I can now see. Both of his irises are colored like the azure sky in the panes of the Sanctum’s north window, but in the left, a wedge of brown mars the ring of blue, something I’ve never seen before and didn’t know was possible.
“Who are you, then?” he asks. “The architect’s daughter?”
Magister Thomas is the closest thing I have to a father, but I can’t say that. Nor can I call myself his apprentice. “I work for him,” I say simply.
Juliane lifts her lantern to peer at my face. “You used to live at the Abbey of the Sisters of Light.”
If she indeed remembers me, it’s probably from the afternoon I released a sack of brown toads in the prioress’s sitting room,bringing an embroidery lesson to a shrieking halt. “Many years ago,” I answer.
She brightens. “Ah yes. ‘Caaaaaaah-TREEEEN!’” Juliane perfectly imitates the way Mother Agnes had screamed that afternoon.
I cringe. “Yes. That was me.”
Simon raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask for more information. “I’ll need to take your full account of tonight, Miss Catrin. Can you come to the provost’s home this afternoon, or should I call on you?”
“I can come to you,” I offer quickly. I don’t want the venatre anywhere near Magister Thomas.
“Thank you. Until then.” He turns his back on me, and I realize I’ve been dismissed. “Are you sure you want to assist?” he asks Juliane. “It won’t be pleasant.”
Juliane shrugs. “Killing people never is.”
Her choice of words startles me. Simon winces, but rather than respond, he faces the alley and takes a long, deep breath. Then he straightens his shoulders and plunges into the darkness. Juliane follows, her brass lamp swinging.
I back away as Emeline’s women crowd around the entrance. The guard, too, is very interested, allowing me to slide unnoticed into a gap between houses farther up the street. This one is narrow enough for me to climb with one foot on either side. The last time I did something like this was the day I met the architect, when he watched me escape a group of street thieves I’d just pick-pocketed. This time, rather than tuck myself into the dark eaves and hide, I swing up onto the roof on the left, smothering a grunt from the raw bruises under my shirt.
The rain-slick roof tiles and the need to be silent have me moving slower than I’d like back to Perrete’s alley. Once I reach it, I lay flat on the side slanting away from the street and peer overthe edge. The moon is visible again, low on the horizon and not much help, but I can see Simon crouching beside Perrete.
He raises one of her bloody hands and studies her stiff fingers. “I can’t tell if she managed to scratch him.” The walls reflect his voice up to me as clearly as if I were standing next to him. “Cuts on her fingers are probably from clutching her abdomen as he stabbed her.” Simon sets Perrete’s arm down. “The killer is likely to have similar incidental wounds on his hands from wielding the knife.”
“Spell abdomen, please.” Juliane’s voice is grating and loud in contrast to Simon’s. “I don’t know this word.”
“A-B-D-O-M-E-N,” Simon replies, rising to his feet. “It’s a word physicians use for the stomach area.”
Simon is a physician?
“I can’t tell how many times she was stabbed.” Simon speaks absently as he motions for Juliane to raise the lantern higher, and he slowly rotates around, scanning the area. “I’ll know when I look at the body later. Meanwhile… there.”
