Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery by Alan Gordon Page B

would be anybody except someone from the Church. They would most likely disguise themselves as something else. In any case, the cowled stranger’s not a problem at the moment. Let’s go visit our shack-dwelling friend.”
    I decided not to knock, choosing instead to barge in, knife drawn. I caught the fellow attempting to light a small metal bowlof incense. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and held my knife close to his eye.
    “Well, here’s luck,” I said. “I changed my mind. I’m interested in your wares.”
    “Sure, sure,” he gasped. “Anything you want, just don’t hurt me.”
    Claudius closed the door behind us and kept watch. I let the relic seller go, keeping an eye on his hands. He fumbled at the cord holding his cloak closed, then opened it. I pointed my knife at the item I had marked before, a pewter ring with a Death’s-head set in black enamel.
    “A good choice,” he babbled. “That will ward off enemies, bring . . .” He stopped as I brought my knife back to his throat.
    “Look here,” I said, holding up my other hand.
    He drew in his breath sharply as he saw a similar ring on my finger.
    “It wards off no one,” I said. “It may even attract enemies. I took it from the finger of a dead fool, along with his clothes and gear. I’ve been a jester ever since. Sometimes I tickle people’s humor. Sometimes I tickle them with this.”
    I touched him lightly with the blade, and he started crying.
    “Now, that ring belonged to a fool named Demetrios,” I continued. “I’ve been looking for him. He has something that belongs to me, and I want it. I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to kill to get it.” I flicked my knife at the thread holding the ring to the cloak, and it fell. Before it hit the ground, I caught it with the end of my knife and flipped it into the air. It fell onto my waiting pinkie, beside its mate. The relic seller watched the whole routine in terror. I pointed the knife back at him.
    “Talk,” I said.
    “I took it from a dead fool as well,” he said. “Demetrios.”
    “When? Where?”
    “Early November, out in the forest.”
    “Who brought him there? Tell me everything you know.”
    “They were dressed like monks, but they weren’t,” he said. “I was out gathering herbs and trapping rabbits. I like a stewed rabbit every now and then. The Emperor’s forests are untouchable. No one’s allowed in, not even the woodsmen or the shipbuilders or anyone. So, when I heard the noise, I hid.”
    “How many were there?”
    “Three, lugging the body. I recognized him right away. I’ve seen him work for years; I knew the pattern of his motley. And that’s the only way I would have known him. His face was beaten to a pulp.
    “They had shovels. They dug a grave, put him in, covered him up.”
    “Did they say anything?”
    He thought. “One of them said, ‘No fool like a dead fool,’ and they laughed.”
    “Would you recognize the voice if you heard it again?”
    “No, no,” he whimpered, shaking his head emphatically.
    “But he spoke in Greek?”
    “Sure, sure.”
    “With an accent, or without?”
    “I heard none.”
    “Go on.”
    “I remembered about the ring, and the earring. I figured he wasn’t using them anymore.”
    “Did you find anything else on him?”
    He fumbled through a pile of odds and ends by his pallet and produced a worn, leather pouch.
    “There was no money in it,” he said in a most unconvincing tone. “But there was a piece of paper with writing on it. I don’t know what it means.”
    I snatched it from him and opened it. There was a scrap with faint lettering. It was in German. I looked at it, passed it to Claudius, and opened the door.
    “You never saw me,” I said. “If you forget that, you will see me again.”
    “Go away,” he whispered.
    We stepped outside.
    We walked toward the harbor and sat on the edge of a pier. Claudius held the paper up to the sun.
    “ ‘Can’t make it tonight. T.,’ ” she