Shadow of the Raven by Tessa Harris

end. Such talismans were believed to ward off evil spirits. Thomas gently pulled on the rein so that the animal skirted the disturbing object, then guided her back on the track.
    A few yards on, he suddenly spotted great clouds of bluish gray smoke, billowing through the trees. At first he thought he had come across a smoldering forest fire, even though the ground was damp. Quickly he dismounted and, shielding his nose and mouth from the clinging smoke, he approached on foot. It did not take him long to realize his mistake. In the clearing he could see through the gritty haze a huge round mound raised on an earth platform. From it rose plumes that swirled around it and filled the air with the tang of burning wood. Covering the mound were clods of clay and slabs of turf, and at its center stood an odd-looking chimney out of which most of the smoke was escaping. A lone man with a shovel seemed to be tending what appeared to be some sort of kiln, lifting sods of moss and patting them down over vents, choking off the smoke, trapping it inside.
    Thomas took the man to be one of the charcoal burners who lived and worked in the wood. He was small but solid in build, and on his head he wore a strange kind of leather bonnet with flaps that covered his ears. It was tied by laces under his chin. His face and hands were so deeply ingrained with soot that he looked as though he had been dipped in tar.
    The workman did not notice his visitor at first, or if he did, he did not acknowledge him. He seemed too busy with his shovel, firming down the clods, until after a few moments he stood back to take stock of his work. He coughed and spat forth sooty spew. It was then that he caught sight of Thomas out of the corner of his eye.
    He looked at him warily. “Yes?” he grunted.
    Thomas urged his horse forward. “Good day,” he said, doffing his tricorn.
    The man’s eyes looked bright white set in his blackened face, but they narrowed as he studied his visitor. “You come about the mapmaker?” he asked. He had obviously heard of the murder. “I don’t want no trouble.”
    Thomas shook his head. “No, sir, I am not,” he replied politely, aware that he needed to tread carefully. “I am a surgeon and physician.”
    The charcoal burner straightened his grimy neck. “I may have a cough, but I’m not sick,” he replied.
    Thomas smiled. “I can see that,” he conceded, but he refused to be put off. He went straight to the point. “I understand you know these woods.”
    The charcoal burner shrugged. “As well as any man.”
    Thomas pried a little deeper. “Did the mapmakers come this way?”
    â€œWhat’s it to you?” came the crabby reply.
    â€œI am sent by the coroner. I need to find out more about how the man died.” Thomas did not mean to be officious, but he feared he might have sounded that way. “Do you know the place where he was shot?”
    The charcoal burner shuffled his feet and let his shovel take some of his weight. “What if I do?” There was a defiance in his manner that Thomas had not anticipated.
    â€œThen I would ask you to take me to that place,” Thomas persisted.
    The charcoal burner paused for a moment and eyed the doctor with a simmering resentment. It was plain he did not trust this stranger.
    â€œI will make it worth your while,” said the doctor, delving into his pocket and bringing out his purse. “A guinea for your pains,” he offered, tossing a silver coin into the air. It landed on the carpet of dead leaves by the man’s boots. He picked it up and bit into it as if it were an oatcake, before tossing his shovel to the ground, like a surly child.
    â€œI’ll take ye,” he conceded, but still under sufferance. “ ’Tis a good walk from here.”
    The man led the way north through the forest, tramping along leaf-strewn paths and through muddy ruts. Thomas followed