The Winter King by Alys Clare

and there were some heavy pieces of fine oak furniture along the walls of the hall.
    And then Meggie remembered exactly who Lord Benedict was, what his job had been, and the likely source of his sudden wealth. She almost blurted it out to Sabin, before realizing that, if Sabin didn’t already know Lord Benedict had been as close with the king as a flea to the hound’s back, then now wasn’t the time to tell her.
    Feeling even more apprehensive, she stepped into the hall, Sabin on her heels. She called out softly, ‘Hello? Anyone there?’
    At first there was no reply. Then there was the sound of hurrying feet, and an ample woman in the middle years came puffing up from a passage off to the left. ‘Her Ladyship’s not receiving callers and the steward’s out the back with the builders,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What do you—’ She caught sight of Sabin, standing behind Meggie. ‘Oh, it’s you again. Thought you’d finished last time. Come to lay him out, have you?’
    Meggie dug her elbow hard into Sabin’s ribs. Sabin gave a sort of squawk and said, ‘Yes.’
    The serving woman turned back down the passage. ‘Help yourselves. You know where he is. He hasn’t moved, as far as I know.’
    Her coarse laughter echoed back along the passage.
    ‘Not exactly pining for him, is she?’ Meggie whispered.
    ‘He was an awful man,’ Sabin hissed back. ‘He—’
    ‘Hush,’ Meggie said. ‘Not now. Anyway, I know his reputation.’
    Sabin, looking intrigued, opened her mouth as if to pursue the comment, so Meggie gave her a nudge to stop her. ‘We’d better do as that woman said,’ she said firmly. ‘Where’s this cellar?’
    ‘Down there.’ Sabin broke into a trot, hurrying off down a second passage which, presently, began to descend. Soon they were in the cellar; Meggie drew her cloak more firmly around her and wished she had something to press against her face.
    They stepped up to the trestle table and looked down on the body of Lord Benedict de Vitré. Working together, they quickly removed his garments, and Sabin stood back while Meggie inspected him from head to toe. Then Sabin helped her turn him over, and she did the same to his back.
    ‘Bring that candle nearer,’ Meggie whispered. Sabin obliged. Meggie removed it from the holder and, with the flame close up to the corpse’s back, leaned right over the body. ‘What did you make of this?’ She indicated the spot with the crust of dried blood.
    ‘A pimple or a boil, or maybe a flea or louse bite,’ Sabin replied, ‘which he’d scratched and made bleed. There are lots of them, although that’s the biggest.’
    Meggie said, ‘Hmm,’ and went on looking. ‘Would you hold the light?’ Sabin took it from her. With both hands free, Meggie peered at the bloody spot. Putting two fingers either side of it, she pushed the surrounding flesh this way and that.
    Abruptly she stood up. She stuck the candle back in its holder and put it back at the corner of the trestle. Then, trying to keep her voice calm, she said, ‘Help me turn him over. We must dress him again and cover him up.’
    ‘What …’ Sabin began.
    Meggie gave a
tsk
of exasperation. ‘Just
do it
, Sabin.’
    Their four hands worked swiftly and efficiently, and soon the corpse appeared just as it had done when they found it. Meggie took one last, careful look at the body, the trestle table, the candles in their holders.
Have I missed anything
? she thought. Her heart was hammering in her chest.
No. I don’t think so.
    She took a firm hold on Sabin’s arm and said, ‘Come on. We’ve got to get away from here.’
    Up the spiral stair. Along the dark, cold corridor, their footsteps echoing. More steps, another passage … and then they were back in the hall, and it was still empty, and there was the open door and, beyond, the courtyard and their horses waiting.
    It was all Meggie could do not to break into a run.
    Only when they were a good five miles from Medley, deep within a