Ambergate Read Free

to prise it from
     him if necessary.
    The hut looked deserted, its watch panel shut fast. Clearly the Lawman was not expecting any strangers. Behind it, nondescript
     cottages straggled away into the mist and rain. On a rough patch of enclosed land, sheep eyed them incuriously, then went
     back to pulling at the tufty grass.
    Mather dismounted and tethered his black horse to a broken fence. “Rouse him, Lieutenant,” he said curtly to Caleb Grouted.
    A grin flickered over Caleb’s handsome face. Nipping down from his own horse, he went smartly over to the closed door of the
     hut and rapped on it with his pistol.
    “Open up, Lawman!” There was the sound of startled movement inside, something heavy knocked over, then a querulous, suspicious
     voice. “Who is it?”
    “Officers of the Special Interrogation Branch of the Militia!” shouted Caleb with relish.
    There was a shocked silence on the other side of the door, then a bolt slid back. An older man stood blinking at them in fright.
     Behind him Chance could see the Records table, with a bread roll and half-eaten piece of cheese lying on top; a tankard had
     fallen on its side so that ale dripped darkly to the floor.
    “Forgive me, good Sirs. We have so few travelers along this road…”
    Mather moved smoothly forward. “It is always best to be on your guard, Lawman—to keep careful watch. No doubt you have heard
     of the recent death of the rebel leader, Robert Fane?”
    The Lawman nodded quickly, his rheumy eyes widening.
    Mather came close, keeping his voice low yet heavy with menace, as he looked down on him. “The rebels may be quiet at the
     moment, but soon they will appoint a new leader and gather their forces. The Lord Protector will want his loyal subjects to
     be on their guard. His people look to their Lawmen for security—reassurance. It would be a shame if your retirement had to
     come early.”
    The Lawman wrung his hands together. “Forgive me…,” he began again, but Mather cut him short.
    “I trust that in other areas you fulfill your duties. You keep the records of persons in this village, alive or dead?”
    He looked up at the rolls of parchment stacked neatly along the shelves. “I see you do. I hope they are up to date.”
    “Indeed they are, Sir,” said the Lawman tremulously, clutching the withered herb amulet at his neck.
    “We need to go back five years. To the household of the Murkmere estate, as it was then—when the late Master of Murkmere was
     still alive, before his daughter ran off.”
    Caleb Grouted swaggered over to the shelves and stared up. “These arranged in date order, Lawman? They’d better be.”
    The Lawman’s hand was trembling as he pulled down thecorrect parchment. “There has been much coming and going at Murkmere since then, Sirs.”
    “And, no doubt, you have recorded all of it,” Mather said grimly. He had picked up the Register of Visitors from the Records
     table and was turning the heavy vellum pages to stare at the Lawman’s cramped writing. “We shall look at that roll first,
     then we shall investigate the more recent records to see if our quarry has escaped us or is still there to be ensnared.”
    Chance could see the glitter in Caleb’s eyes as they both crowded the Lawman, breathing hotly down his neck while he split
     the sealing wax and spread the roll open on the Records table.
    “What name should I look for, Sir?” The Lawman fumbled for his spectacles.
    “Not a name.” said Mather. “This girl has no name. You are to look for a number.”
    His business successfully completed, Mather strode to the door of the hut. Chance, about to follow Mather out, heard the Lawman
     let out a moan. He glanced back.
    Caleb was slapping his hand along the shelves. Carefully ordered rolls of records toppled down under the onslaught like a
     house of cards; old parchment curled and cracked as it hit the floor, wax seals split open. As a final gesture, Caleb wrenched
     a map from the wall. He