Ghosts in the Snow Read Free

on her mud-smeared face or neck. He nodded to himself and yanked back the blanket.
    Gasps rose around him like sparrows taking flight.
    Dubric had no time for niceties. "Get them out of here!" he barked to the pages. Lars remained stoic yet observant and Dubric nodded his approval. Few grown men would contemplate a dead bare-chested woman so calmly, let alone a boy Lars's age.
    Dubric resumed his work, his hands gliding swift and sure over her body. Despite the covering of mud, he found no injuries on her throat, chest, or belly. She still wore underdrawers, so rape was doubtful. Her legs seemed fine. He checked her armpits for temperature, her breasts for bruising, her belly, and her knees. She was still warm, considering the cold weather, and he found no apparent bruises or injuries.
    "Feel here," he whispered, and Lars knelt beside him.
    Lars pushed his fingers into her armpit and pressed in to gauge her temperature. "Still warm. Dead maybe a half bell?"
    "Perhaps. This cold, I would guess a quarter bell."
    "Cause of death, sir?"
    "I am not yet certain."
    They rolled her over, onto the blanket, and Dubric paused to wipe his hands before he reached for a slim leather-bound book and pencil he kept handy in his pocket. He refused to endure his duties without paper and pencil, and he had insisted that his personal staff be adequately outfitted, regardless of historical precedent. For centuries the dark mages had crushed literacy on the mainland, wiping out all traces of science and learning, but the island city of Waterford had stood alone against the shadows and kept knowledge alive. Even after the war, they continued to create the finest papers and writing implements in the world.
    Beside him, Lars stood and snarled, "So help me, Ulldel, you step past that line again and I'll drag you to the gaol myself."
    The crowd grumbled in response, then fell silent.
    As Lars knelt beside him again, Dubric said, "Ulldel is an idiot."
    "He's a drunkard, an ass, and was stealing a scrap of her dress when we arrived. He's already on my witness list."
    Dubric returned his attention to Elli. Her cause of death was obvious, even through the mud. Someone had slashed her back open from her ribs to her hips; the huge gaping hole had filled with muck when she was rolled onto her back. Tapping the pencil on the page as he considered the information, he scratched a few quick notes, drew a rough sketch, and rubbed his aching eyes while Lars efficiently scooped mud from the wound.
    While Lars watched the crowd, Dubric tucked the book back into his pocket and felt along Elli's upper back and legs. He found no other wounds. Expecting to find her skull caved, Dubric examined her head last and found the back of it coated in thick, cloying mud. He brushed the muck away and paused before tapping Lars's leg.
    "Oh, peg," Lars whispered.
    Most of her hair and scalp were gone. Her bloody skull gleamed from her crown to her nape and the skin behind her ears was tattered in muddy hair and blood clotted flaps.
    "Inform the physician," Dubric said.
    "Aye, sir." Lars bounced to his feet and ran to the castle.
    As Dubric stood, he glanced at the crowd. He knew all the faces, and also knew it was likely that one had murdered Elli. Fifty, perhaps sixty people to interview in the hope one would say something useful. He wrapped her in the filthy blanket, wiped his hands, and rubbed his eyes. The ghosts flickered but did not leave. He felt too old to deal with this. Too old and too tired. But there was no one else, and it was his job.
    He hefted his burden and set off to the castle, ignoring the curious stares from the crowd and his ghosts trailing behind him. He felt the loose weight of her body in his arms. She was so young. So much had been taken from her.
    * * *
    Dubric left Elli's corpse with the physician and hurried to Lord Brushgar's office without bothering to clean the muck and blood off his clothes. Unlike the eager onlookers in the courtyard, the people in the