Justice for the Damned Read Free

Amesbury!" Thomas had cried out, still gasping from the other
news the man had brought.
    If
the priest had had lips, he might have smiled. "A change of scenery will
do you good," he said, sipping wine from a beautiful goblet that had once
been used by a less than saintly Tyndal monk whose current residence was
probably Hell.
    Despite
that small, gold cross attached to a silken cord around the man's neck, Thomas
wondered if the priest was one of Satan's own. Surely he needed something
larger to remind him that he was supposed to serve a Lord who exemplified
compassion.
    "First
you tell me that my father is dead, and then you send me off to hunt manuscript
thieves. Will you not leave me alone so I might grieve a while?"
    The
man in black shrugged. "Why such grief? Although your father might have
been most generous to you, a bantling seeded in a serving wench, your choice of
bedmate surely killed his little fondness. You are a sodomite, a sin much akin
to murder in the opinion of some. Surely I need not remind you of that? I am
kind to set a task for you, my son. Sorrow without distraction becomes an
indulgence that festers into sin." He let his words sink in as he swirled
the wine in his goblet, then sniffed at it. "Your prioress has an
exceptional wine merchant."
    "And
what sick brother am I to visit this time?" Thomas spat. "If you
continue to send me on these errands, even the Devil himself will find it hard
to devise enough plagues to afflict my mythical family. Or," he lashed
out, "shall I tell Prioress Eleanor that my father has died at
Berkhamsted..." He pointed to a hypothetical location on the table.
".. .which is why I must go to Amesbury?" He banged his fist on
another location far to the west of the first. "Do you know that her aunt
is novice mistress in that priory?"
    The
man in black said nothing, continuing instead to study the color of his wine.
    "Wouldn't
Sister Beatrice find it odd that a monk from Tyndal had arrived and was showing
much interest in the Amesbury Psalter when Prioress Eleanor did not even know
he was there?
    Might
I suggest that one of your other underlings be the wiser choice to catch
the thief who wants this precious item? How do you even know... ?"
    "We
received warning." The man in black savored the last of his wine, then
stared into the empty goblet with evident regret. When at last he looked up, he
blinked, and his expression slowly developed into mild surprise. "Did I
not tell you? Your prioress will be traveling with you," he said. "It
is all arranged."
    The
raucous cawing of a large crow dragged Thomas out of his miserable reflections,
and he glanced up to see the cause of such avian rage. What he witnessed
brought him to his feet in horror.
    Lying
flat on the severely pitched roof of the priory library and scriptorium, a man
clung by his fingers to some invisible groove in the slate covering. The great
black bird swooped at him, circled, and flew once more at the man's head.
    "Help!"
Thomas shouted, but there was no one near to heed his cry. He ran to the wall,
searching the ground with frantic haste for some fallen ladder.
    Above
him, he heard a scrabbling sound and next a voice: "Thank you, Brother!
You scared the fiendish fowl away. I am safe enough and most grateful to
you."
    Thomas
looked up.
    The
young man, now standing with both feet firmly planted on the narrow
scaffolding, was lean, muscular, and dressed only in his braes. Although his
naked chest was still heaving from the exertion and his long brown hair was
dark with sweat, the fellow was grinning.
    Despite
his pounding heart, Thomas returned the man's infectious smile. "A
miracle!" he shouted back.
    "One
peril of my occupation, Brother, but one to which I have become accustomed.
King Henry may have given the priory ten cartloads of lead, but this roof has
too steep a pitch for that and the slate was badly installed. Nails have
rotted.
    Leaks
occur. There are manuscripts within that could be damaged. I do my best to