The sergeant joined her. ‘Mason’s apprentice, though his master tells us he ain’t been showing for work up at the keep the past two days, and no one recalls seeing him in that time either. He was up to something, I suppose.’

The body was on the bed now and Serap climbed aboard the wagon. She drew the canvas to one side, revealing the corpse.

Yeld grunted. ‘Ugly way to die, sir.’

‘Not a rope or garrotte.’

‘No sir. Was hands that done that.’

‘Not hands, sergeant. One hand.’

Mutters sounded from the crowd now gathered round.

Serap straightened. ‘Takes a strong man to do that. I see a knife sheath at his belt but no knife.’

‘Found a dozen paces away, sir,’ said Yeld.

‘Blood on it?’

‘No. But look at his hands – seems he fought back.’

‘Anyone with a bruised face in this mob?’ Serap asked with a half-smile as she scanned the townsfolk. ‘No,’ she added. ‘That would be too easy.’

Someone spoke from the crowd. ‘Anyone seen Renarr?’

‘Who’s Renarr?’ Serap asked.

‘The woman he was courting,’ Yeld replied. ‘From what I gather.’

‘Millick was courtin’ and plannin’ t’marry,’ someone else said.

‘Where does this Renarr live?’

Yeld pointed to a solid stone house at the western end of the high street, close to the Tithe Gate.

‘Send anyone over there yet?’

‘Sir, she’s Gurren’s daughter. Gurren was married to Captain Shellas.’

‘And?’

‘And Gurren’s got no love for Legion. Or ex-Legion. I doubt we could get in the door.’

‘But she needs to be told, sergeant. Out of decency, she needs to know.’

‘I expect she knows, sir. It’s been on everyone’s tongue all morning, this whole mess.’

Serap returned to her horse. She gestured Yeld close and kept her voice low as she said, ‘Was this Gurren’s work? Did the boy – Millick – rape his daughter, you think? Knock her up?’

Yeld clawed at his beard, squinting at the ground. ‘Gurren’s got a temper. And he used to be a smith – still has a hand in, so long as it ain’t Vatha or Legion work. But sir, no one wants to lose a smith. This town’s only got the one who ain’t working day and night for Lord Urusander. I admit, living here now, I’m pretty reluctant to stir up a wasp nest—’

‘A mason’s apprentice was murdered in the street, sergeant.’

‘And no one’s looking at Old Smith Gurren. That’s the problem.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Meaning I heard from one of last night’s High Gate guards that Osserc rode out two bells past midnight, trailing a spare mount and kitted for a journey. He ain’t come back, and it gets worse.’

‘How?’

‘Clean horse tracks on the lane up to and then around the body. Freshly shoed, just like Osserc’s mounts were. Osserc’s probably the strongest man I know, lieutenant. Take all that and add to rumours from a few days ago, about Renarr coming back late from the stream – same track as Osserc rode in on earlier that morning … so you see, right now there’s rumours and just rumours and still plenty of mysteries. It’s a wasp nest no matter which side we kick at it.’