Serap cursed under her breath. ‘That gate guard been talking?’

‘Just to me.’

‘And those horse tracks?’

‘I took note, since I was put in mind of Urusander’s boy riding out. But I don’t think anyone else noticed. Get plenty of riding back and forth, and I obscured the path that went round the body. Scuffed it up, I mean.’

‘I know what you meant,’ she replied, irritated with the detail. ‘Has Lord Urusander been informed of any of this?’

‘Not yet, sir. I was on my way when you arrived.’

‘You could clear Gurren by making him put his left hand round the dead man’s neck – see if the imprint fits.’

‘Yes, sir, I could, though the body’s starting to swell up some.’

‘But if you did and Gurren was cleared of suspicion, you’d be left with one choice—’

‘Yes, sir, and it’s a rumour already out here. Going after Gurren would make it worse, if you see what I mean. Worse for Lord Urusander. Worse for the Legion.’

‘You’ve thought this through, Yeld.’

The sergeant shrugged. ‘We can’t make it go away, sir, but we can let it rust.’

Serap swung into the saddle. ‘I will report all this to Lord Urusander.’

‘All of it?’

‘All that he needs to hear. There’s been a murder. No witnesses and no suspects. The rest is just base speculation. The loss of a mason’s apprentice will be a hardship on the family, and no doubt the mason, too, and we both know that the commander will do what’s necessary to ease their loss.’

The sergeant nodded up at her. ‘Very good, lieutenant. Oh, and welcome.’

She eyed him jadedly at that, but he seemed sincere. She edged her horse past the wagon and then through the crowd. The mood around her wasn’t yet ugly, which was something. She did not envy Yeld and his squad.

Riding on, she drew opposite Gurren’s stone house and reined in. She eyed the shuttered windows, and then the faint wisps of smoke rising from the chimney. Dismounting, Serap left her horse standing on the track and made her way to the front door. She thumped on the blackwood.

There was no response.

Serap waited for a time and then made her way round to the back yard. Pushing through the gate, she saw Gurren hunched over the forge, stirring the coals.

She approached, but from one side, to give him the opportunity to see her. He offered up a single glance then returned to his work.

‘Old Smith,’ she said. ‘We’ve not met, but I know of you and, of course, of your wife. You have my deepest sympathies.’

He made no reply.

‘Gurren, where is your daughter?’

‘In the house.’

‘She does not come to the door.’

‘Ain’t surprised.’

‘Why?’