“The girl!” He pointed at Scarlet, names temporarily beyond his grasp.

“In her cell,” Marshall said, clearly confused.

The blood pumping in Guy’s ears was louder than his own thoughts, and his limbs dragged downward. A pool of blood was on the ground, fresh enough that the dirt had not yet drunk it. Morg and Marshall were waiting on his answer. The other two Guardsmen were strangers in rust tabards. Yorkshire colors, he recalled now. They were Guardsmen from York.

Guy tried to calm his hands. “What the hell is going on here?”

“You didn’t see him?” Morg asked.

“I saw him,” Guy said. “Who was he?”

“Dale Hawkins.”

“He’s a horse thief, and a murderer,” one of the Yorkies answered.

He was a gerold, Guy knew. He recognized the name.

“That little maggot got himself into The Simons’ Yard.” Marshall wiped his bald head but just smeared the blood that was there. “He’s been living with us for months, just waiting for a chance to kill us all.”

“I recognized him,” the Yorkie said calmly. “We had him in irons in York a couple years ago. Stole a horse from some baron and botched it, killed a stableboy trying to get away. He and a few others broke out round a year back. Caught most of them, but not Hawkins. When I saw him here, I couldn’t shake why I knew his face.”

Guy put his hand out. “Who are you?”

“Silas, from Yorkshire Guard.”

“And this is Captain Gisbourne,” Marshall introduced him.

Silas bowed his head slightly. He had a deep beak of a nose that split his stoic face in two. “An honor. As I was saying, once I placed Dale Hawkins’s name, I had to be certain. I’d met this one the night before,” sticking his thumb at Morg, “so I asked him.”

Morg’s shoulders continued to shake. His face was redder than the blood that spattered it, and he twisted at his blue tabard as if the blood would slide off.

“And Morg asked me,” Marshall took up the story. “I remembered Hawkins, too, he was a prisoner here. But for tax evasion.” He met Guy’s eyes, saying everything that needed to be said. Guy shouldn’t have been surprised that Marshall would figure out what all those prisoner interrogations were about. And just as he had feared, they had recruited someone who had a more colorful history than they knew.

“Horse thief, and a murderer,” the Yorkie had said. And then a Guardsman.

Morg blubbered his way to a voice. “We’ve already had our share of murderers in Guard uniform this last week. I didn’t want anyone else getting killed.”

“So what happened, Morg?” Guy placed his hand on the giant’s shoulder. “You killed him?”

“Might be.” Morg’s puffy eyes blinked. “Wasn’t trying to. Just trying to shave his ear is all.”