[William Falconer 06] - Falconer and the Ritual of Death Read Online Free Page B

understanding was being smashed or undermined by the other. His house would totter until he could square the circle of the conflict. He had set out to summarize his understanding of a myriad issues from optics to astronomy and from philosophy to chemistry. The mountain of papers had built up on his table since then, and he had done little but produce bewilderment. Often his brain ached with the accumulated information, much of the new influx incompatible with what he had previously gathered.
    Now he sat surrounded by the evidence of his impossible mission, and could only brood on the image of Ann Segrim’s cornfield of blonde hair sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
    Idly he shifted papers from one pile to the other, uncertain how to proceed, until matters were suddenly taken out of his hands by the hesitant appearance of one of his students at the door to his solar. He always left the door ajar, and emphasized to all his new recruits that he could be disturbed at any time. But in truth, all the students whose welfare he cared for were reluctant to disturb the regent master when they realized he had sat down at his table behind the awesome pile of papers piled thereon. From experience, indeed, they soon saw that it was well-nigh impossible to rouse him from the trance-like state the papers induced. Today, however, Peter Mithian, in his second year of study and a little more confident than most other youths lodging in Aristotle’s Hall, knew he had to try.
    And was soon relieved to see that the regent master appeared Unequal to the task before him. For once, Master Falconer looked as though he would welcome a distraction.
    ‘Master, there is a boy downstairs who says he has an urgent message for you. I would not disturb you at your work normally….’ Falconer beckoned Peter into the room, and he sidled into the only remaining floor space available. ‘However, what he has to say sounds very curious. And knowing that you have an interest...’
    ‘Spit it out, boy. I am tired, and may well expire before you come to the point otherwise. ‘
    Peter Mithian squirmed, and began to profusely apologize for his prolixity. Until he realized he was making matters worse with his jabbering. He came abruptly to the point.
    ‘Master. A body has been found in Little Jewry Lane.’ Falconer smiled broadly. It was the best news he had had all day.

Five

    Even before Falconer arrived at the building site, the constable of Oxford, Peter Bullock, was already in control of the situation. The two men were old friends and drinking companions, who had shared many an investigation into mysterious deaths in and around the town. Bullock was frequently bemused by the regent master’s application of tortuous logic to what to him often seemed like a simple case.
    But he kept his peace, because Falconer would regularly prove to be correct in what he called his ‘deductions’. Bullock, as an old soldier, preferred rough and swift justice. But in Oxford, a town divided in jurisdiction, where those who were part of the university stood outside the law as administered by the constable, it was always politic to involve a member of the university, albeit informally. Besides, Bullock found the regent master a good sounding board, and a rumbustious companion when it came to celebrating the successful conclusion of another investigation. A logician who could let his hair down was a rare commodity in Peter Bullock’s book.
    Having elbowed his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers, Falconer saw Peter Bullock atop the ruins of one of the houses that were being pulled down in Little Jewry Lane. The constable was perched awkwardly on the remains of the stone wall. He was a squat man with a bent back that gave him a curious gait, though no one dared laugh at him when he crabbed through the streets of Oxford on his nightly patrols. They would soon feel the flat of his ancient, rusty SWord across their backs if they did. What was left of his hair Was white