The Treason of the Ghosts

me!’ Corbett ordered.
    The
man raised his head. Corbett judged the woebegone look genuine: beneath the
dirt and stubble, Peterkin’s face had paled.
    ‘Where
did he meet you?’ Corbett demanded.
    ‘He’d
wait for me,’ came the stumbled reply, ‘at the bottom
of the lane. At first I was curious.’
    ‘How
tall was he?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘I
don’t know. He made me stand behind an oak, he was on
the other side. Sometimes his face would peep round. The mask was hideous, red
like blood. He carried...’ Peterkin imitated a bracelet round his wrist.
    ‘A cord?’ Corbett asked. ‘With a bell on it?’
    ‘Yes.
That’s why I knew he was there. I’d go out early in the morning. Most times
there’s a mist. I’d hear the bell tinkle. At first I thought it was some silly
jape. He told me how he knew who I was. He said he had the ear of Justice
Tressilyian. Yes.’ Peterkin licked his lips. ‘That’s how he put it. He knew
about the way I spied on the young women. How in summer I followed couples out
into the countryside. He also claimed I had stolen things: that he’d tell
Master Blidscote, who would put me in the stocks.’
    ‘So,
he taught you the rhyme?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Yes,
he did, but no name was mentioned at first. He returned a few mornings later;
ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling his bell would ring. He asked me to repeat the rhyme
and I did so. Then he told me to take a message to this person or that.’ He
shook his head. ‘I forget who.’
    ‘Then, eventually, the name of his first victim?’
    ‘Yes.’
Peterkin blinked. ‘I thought it was all a harmless game. Poor
Peterkin.’ He clasped his hands together and stared beseechingly at
Corbett. ‘Poor Peterkin didn’t know.’
    ‘And
what did the Mummer’s Man order you to do?’
    ‘I
must find the young woman by herself: I had a great secret for her so she was
to tell no one. Only when she had solemnly promised and crossed herself did I
give the message.’
    ‘What
happened?’ Ranulf asked, getting up and coming forward, intrigued by how this
cunning murderer had worked. ‘What happened?’ he repeated. ‘Young Elizabeth,
the last victim — what did she do?’
    ‘I
found her in the lane coming from the marketplace.’ Peterkin closed his eyes. ‘ “ Elizabeth ,“
I said, “I have a great secret for you.“ “Oh, Peterkin, don’t be silly ,“ she replied. “No, no ,“ I
whispered. “It’s true .“ ‘
    ‘Then
you showed her a coin, didn’t you?’ Corbett asked.
    Peterkin,
now terrified, nodded.
    ‘You
said how an admirer had given you that coin so Elizabeth knew you weren’t jesting? Yes?’
    The
simpleton agreed. ‘ “ Oh, Peterkin,“ she said. “Who is
it ?“ I shook my head. I was sworn not to tell her. I
delivered the message and ran away.’
    ‘Skilful,’
Corbett murmured. ‘Everyone’s trapped. Peterkin must deliver the message. He’s
told to show the victim a coin so she’ll believe him. Now, do you understand,
Mother?’
    ‘I
do.’ The old woman’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘God knows, poor Elizabeth wouldn’t dream of telling anyone
else. They’d either follow her to the place or race her to it. Of course, no
one really believes poor Peterkin. It might be some madcap notion. She wouldn’t
want to appear foolish...’
    ‘Yes,
but Elizabeth ,
like the other victims, had her curiosity whetted. Peterkin’s message was so
clear yet so mysterious. The town’s simpleton had been paid to carry it so it
must mean something. She wouldn’t dare tell anyone and so sealed her own fate.’
    ‘What
was his voice like?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘I
don’t know,’ Peterkin wailed. ‘A soft voice.’
    ‘Have
you ever heard it before?’
    ‘For God’s sake, Sir Hugh!’ Mother
Crauford exclaimed. ‘The man wore a mask!’
    ‘Did
you ever follow him out?’ Ranulf asked.
    Peterkin,
eyes terrified, shook his head.
    ‘After
the first death what could I do?’ he wailed. Peterkin rubbed his hands
together, tears streaking his dirty face. ‘I was frightened, I was frightened.
Where could I go to? Poor Peterkin!’ He beat his
chest.
    Corbett
glanced at Ranulf and shook his head. Peterkin acted more stupid that he really
was but what he said possessed its own logic. He was like a trained dog,
governed by greed and fear, sent hither and thither on his master’s commands.
    ‘You’ll
catch him.’
    Mother
Crauford glanced up at Corbett, who now got to his feet, tightening his war
belt.
    ‘Oh,
I’ll catch