The wind picked up as soon as Nathaniel left the sheltered pass leading down from Saint George’s. It drove the snow sideways, forcing him to lean low over the horse’s neck. He rode as hard as he dared without wandering off the road into the trackless waste, or letting his poor horse step into a hidden hole and break a leg.
So he clung to his mount, whispering words of encouragement as they picked their way down the mountain. At last, Mara Vardac came into view, the dark humps of the houses looming through the heavy snow. Nathaniel galloped up to the palisade of sharpened stakes. A wagon blocked the gap and he called out until a group of men appeared, led by Andrei, the innkeeper’s son.
“Let me in,” Nathaniel croaked, his face so stiff and frozen he could hardly form the words. “I come from Saint George’s with tidings about the pricolici.”
That got them moving. Andrei and two others rolled the wagon out of the way and Nathaniel spurred his horse through the gap. He dismounted at the stables behind the inn. Master Korzha’s son came trotting up.
“Go warm yourself by the fire,” Andrei said. “I’ll see to the horse.”
Nathaniel nodded gratefully and handed over the reins. The animal whickered, glad to be home. He went to the back door and entered through the kitchens. The innkeeper’s wife was kneading bread on the wooden table. Her eyes widened when she saw his half-frozen state.
“I must speak to your husband, mistress,” Nathaniel said in German. “It’s urgent. And fetch the mayor and the priest, as well.”
She nodded once and hurried off, dusting flour from her hands. Nathaniel went through to the common room and stood by the fire. His fingers and toes were starting to tingle, which he took as a good sign. A moment later, the front door opened and Master Korzha came in with his son, Andrei. They were followed by Father Cernat and the mayor.
“Did you find Miss Lawrence?” the innkeeper asked.
“No, but we know who is behind the killings,” Nathaniel replied grimly. “A monk named Brother Karol.”
They all sat down at one of the scarred wooden tables and Nathaniel related their arrival at the abbey and the discovery that one of the monks had been savagely attacked inside the walls.
“The killer struck between the Midnight Office and Matins, when most of the monks were sleeping. He knew the monastery routine well.”
“The pricolici?” the mayor asked.
Nathaniel nodded. “It happened on the night of the full moon. The monk’s throat was torn out. The abbot thought it was an animal attack, but when we viewed the body, the marks of human teeth were clearly visible.”
The men crossed themselves and muttered prayers against evil.
“This morning we organized a search of the forest. The abbot was attacked by the monk who accompanied him, a young fellow named Karol. He had a knife.”
“What happened?” Father Cernat asked.
“I shot him, but he’s not dead. They have him tied up in the infirmary.” Nathaniel paused. “He needs medical attention. The abbot as well. Lady Cumberland stayed behind.”
The mayor nodded uncertainly, though he seemed relieved that the ordeal was over. “We must ride for Satinari, but not until morning. The daylight is nearly gone and the snow too heavy.”
Nathaniel accepted the truth of this. He’d barely made it down the mountain.
“Karol is tied up and locked inside the infirmary,” he said with a sigh. “Let us hope that holds him for the night.”
Mistress Elena brought out a simple meal and he related further details of what had happened. The sudden attack, and how Brother Karol had taken three bullets before he fell.
“You say the abbot’s injuries aren’t life-threatening?” Father Cernat asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. “It was a nasty slash, but not too serious. Thank God he’s young and strong, else I fear that monk would have killed him.”
The priest gave Nathaniel a strange look. “But he’s old and blind, going on eighty now.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Father Gavra is no older than I am.”
“Father Gavra?” The priest shook his head, bewildered. “No, no. The abbot of Saint George’s is Father Nicolae. He’s been there forever.”
“But….” Nathaniel’s thoughts raced. “How can that be? No one challenged him. Have you ever heard of a Brother Constantin?”
“No.”
“He’s supposedly one of the senior monks. What about Brother Florin?”
The priest paled beneath his thick red beard. “I do not know who these men are, but I fear they are not monks.”
Nathaniel swore a bitter oath and leapt to his feet. “I must get back to Saint George’s without delay. I need a fresh horse.” His gaze swept the table. “Who will come with me?”
There was a terrible silence. Master Korzha muttered something more about the weather, refusing to meet his eye.
“Then I will go alone,” Nathaniel said coldly.
“I will go,” Father Cernat said, rising to his feet. He looked frightened but his voice was firm. “You should have a true man of God with you.”
Nathaniel gave the priest a grateful nod.
“Get him a horse,” Master Korzha muttered.
The innkeeper’s son, Andrei, rose and slipped out the door.
“We’ll ride for Satinari first thing tomorrow, Lord Cumberland,” the mayor said weakly. “Fetch the constable. He’ll know what to do—”
Nathaniel ignored him, tearing his greatcoat from the hook by the door. The wind knocked him back a step as he entered the dark lane. It was a foul night, the snow turning to sleet that slicked the ground in a thin layer of ice. He turned his collar up and strode to the stables. Andrei wasn’t there, though he heard the horses snorting in their stalls. Nathaniel was looking around for a bridle and harness when he saw torches coming through the yard.
The sight of the dead children’s father, Cristian, and five of his broad-shouldered cousins, all leading horses and carrying shotguns, was the sweetest thing Nathaniel had ever seen. Andrei strode along beside them. Without a word, he went into the stables and began to saddle three mounts.
A moment later, Father Cernat appeared from the door to the kitchen, the hood of his cassock drawn tight against the wind.
“Andrei says the Devil has come to Saint George’s,” Cristian said, a wild look in his eye. “But I will have justice for Marius and Daniela.”
Father Cernat translated his words for Nathaniel, and the two men briefly clasped forearms.
The riders gathered more torches from the palisade and lit them against the darkness. With the children’s father in the lead, they galloped back up the road toward the Monastery of Saint George.