“Troubled?” Ralf stood at the door to the smithy.
The fire in the pit burned low while Will leaned against the wall, his eyes staring at nothing. One hand played absently with the tongs. At the sound of the crowner’s voice, his expression refocused with sharp anger. “What’re you doing here?” he snarled.
“Ivetta is dead.”
“And you’re now accusing me of her murder too?” Although the smith’s tone hinted at outrage, his brow furrowed as if he were more befuddled than wrathful.
“Did I say anything about murder?”
“Why else would you come with this news? Not out of some recently discovered courtesy. I know that much.”
“We were lads together, Will, and I knew Ivetta as well. Should I not share your grief?”
“Perhaps you knew her as we all did,” the man snorted, “but that was the sum of your acquaintance of her. As for any affection you claim to bear me from some boyhood shared, I’m not that slow of wit to believe your tale.”
“When did you see her last?”
The man pointed at him in triumph. “Ha! Caught you out. I was right, wasn’t I?”
“When you refused my sympathy, you reminded me that I am the crowner with murders to solve. When did you last see Ivetta?”
“The night Martin died.”
“Not since? Not even to console her after his death?” He winked.
Will struck out at Ralf. The crowner caught his hand, spun the man around, and twisted the smith’s arm behind him.
Will yelped but his struggles only made the pain worse. “Loosen your grip, Crowner!”
“Gladly, should you decide to tell the truth.”
“She was a whore! Why would I care about her?”
“I think you envied the extra coin Martin gained from her and went to visit her last night, hoping to take his place in her bed and as her bawd.”
The blacksmith spat.
“You’ve always had a hot temper. When she said she would not tolerate your useless fumblings and other rough ways, especially since she was with child, did you lash out?”
“With these visions of yours, you belong in the priory. I had little to do with the whore and most certainly not last night.”
Ralf tightened his hold on the man’s wrist. “She bedded you when the cooper was feeling generous. No woman would have you, including her, if she hadn’t been well paid for the effort. And effort it must have required, if what I hear of you is true.”
Will roared in fury.
“So you liked her. Maybe too much? Is that why you killed her? Were you jealous of the babe? Or could you not bear her rejection when she mocked your feeble manhood?”
“How often did you try to mount her, Crowner, or at least until Signy opened her legs to you? Maybe you killed her.” The blacksmith jerked and pulled but could not break the crowner’s hold.
Ralf twisted the hand.
The man screamed.
“Maybe you took Hob with you, thinking he’s the better looking and she might agree to be his whore. And being a loyal and generous brother, he would surely share Ivetta with you often enough like Martin did. Maybe Hob killed her when she spat in your faces? Or did he just hold her down while you…”
“For the love of God, Crowner!”
Ralf wrenched the man’s hand, then dropped it.
“You’ve broken my wrist!”
“Learn to work one-handed.”
“I’m innocent!” Tear were streaming down the man’s cheeks.
“Prove it. Tell me where you were last night.”
Cradling his limp hand, Will fell to his knees. “I went to see old Tibia last night,” he whimpered.
“Will she vouch for you?”
“She wouldn’t open her door. I waited. Then left.”
“Any witnesses? Her hut is close to the inn.”
“I hid. Who wants to be seen with Satan’s bitch?”
“I don’t blame her for barring her door. Even old crones aren’t desperate enough to let you try to swyve them.”
His face purpled with rage, the smith leapt to his feet, grabbed the tongs with his good hand, and swung at the crowner.
Ralf ducked, then quickly straightened and rammed his knee into Will’s groin.
Writhing, the man dropped to the ground and wailed like a beaten dog.
The crowner’s victory was short-lived. The moment he stepped away, something struck his head. As he fell into darkness, the last thing he remembered thinking was how foolish he had been not to guard his back.