Page 4 of The Poison Within

By the watchtowers of the camp, Elly touched the brim of his hat in farewell. I kept my eyes on him until I lost him from sight.

CHAPTER TWO

THE BOLD COCK CONUNDRUM

The Bold Cock was the biggest of three inns in Azlě, favoured by soldiers and hunters. I knew it well, seeing that the town fell within the area of my jurisdiction, and I lived on its outskirts. The establishment had earned a good reputation for not watering down the beer too much and keeping a couple of whores at the back. It also served decent grub.

As if to belie the latter, two well-dressed men were bent over the wooden railing outside, loudly disposing of their stomach contents. And judging by their dedication, some of their internal organs too.

A pair of uniformed gendarmes, both of whom sported a greenish tinge to their complexions, stood by the ruin that once constituted the door. It swung from one hinge, rattling in the wind.

The interior looked a right clusterfuck.

Smashed bits of wooden tables and benches littered the stone floor. Food and broken earthenware were sprinkled all over. Blood—a lot of blood—spattered the space between the hearth and the window, where a trio of dead men lay. A few fat flies circled above the thick, red patches.

My stomach lurched in protest. Thank gods I hadn’t eaten that morning.

A persistent wheezing sound from the corner of the room attracted my attention. A greasy-haired ginger peasant sat at one of the few tables that remained intact. He part-hissed and part-wailed, holding his head with both hands as if afraid it were about to fall off. A thin, pockmarked man slumped on a chair nearby seemed stuck on mumbling, “Fuck. Shit. Oh, fuck.” I recognised him as the miller. Behind the counter, the goggle-eyed innkeeper wiped his sweaty face with his dirty apron in a compulsive fashion.

The fourth person present, and the only one who appeared collected, was a senior gendarme named Tÿris. I knew him to be a sensible fellow.

“Inspector. Sergeant,” he greeted us.

“Witnesses, eh?” I said, gesturing at the sorry gathering.

Gods help us.

Tÿris nodded and then shrugged in commiseration.

“You knew them?” I pointed towards the bodies with my chin.

Tÿris shook his head.

“And the pukers outside? They see anything?”

“The merchants? Nah. Walked in after the fact.”

“Very well.” I proceeded to survey the disaster zone, followed by Temper.

I considered the scattered weapons the deceased men had never managed to draw.

So they weren’t peasants, but soldiers. Possibly from Elly’s local garrison.

The lack of uniforms indicated they must’ve been off duty. Either way, it looked as though someone took them by surprise and made short work of them.

I squatted by the body closest to me.

The cause of death couldn’t have been clearer. A big wooden spoon protruded out of the left eye socket; the utensil had been buried in the face almost to the tip. The handle, having gone straight through the skull, poked out at the back. The force behind such a blow must’ve been tremendous. I wasn’t a weakling, but I doubted I could’ve done it with even multiple strikes.

The second man looked like a victim of a vicious animal attack: a considerable chunk had been bitten from his throat. Mindful of the state of his clothes, I concluded he must’ve bled out.

Temper assessed the third body. “This one’s neck has been snapped, Käyru. Wrung as neatly as a chicken’s.” He added in an undertone, “It takes a strong fucker to do that.”

I concurred with his appraisal. It struck me as odd, however, that someone decided to attack three armed, robust-looking young soldiers barehanded, if not counting the cutlery. It didn’t feel like premeditated murder to me.

“Let’s see what we can get out of the witnesses,” I suggested, although I held limited expectations considering their disturbed constitutions.

We sat on the chairs that had been pulled up for us by Tÿris. It was thoughtful of him, as I didn’t want to loom over them and intimidate the peasants further.