A Mortal Bane(40)

“Then she is presumably trustworthy.”

“I am sure she is…to William of Ypres. Does that warranty that she would be equally trustworthy to us?”

“No,” Bell said reluctantly. “His purposes are often not ours, although if it is Waleran de Meulan who ordered Baldassare killed, Ypres’s purpose and ours might be the same.”

‘True, but we cannot be sure that Ypres is involved in this. I only heard his name from Magdalene, who is a very clever woman and might want us to believe that while she pursued other purposes entirely. She may look like an angel, but a whore lives by selling—her body or anything else that will bring a profit. Not that I think special ill of Magdalene; she does her work and it is necessary, like that of collectors of dung. But you must remember that all whores are for sale—that is their trade.”

“You know her to be dishonest and deceitful?” Bell asked, keeping his voice flat. It was awful to think that could be so, to find that such beauty hid utter corruption, like the rainbow sheen on a slice of long-rotted meat.

“No,” Winchester said. “Oddly enough, my knowledge of her is just the opposite. In the time I have known Magdalene, I have found her honest and reliable. She has fulfilled every promise she made when she took the Old Priory Guesthouse; she pays her rent on time and in full; no one has made any complaint against her—not the men she serves nor her neighbors. But she is a whore. She lives outside the church, so oaths are meaningless to her. I warn you only so you will be cautious. The matter of the pope’s messages is too important to be overshadowed by a whore’s smile.”

“I do not think her likely to smile at me,” Bell said, smiling himself. “She was not pleased to see my admiration.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, have a care.”



Bell found Magdalene fully veiled again, looking out into the hall. He picked up his cloak and swung it over his shoulders, feeling her watching from behind the veil. She did not speak, though, only nodded when he asked if she was ready to go, and walked by his side in silence until they were out on the road.

Then she said in an utterly colorless voice, “I hope you remember that I have already told the bishop the whole tale. I doubt you will find any more in it than I have or discover anything new, but if you do, there is nothing I would want kept secret from his lordship.”

“If you are telling me not to expect to be bribed, you can save your breath. The bishop pays me very well. I live at his expense. There is nothing you could offer me that would induce me to violate his trust.”

“Nothing?” Magdalene asked, and then laughed. “Most men have a price, but be assured I am not seeking yours.”

“I suppose I am not better than most other men, but my price, even on matters less dear to my heart, is not so low as a futtering or two. Baldassare was a friend, and neither gold nor kisses and caresses will turn me aside from seeking out the one who harmed him.”

“I am glad of that,” Magdalene said, her voice suddenly warm and lively. “Until the murderer is exposed, my women and I will be suspect. That is not only dangerous but, in the end, would be very bad for business. I promise you that if you seek earnestly for Messer Baldassare’s murderer, you will have all the help that I and my women can give.”

She went on then and told him the story she had told the bishop, the exact truth as far as she remembered it, except for finding the pouch and hiding it in the church. She ended with another assurance of her desire to help uncover the killer.

“Good enough,” Bell said neutrally. “But I think the first step is for us to make certain that the dead man is Baldassare. Why do you think it is? You say you never saw the body.”