A Conspiracy of Wolves

When Braithwaite reappeared he was still bleary-eyed, but he walked a straighter line and seemed in no danger of toppling. Though his features were regular and well proportioned, there was a morose quality to his face, with his brown eyes dipping downward toward the temples, and his mouth arching the same way. ‘I am in your debt,’ he sighed as he slumped down on the bench beside Owen, doffing his brown velvet hat and wiping his brow with his elegant sleeve.

‘Fresh air clears the head,’ said Owen. ‘I do not envy you this public event on the day you suffered such a loss. It can cut as deep as that of the loss of a brother, I know. One of our herding dogs fell down a well when I was a lad. I mourned him for months.’

‘My wife says I am mad to let it weigh on me, accuses me of mourning for him more than for my friend and his father.’

‘She does not share your passion for the hounds?’

‘Not in the least, though she enjoys spending the wealth they bring.’

‘The pricked ears, the wide chest, the noble bearing – did you breed that into Tempest?’

A proud nod.

‘How do you learn to raise such fine animals? An apprenticeship?’

‘Of a sort, though not regulated by a guild.’ He told Owen how he had befriended the master of hounds on the neighboring estate, how the man agreed to train him in exchange for his work in the kennels. He spoke as if Owen were a prospective buyer, emphasizing his long apprenticeship, the status of his customers – including a few members of the powerful Percy and Roos families, but no Nevilles. His clear affection for the hounds began to soften Owen’s attitude toward him. It sounded as if he’d built his success on treating the animals with respect and love.

‘Your family lived out in the country when you were a lad?’

‘On our manor, where Elaine and I have raised our family, and here in the city.’ He turned a little, facing Owen, and, in a much cooler tone, said, ‘You waste your time pretending interest in my business, Captain. You’ve suspected me all along. I know you count the Riverwoman a friend. She pointed to me as a man with dangerous hounds, am I right?’

Owen did not need to act as if he were caught by surprise, for he was. ‘What has Magda Digby to do with this? And with you?’

The sad eyes challenged him. ‘I was but a boy when she warned me not to betray the trust of the hounds by involving them in our pranks. Her concern was for them, and her words changed how I saw them. She woke my love for them. But she does not believe I’ve changed, eyes me with disdain when we pass in the street. She told you none of this?’

‘No. I’ve not spoken to her since I left her at Freythorpe Hadden, nursing the steward’s wife. For all I know she’s not yet heard of the murders.’

Paul Braithwaite blinked. ‘Not here? God’s blood, and you let me think–’

‘It was you who spoke of her, not I. How had you used the dogs?’

‘Childish mischief. Laughed to see folk bolt when a great hound moved toward them with seeming purpose. She warned me that folk might want to harm my dogs because of that fear, as they do wolves, asked me whether I’d thought of that, how I thought I’d bear that. I crumpled to think of it.’

‘Tell her some time. She will warm to you when she hears how you care for them now.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘I sought you out as one whose knowledge of hounds might help me in finding the men who murdered the Swanns. I’m curious about this practice of lawing in the royal forests.’

‘Pah. All to protect the king’s hunt. His steward culls the herds of deer and hunts the boar for his own pleasure, not the king’s.’

‘Cutting off the claws – do the animals suffer?’

‘Do they feel it, do you mean? Of course they feel it.’ Paul took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. ‘I do not subject mine to that savage practice. Never will.’

‘Can you think of anyone who might risk taking their unlawed dogs into the forest?’

‘If I heard that anyone had done that to my dogs …’

Tempting to mention that he had as a boy, but Owen was after something else. ‘Not yours, but someone heedless of his animals.’

‘There are plenty who count them dumb beasts.’

‘The Neville family? Have they ever brought such dogs into the forest?’

‘I know nothing of the Nevilles.’

‘Did Hoban and Bartolf have any business with them?’

‘The great Nevilles own property in Galtres, so Bartolf might have encountered them as coroner, but I do not recall him mentioning the family. Hoban’s trade did not put him in such company.’

‘You and Hoban were good friends?’

A glance down at his hands. ‘We were, though once wed, with children and work, I saw him only on occasions the family came together, or I came to the city for a civic celebration.’

‘He was a good husband to your sister?’

The gentle smile previously reserved for dogs lit the long face. ‘He was a man smitten to the bone, Captain. And so eager to meet his son – sure he was Muriel carries a son and heir.’ His voice broke. He slapped his thighs and rose. ‘Speaking of Hoban, I should say a few words in his memory.’