“Who accused him? How did it come about?”
“The magistrate says I don’t need to know,” he said, sneering.
James frowned. “I would consider that suspicious.”
The Warden nodded, his lips still flicking upward at the corner.
“How did Mr. Montgomery die?”
“Drowned.”
“Drowned? Where? And didn’t something else like that happen there a year or so ago?”
With lips compressed, the Warden nodded and pointed his finger at James for being right.
James’s frown turned to a deep scowl.
“How?”
The Warden shook his head. “No one is sayin’, which is jus’ not normal fer a murder.”
“You don’t think Soothcoor killed Mr. Montgomery, do you?”
The warden shifted his bulk in his chair, the chair’s wood joints groaning. “Not fer me to say.” He inhaled deeply. “But someone wants him to ’ang.”
“May I speak with him?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk to him about his meeting with Mr. Montgomery. Soothcoor is not a murderer. I’d like to find out who is.”
The Warden nodded, then turned to pull a ring of keys off an iron hook embedded in the wall beside him. “Let’s go,” he said, rising to his feet. He lumbered to the door.
The warden led James out of the gaol and around to the back of the building to a brick house, separated from the prison by a narrow road. The house had two doors. The door on the right had a small plot of herbs growing on either side. The one on the left did not. The warden led him to the door on the left and selected a key from his ring to unlock the door. It swung open without a screech, indicating it was well maintained, unlike what he’d seen in the prison. They stepped into a narrow hall. Before them were two more doors, each with small openings covered with iron bars, a little larger than the warden’s office door and without the ability to close off the rooms beyond from view.
The warden peered into one of the rooms. “My lord, I brung ya a visitor,” he said. He turned the ring of keys around until he found the one for the cell, unlocked it, and pushed open the door.
Soothcoor had been sitting on a low bed, leaning against the wall, reading. He slowly stood when the door opened. His clothing appeared dirty and torn, his hair, a lanky tangle of gray-and-black strands. He hadn’t shaved in a week. His features appeared sharper than normal.
“Visitor,” the warden declared. He looked about the room, nodded, then moved out of James’s way so he could enter.
“James!” Soothcoor exclaimed, limping toward him. They grasped their arms. “I am delighted to see you! Thank you, Mr. Harvey, for allowing James to visit,” he said, in typical polite Soothcoor fashion. He put a hand down on the table then hobbled around it to sit back on the bed. “Please sit down,” he said, waving his hand at the only chair in the room tucked under the table.
“Why are you limping?” James frowned, looking from Soothcoor to the warden and back.
Soothcoor waved his hand dismissively. “A slight misunderstanding.”
The warden harrumphed. “Right of passage in the prison. ’e wouldn’t defend ’isself. Got a chair whacked across ’is leg.”
“Has a doctor seen to it?” James asked the warden.
“No funds fer a doctor,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest.
James scowled at the warden, then turned his head to look at his friend. “You used the money you had on you to purchase blankets, didn’t you?”
Soothcoor shrugged.
James shook his head dolefully at his selfless friend. “Mr. Harvey,” he said, turning back to the warden. “Have a doctor see to Soothcoor and send the bill to me at The New Bell Inn—At the least he could do with a crutch to keep weight off the leg.” He looked back at Soothcoor. “Did it bleed?”
