Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 (6 page)

“All right.”

Arthur Weeks quickly drained the last of his mug as Constable Brindle and Ned started to walk away. He watched them uneasily for a moment, took a deep breath and then called to them. “Wait! There is one thing I just remembered.” The two men turned around and hurried back. “Something that might be a bit unusual.”

“What, Arthur? What’d you see?” Ned asked.

“Well, I’m kind of reluctant to say as I don’t want to get in any trouble. After all, Mr. Adams, you gave me instructions that I was to lock up the mill doors after cleaning the store room on those evenings I stayed late.”

“I understand, Arthur. Just tell me and the constable what’s on your mind. I promise you won’t get into any trouble.”

“I appreciate that,” he said apprehensively as he looked into his empty mug. “I think I could use a bit more ale first to settle my stomach, if you don’t mind. It’ll help me to tell my story.”

“Of course, of course!” Ned Adams pushed Arthur back into the tavern and signaled to an exasperated Clay Brindle to follow. Clay set the torch down and accompanied them inside.

After Arthur refilled his mug at the crowded bar and promptly gulped down a third of it, he was prepared to resume his story. The trio remained inside, cramped into a corner of the room beneath a mounted deer’s head whose black eyes seemed to watch their every move. The trio soon became the object of curiosity of many in the tavern who quietly speculated what business the constable and Ned Adams could possibly have there.

“Like I said outside, I didn’t see any strangers around the mill after closing up, but I did see someone I know stop by a couple of times. I hesitate to say who because I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Arthur said.

“We’ll determine who’ll get in trouble and who won’t,” the constable replied. “Now enough stalling, Arthur. If you have something to say, spit it out!”

Several people eavesdropping nearby were emboldened by the constable’s outburst and stopped pretending they weren’t listening. Many circled around the men for a better take on the story to the obvious annoyance of Constable Brindle. He exhaled slowly through his clenched teeth and glared at Arthur Weeks.

Arthur stared back at all the curious eyes fixed on him and took one more gulp of his drink. “It was Nicholas Raven. He stopped by the mill on a couple nights just before I closed up. He told me he had to catch up on the bookkeeping.”

Ned Adams tightened his face. “I don’t understand. Nicholas worked extra hours himself on many nights. The books were always kept up-to-date. Even during our busy times, every ledger entry was checked and double checked.”

“That’s what I always thought, too,” Arthur said. “But I’m just a laborer. If Nicholas said he had other work to do, who was I to say otherwise?”

Constable Brindle wiped his brow again. “How long did Nicholas stay when he stopped by those few times?”

“Difficult to answer,” Arthur replied. “You see, this is what I had hoped to avoid saying, not wanting to get me or Nicholas in trouble.” He rubbed a finger behind his ear. “I don’t know how long Nicholas stayed at the mill because, well, he was still there after I went home.” He looked at Ned with remorse. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adams, but Nicholas insisted that I leave when I finished my work. Even though I was under your orders to lock up the storage building when I was done cleaning, Nicholas told me not to. He promised that he’d do it after he finished up. I told him I’d be more than happy to wait, but Nicholas wouldn’t hear of it. Told me he might be there several hours working on the books. And since he had more authority, what was I to do? So I went home after he assured me that I wouldn’t get in any trouble.” His eyes connected with Constable Brindle’s. “But seeing you standing here in front of me, I guess that’s not to be.”

Ned told Arthur not to worry. “Telling the truth is best. I appreciate it. There’s just one other thing I need to know.”

“What’s that?”

“When did Nicholas last stop by the mill while you were working late?”

“That would be last night, sir.”

“The night of the robbery,” Ned whispered.

“Yes, Mr. Adams. Nicholas seemed...” Arthur hesitated as the eyes in the crowd bore down on him. “Well, Nicholas seemed particularly anxious to get rid of me then.”

“Why do you say that?” a voice in the crowd asked.

Constable Brindle spun around. “Leave the investigating to me, Bob Hawkins! I think I’m qualified to handle matters here.”

“Are you saying that Nicholas stole something?” someone else asked, struggling through the tightly packed crowd of onlookers in hopes of getting a better view.

“Yes!” a third voice answered. “Open your ears.”

“Quiet, all of you!” the constable ordered.

“Nicholas stole some sacks of flour!” another added.

Soon accusations and speculation rolled through the tavern like ripples on a pond. Several people pawed at Arthur for more information as the constable tried to keep them back. Ned also mentioned that part of the stolen shipment had been scheduled for delivery down south in Bridgewater County. That only intensified the bitter reaction since Bridgewater County had suffered heavy flooding early last summer, making its residents more dependent on provisions from other regions.

“A lot of people down there depend on those supplies,” Bob Hawkins said. “And you’re telling me Nicholas Raven stole them?”

“We haven’t accused anybody!” Clay snapped. “So don’t you boys start.”

“Looks like he’s a thief to me,” someone said to murmurs of agreement.

At Ned’s urging, it was decided to pay Nicholas a visit to get his side of the story. But despite Constable Brindle’s order that no one should follow them, several men filed out of the Iron Kettle Tavern anyway like a colony of ants. They paraded behind the constable and Ned Adams with oil lamps swaying and torches held aloft, their calls for justice punctuating the autumn air like a deep and steady drumbeat.

The Iron Kettle was left quieter and less crowded moments later. But drinks still poured forth from the bar and the chatter of patrons continued to fill the air. As the flames jumped and snapped in the corner fireplace, a man sat alone at a nearby table, hidden in the smoky shadows. He sipped his drink and drummed his fingers over the table top, leaning back in his chair after witnessing the unfolding events. He sipped his drink again. A hint of a satisfied smile spread over the face of Zachary Farnsworth.

They marched in a pack along River Road. Constable Brindle and Ned Adams led the way. Soon they neared Adelaide Cooper’s house on their right, bathed in darkness behind the wooden gate and hedges. The constable and Ned turned off the road at that point and headed straight for Nicholas’ cottage. A wavering line of torch and oil lamp light followed them over the grassy field. Constable Brindle rapped his chubby knuckles against the front door. The windows were dark.

“Nicholas, you in there? It’s Clay Brindle. I need to talk to you.” His words evaporated under the chilly night stars with only the field crickets responding.

“He’s not home,” someone in the crowd softly remarked.

“I can see that as plain as the night against my nose!” Constable Brindle sputtered.

Ned pointed to the farmhouse. “I see a light in Maynard’s back window.”

“We’ll visit him shortly.” The constable raised his torch and looked around, noticing the shed behind the cottage. “Let’s look in there first.”

He and Ned approached the shed with a few men shadowing them. Several others drifted off to different parts of the property, bathing the area in a flickering orange and yellow glow. Dried grass and leaves crunched underfoot.

Ned glanced at the constable with flames reflecting in his wide eyes. “Do you think we should snoop around here without Nicholas? I only wanted you to question him.”

“This is a legal matter, Ned. As village constable, I have the right and responsibility to investigate wherever my suspicions lead.” He placed his fingers on the doorknob, ready to push open the door, when a figure came running toward them through the darkness.

“What’s going on here? What are these people doing on my property?” Maynard Kurtz stepped into the light, slightly out of breath. “Clay, why are you sneaking onto my land in the middle of the night?”

Constable Brindle quickly explained matters as Maynard furrowed his brow in disbelief. “I understand how you feel, Maynard, but rest assured that no one is accusing Nicholas of anything yet.”

“I should hope not! Nicholas is not a thief and you know it.”

“Where is he now? I want to speak to him.”

“He went to the Water Barrel Inn.” Maynard eyed the uneasy faces surrounding him, unable to fathom why they would accuse Nicholas of such a dreadful deed. “He’ll be happy to answer any questions you put to him, Clay. You too, Ned.”

Ned tried to smile. “It’s nothing personal, Maynard. I just need to find my missing goods and money. I have orders to fill. You can understand that.”

“I do.” He glanced at Constable Brindle. “But before you leave, Clay, there’s another matter I need to ask you about.”

“Can’t it wait, Maynard?”

“It’s Adelaide. She’s nowhere to be found. Have any of you seen her lately? Nicholas talked to her two nights ago, but neither of us has seen her since.”

“Maybe she helped set up for the festivities with the other ladies,” Clay suggested.

“Nicholas said as much. I was supposed to meet her tonight. It’s not like Adelaide to miss an appointment.”

The constable shrugged, though noting Maynard’s apprehension. “If any of us see Adelaide, we’ll let you know.”

“All right. Maybe I’m worried about nothing,” he replied before indicating for the constable to proceed with his search.

Clay pushed the shed door open and stepped inside, holding the torch aloft. The pungent smell of dried straw soaked the air. He gasped as Ned and Maynard followed him in. A few of the other men craned their necks to get a peek through the doorway. Piled on the dirt floor among a few sheaves of straw, empty bushels and several farming implements were the twenty sacks of flour stolen from Ned’s storehouse.

“I can’t believe my eyes!” Ned whispered. “Nicholas Raven, of all people.”

Clay walked among the stolen goods, touching a few of the sacks to make sure they weren’t merely an illusion. He looked at Maynard and shook his head. “I’m sorry about this, but I do have to find that boy right away.”

Maynard stared dumbfounded at the stolen items. “Bring Nicholas back here first, Clay. Give him a chance to explain.”

“You have my word.”

Ned gently grabbed Clay’s arm holding the torch and directed the light toward one of the straw sheaves. A bit of leather cord stuck out. Ned tugged at it and removed a small cloth pouch hidden inside. He emptied the contents into his hand.

“The silver half-pieces stolen from my office.” After counting them, Ned carefully replaced the coins in the pouch and closed it. “All accounted for. That’s one bit of good news anyway.” He set the pouch on the bundle of straw.

The constable motioned for everyone to leave the shed and closed the door as he stepped outside. The group stood impatiently in the chilly night air waiting for Constable Brindle to speak. He stood in silent thought for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face.

“All right. Here’s what we’ll do.” He pointed to three of the men that had followed him from the tavern. “You three stand guard until Ned and I come back with Nicholas. Nobody goes inside, you hear?” Constable Brindle scanned the faces in the crowd until he saw Arthur Weeks hiding in the background. “I want you to accompany us, Arthur.”

“
Me
? Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! You’re my prime witness so far. We’ll talk to Nicholas and get his side of the story and then return here to show him the evidence. Maynard, you’re welcome to tag along. The rest of you boys ought to go back to where you came from. This is a legal matter, not a parade.”

“I’ll wait here,” Maynard said.

“We’re going with you,” Bob Hawkins added. “I don’t want to miss this.”

Constable Brindle raised a finger, nearly poking Bob in the chin. “I don’t want you interfering with my investigation! Mark my words, I’ll toss you in the lockup if you do. So just keep your distance.” With that warning, Clay Brindle and Ned Adams left for the Water Barrel Inn. Arthur Weeks followed with his head held low, talking softly to himself.

The Water Barrel Inn was larger and brighter than the Iron Kettle, and just as crowded on the first night of the Harvest Festival. The bottom half of the building was constructed of chiseled stone blocks, with knotty pine planks running vertically above. The walls were strewn with animal pelts, wood carvings and fresh pine clippings. A man with a beard tended to a fireplace, adding pieces of wood to the wildly snapping flames.

Nicholas sat at a table with several friends, drinking ale, devouring roasted chicken and laughing at the stories told by one another. He wasn’t aware that Constable Brindle had entered the inn until he felt a heavy hand press down on his shoulder. Nicholas turned around and instantly noted the distress in Clay’s dark eyes. When he saw Ned Adams and Arthur Weeks standing behind the constable, both as somber as mourners, he set down his drink and stood.