The Royal Ranger

Twenty-nine

They left the following morning, shortly after an early breakfast. Gilan had coffee with them, but he planned to have breakfast later, at Jenny’s eating house. He promised to let Jenny know they were gone so she could arrange to feed and water Sable each day.

They rode north-east, at the usual Ranger travelling pace—cantering for twenty minutes, then dismounting and walking briskly for ten, leading the horses. The horses could maintain this pace hour after hour and it ate up the miles to their destination.

They camped out that evening and reached Trelleth Fief early in the afternoon of the second day. There was a border sign to let them know they were entering the fief, but even more telling was the scent of salt on the air.

“I can smell the sea,” Maddie said.

Will nodded. He remembered the first time he had noticed that fresh, tangy scent. He had been riding to his first Ranger Gathering. He sighed quietly. It seemed like such a long time ago. Then, he shook his head in realisation. It was such a long time ago.

“What do we do now?” Maddie asked. She was curious to see how an investigation like this would be carried out.

“We’ll look at the scene first,” Will said. “We’ll find this farmer…” He hesitated while he searched his memory for the name.

“Wendell Gatt,” Maddie supplied.

He looked at her, a little annoyed. “I know,” he said.

She gave him an innocent look. “Just trying to be helpful. I thought maybe you’d forgotten.”

“I don’t forget things.”

Hah! Tug gave one of those explosive snorts that indicated his derision. Will decided it was best to ignore him. You could never get the last word with a creature who could snort, stamp and shake his mane the way Tug could.

“We’ll look for a hamlet or a farmhouse and ask directions to Gatt’s farm,” he said.

A few minutes later, they came upon a small group of buildings. There was a blacksmith’s forge and a run-down-looking tavern, plus a few houses to accommodate those who worked there. As they approached, a man wearing a leather apron, and with soot stains on his bare arms, emerged from the smithy to greet them.

They learned that Gatt’s farm was a few kilometres further along the road they were travelling. Will thanked the smith and turned Tug’s head back towards the road, but the man called after him.

“Rangers, are you?”

Since their cloaks, bows and shaggy horses made it obvious that they were, Will was disinclined to answer. He was still smarting over his momentary inability to remember Gatt’s name, and Maddie’s intemperate haste in supplying it. She might have given him a minute or two to recall it, he thought. As a result, he was not in a mood to be chatty, particularly since the smith’s question indicated that he was puzzled by Maddie’s garb and was looking for some explanation.

“No. We’re travelling seamstresses,” he said shortly, and set Tug into a canter, with Maddie hastily following.

The smith twisted his mouth into an ill-tempered expression and he wiped perspiration from his forehead with the hem of his leather apron.

“Only asking,” he said irritably as the two riders clattered away.

Several hundred metres later, Maddie drew alongside Will as he allowed Tug to slow down to a trot.

“Shouldn’t we call on the local baron first?” she said, adding tactfully, “This Baron Scully?”

She was vaguely aware of the dictates of protocol. She had been present when her father and mother had visited fiefs in the past, and she knew it was normal procedure to make their presence known to the local baron when they did so. She was beginning to learn, however, that protocol and normal procedure had little to do with the way Rangers operated.

Will grunted disdainfully. “We’ll do that later. Local barons have a habit of getting in the way when something out of the ordinary has happened in their fief. They know we report directly to the crown and they often want to make sure there’s nothing that puts them in a bad light.”

Maddie was somewhat surprised at this. She had never been aware of this clash of power or purpose between barons and the Rangers who worked in their fiefs.

“Not all of them, surely?” she said.

Will relented a little. “Well, no. The majority of them are good men. Arald at Redmont, for example, is an excellent baron and he’s good to work with. But you do get the occasional one who’s inclined to stand on his dignity and exaggerate his own importance. I don’t know this Scully character, so I don’t want to take the chance he’s one of those—at least not till we’ve had a preliminary look around.”

They arrived at the Gatt farm a few minutes later. The contrast between this property and that of old Arnold Clum could not have been more marked. The farmhouse and barn were large, substantial buildings, in excellent repair and recently painted.

The fences were straight and well built. And the farmyard itself was a model of order, with the ground swept, tools piled neatly and a wagon standing in front of the barn. The wagon body was freshly painted as well. The undercarriage was in good repair and glistened with fresh grease. Several horses were in the home paddock and they crowded curiously along the fence to view the newcomers. A single dairy cow was tethered some distance away.

As they approached the house, a door opened from what was apparently the kitchen and a woman emerged. She was in her forties, tall and obviously well fed. Her clothes were fresh and clean and of good quality—even if they were homemade. They were without the array of patches that Aggie Clum’s threadbare garments had boasted.

She had been baking. She brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, leaving a smear of white flour there.

Will and Maddie halted their horses. Forewarned now, Maddie made no move to dismount.

“Good afternoon,” Will said. “Would you be Mistress Gatt?”

“I am,” she said, glancing curiously at Maddie, then back to Will again. “Welcome to Gatt farm. Will you care to dismount?”

“That we would,” Will said. He swung down from the saddle and Maddie did likewise.

“My name is Will Treaty,” he said. There was no need to mention the fact that he was a Ranger. That was obvious from his clothes and equipment. “This is my apprentice, Maddie.”

Maddie, watching the woman closely, saw her eyes widen slightly at the mention of Will’s full name. He was a figure of some renown in Araluen, she knew—the legendary apprentice of the legendary Ranger Halt, who had gone on to equal or even surpass his mentor’s reputation. Mistress Gatt gave a hurried curtsey.

“Would you care for a bite to eat, Rangers?” she asked. She glanced curiously at Maddie as she said the word “Rangers’. It was a reaction that Maddie was rapidly becoming accustomed to. “I’ve got a mutton stew heating for the men’s dinner and there’s plenty to share.”

Will shook his head. “Thank you. But we won’t trouble you. Perhaps a drink of water to settle the dust?” He inclined his head towards a well-kept pump close by the kitchen door and she hurriedly gestured towards it.

“Of course. Help yourself. What brings you to Gatt farm? Is it because of the other Ranger? The one who…” She hesitated, not sure whether to say “died’ or “was killed’.

Will nodded. He worked the pump handle and drew a dipper of water, took a long drink, then wiped his beard with the back of his hand, passing the dipper to Maddie.

“Yes. I understand your husband found the body,” he said.

She nodded several times. “Aye, Wendell found him. But there was nothing he could do for him by then. The man was dead several hours, he said.” She glanced out to the fields. “He and the men are bringing in the last of the hay today. He’ll be in for his dinner in an hour or so. Would you care to wait for him?”

Will shook his head. “No. We’ll go and find him now. I have a few questions I need to ask him.”

Mistress Gatt shifted her feet uncomfortably as he said the words. She looked worried. Will hastened to reassure her.

“I’m sure there’s no blame attached to your husband, mistress. I’d just like him to show us where he found Liam—the Ranger.” He added the last for clarification. The worried frown disappeared from her face and she pointed across the fields.

“He’ll be two fields down in that direction, beyond the small spinney of trees.”

“Then we’ll talk to him there,” Will said. He gestured for Maddie to follow and they re-mounted their horses. He touched one finger to his forehead.

“Thanks for your help, mistress. Best get back to your baking before it burns.”

He’d noticed a delicious smell on the air. It was obviously bread or a pie just on the brink of being overdone. Her mouth formed a quick O of surprise. She’d forgotten all about her baking. She turned and hurried back into the farmhouse as they trotted away.

“Well, she was certainly helpful,” Maddie observed as they rode across the fields.

“Let’s hope her husband is the same,” Will replied.

As it turned out, Wendell Gatt was a good deal less helpful than his wife had been. He was a big, florid man, dressed in breeches and a blue linen working smock. Like his wife, his clothes were of good quality and in excellent condition. Gatt had three farm labourers working with him, gathering the last of the hay into bales.

He shook his head emphatically when Will asked if he’d show them the spot where he found Liam’s body.

“Too busy. Work to do here. We’ve got to bring in this hay before the rain comes.”

“We’ll only need you for half an hour or so. Surely your men can continue without you?” Will said reasonably.

“No. No. No,” Gatt replied. “Wouldn’t trust them to do the job properly. They need to be watched constantly.” He said it loud enough for the men to hear him. Two of them cast annoyed looks at him. The third ignored him.

Will looked at them and touched Tug with his heels, walking the little horse towards the farm workers.

“Who’s the senior man?” he asked. One of them raised his hand. He was about forty years old and thickset. He looked quite capable, Will thought. After all, hay baling wasn’t too complex a task.

“That would be me, sir,” the man said. “Lionel Foxtree, I am.”

“Well, Lionel Foxtree, do you think you’re capable of continuing this work unsupervised? Your master will be away for several days.”

Hearing this, Gatt exploded with indignation. “Several days? You said half an hour!” he shouted.

Will turned in his saddle to look at him. His eyes were cold.

“Well, that was when I simply wanted you to show us where Ranger Liam died,” he said. “But since you’ve refused to help us in the investigation, I’m going to have to arrest you and have you charged. That could take a day or two. Even a week.”

Gatt spluttered furiously as he searched for words. The farm workers turned away, but not before Will could see the smiles on their faces. Gatt was obviously a man who liked to get his own way.

“Arrest me?” he said. “You can’t arrest me! I’m a free man!”

“Actually, I can arrest you. I’m a King’s Ranger. You’ve refused to help me in an investigation, which is pretty much the same as impeding said investigation. I don’t want to do it. I’d prefer it if you’d simply show us where you found Liam. But if you force me to, I will arrest you.”

Their gazes locked. Gatt’s was hot and angry. Will’s was cold and unmoving. Finally, the farmer gave way.

“Oh, all right! Have it your own way! I’ll take you to where I found him!”

“That’s the spirit,” Will said. He gestured to a saddle horse that was tethered to the tail of the hay wagon. “And there’s a horse for you, right there.”