Well Dead

XII. Uproar and drive away

Harun’s nervousness while sneaking through the dark village was considerable, but nowhere near the same as when walking through it in broad daylight. The chance of him being spotted out here in his dark scribe's robes which one could almost mistake for those of a clergyman was really small. Allah, it seemed, favored his quest: he had sent stormy clouds to shut out the starlight from the world beneath, and there was a sharp wind rustling the trees which covered any sound of movement. Harun shivered and drew his gown closer around himself. If only Allah could have made the wind so conveniently rustling a bit warmer. But one could not expect everything, could one? Especially not in autumn.

Sounds were coming from up ahead. A hammer on anvil, Harun thought, although he had no great experience in the art of metallurgy. On the one hand, it was good that he was hearing the sounds of the hammer, because it meant he would not have to search for the smithy, on the other, however, it also meant that somebody was still in the smithy. Somebody who wasn't drunk, home from the tavern, but who was vigorously active, even at this unchristian hour. Harun was annoyed. If he, a heathen, acted like a heathen and decided to wander about at night – that was one thing. But couldn’t even the Christians behave like Christians and go to bed?

Then Harun wondered if he should wish for that. After all, the killer might have hidden the murder-weapon under his bed.

Suddenly, Harun remembered something. Everybody had been in the tavern that fatal night, all his ex-suspects. Only the remaining one had not been there. What, if this was not only due to some evil purpose? What, if he had stumbled on the only abstainer in the whole village of Sevenport for a suspect? That would make it incredibly difficult for him to sneak into Henrik's house. Why couldn't the smith be like every other Christian, flout Allah's holy commands and drink himself into a stupor every night?

There was nothing for it – Harun would just have to try his luck. He made his way through the maze of little houses towards the hammering sound. A reddish light came from the gaps between the rough boards of a wooden door. Was this the smithy?

Yes, that would have to be it. The sounds of hammering had stopped by now. However, one could see by the glow from inside, that the wall was made of stone, a rare privilege in villages such as these, that much Harun knew. A privilege which normally was only bestowed on churches and castles. But smithies were perhaps a special case. The lord of the castle needed a smith, and preferably one who was not likely to go up in flames along with his house from the first misguided spark.

Harun stood pressed against the stone wall now. It was cold, but it was less cold than having the icy autumn wind bite into your face all the time. The hammering started again, and was almost unbearably loud in this close proximity. And he was still outside the building. What a racket it would have to be inside he did not want to imagine. Having to suffer hearing that was sufficient punishment for murder in Harun's opinion. But the man Henrik was doing it for a living, wasn’t he? So he probably thought differently about it.

“No! Not there. Put it there. And then you get off to bed. Your Father will be home any minute now, and if he finds me letting you touch the hammer, he’ll flay the skin of me.”

Harun frowned. That could not be the voice of Henrik the smith, surely. It was young, boyish even.

“Yes, yes, I'm going! Don't worry.”

The answering voice was a squeak, even less likely to have come from the mouth of his suspect. Harun carefully approached the window of the smithy. The shutters were closed, but they were ruff work and in between the two wooden boards there was a gap through which Harun could see quite clearly into the interior of his villain’s lair.

It looked as though the villain hadn't come home yet. There was a big, rosy-faced youth with a hammer and a leather apron standing beside a steaming bowl of water. The smile on his face was not all that villainous, but the dangerous-looking heavy hammer in his right hand was enough for Harun to enlist him immediately as a possible accomplice.