Death on the Loper: The Jorinde Schuiters Mysteries, #1

Chapter 1

Jorinde sighed with relief as the barge slid past the last straggling outskirts of Loperpoort. The sun was already westering, but they were finally on their way. The outer navigation marker had been left behind half an hour ago, the barge's poles had been shipped, and now a fair wind was filling the sail above her head.

Resting her hands on the Noortje's railing, she watched the traffic on the road that ran alongside the river. Carts drawn by plodding oxen fell behind as the Noortje moved serenely and swiftly upriver against the current. Moving even more slowly than the carts, men and women trudged along the far edge of the road with barrows empty of the goods they'd hauled into Loperpoort hours earlier to sell in the market. On the river itself, between the Noortje and the bank, two rowers were sweating over the oars of a small wherry filled with what looked, to Jorinde's practiced eyes, like a cargo of pitch or tar barrels.

A sudden flash of vivid red on the bank drew Jorinde's attention back to the road. A lone rider was cantering up the grassy verge, his neckerchief bright against his brown leather garb. A member of the City Watch, perhaps, although it was unusual to see one this far outside the city limits. As the rider drew level with the Noortje, he slowed his horse to a brisk walk, keeping pace with them while he rested his mount.

Behind and above her, someone called out: Wub, the Noortje's helmsman, His hail was followed by an answering cry from further off. Turning, Jorinde looked across the main deck and saw a slow-moving cargo barge passing in the other direction, heaped high with fleeces and hides. Not one owned by Jorinde: a glance at her ledgers that morning had told her the Renske should be unloading grain in Trefburg today, while the Machteld was down in Niewpoort, at the mouth of the Niewloper, waiting to take on a shipment of oil and wine from Ascalia.

As she turned back, her gaze fell on the gaggle of passengers who’d come out of the block of cabins on the foredeck and were milling around on the part of the deck permitted to them.

The two templaresses — Jorinde had caught sight of their sombre grey wool habits and white wimples earlier — were sitting together in the shelter of the cabins, occupying one end of the lockers placed there for the convenience of passengers. They had their heads were bent and were talking quietly to each other.

Jorinde was a little surprised to have them aboard. It wasn't the first time members of the Temple had used one of her fast passenger barges, but it wasn't common. Normally the templars and templaresses walked everywhere when out and about on their charitable business. If they were going further afield, they might hitch a ride on a cart — or hire one of their own, if it was a large enough party. But for two women alone, going all the way to Cantria — just as the rest of the passengers were — a barge made sense: the safest and fastest route, even if it was also among the most expensive.

A few feet away from the Templaresses, on the port side of the deck, Rufino and Lammert were leaning back against the railing. They were old friends of Jorinde's father: both of them were in the wine trade and they made this trip upriver to Cantria every year to tour the vineyards in Dolcerra and sample the latest vintages before they decided what to buy. They were talking to the woman who'd be sharing a cabin with Jorinde. Jorinde hadn't spoken to her yet, but Clemente, the Noortje's steward, had mentioned her name was Erminia.

Either Lammert or Rufino must have said something amusing, because Erminia laughed: a rich, throaty laugh, with a distinctive hitch in the middle. It seemed she was now in a much better temper than when she'd boarded: she'd been very put out when she'd learned the Noortje wasn't going to cast off at the scheduled time. Even from twenty yards away down on the quay — where Tyman, the Noortje's master, was breaking the bad news to her about the second of the day's delays — Jorinde had been able to hear Erminia roundly abusing Clemente as he'd tried to welcome her on board. Finally, she’d permitted Clemente to show her to her cabin, the porter she'd hired to carry her belongings staggering along behind her under the weight a large trunk.

The other two passengers for this trip, both men, were either still in the cabin they’d be sharing or out of sight on the area of foredeck beyond the passenger cabins. Yes, they must be up by the bow: Clemente was carrying a flagon of wine and a couple of beakers in that direction.

Erminia laughed a second time and Jorinde sent up a quick prayer that the current conviviality would last. You never quite knew what would happen when you brought eight strangers together in cramped quarters for five days. But with any luck, they'd seen the last of—.

Her musing was cut short by a thunderous clap, followed by a loud rattling, as the sail above her lost the wind. Under her feet, the Noortje shuddered unhappily. Jorinde swung round quickly: what now?

On the raised stern deck, Wub was fighting to hold the tiller steady while he loudly cursed the man standing next to him. Even from where Jorinde stood, she could see the weatherworker was straining to create a steady wind and refill the sail. He had one hand held out in front of him, with his fingers spread, and his face was scrunched up in a grimace.

For a long moment, Jorinde thought he'd regained control — and then he lost it again. The sail flapped wildly and the barge rocked far more violently than her design allowed. And among the startled exclamations from the passengers, she could hear her bargemaster Tyman, who always took the forward watch on this busy stretch of the river, calling out, Ware to starboard!

Jorinde was actually relieved when, even as she hurried towards the ladder that led to the stern deck, the weatherworker gave up on his attempt to magic up a wind and the Noortje stopped shuddering and settled. By the time she reached the stern deck, Wub's grip on the tiller had relaxed and he was carefully easing them a little more towards the middle of the stream with what was left of their momentum.

The weatherworker had his arms crossed and was hunched in on himself, drawing in deep breaths. Guild-approved weatherworkers who completed their training at one of the five Guild Academies were taught various technique for calming the mind and controlling and channelling their natural talent and Jorinde recognised the signs that Arturo was trying to use one of them now. Not very successfully: his breathing remained ragged and he kept shooting nervous glances in all directions, like a cornered animal. Principally towards the river bank behind her and towards the front of the boat and the group of passengers whose gestures showed they were wondering what was going on. A question Jorinde also wanted answering.

Hearing Tyman coming up the ladder behind her, she took a couple of steps towards Wub. He'd been throwing black looks at the weatherworker, in between making sure the barge was steering a safe course, but now he turned an equally withering glare on Jorinde. Why d'you hire this fool? he snarled.

The weatherworker abandoned his attempt to control his breath and swung round and gave Wub a haughty look. "Why did you hire this fool? he snapped back. Incompetent idiot who doesn't know how to...."

He trailed off as Wub took half a pace forwards, shifting his weight as if he was preparing to throw a punch — but Wub was too good a helmsman to simply let go of the tiller, no matter how angry he was. They all stood frozen for a heartbeat or two, before Jorinde reached out a hand and gently touched Wub's arm. You know why, she said quietly. It had hardly been by choice.

Wub didn't react for a moment and then he huffed out a frustrated breath. Feeling the tension go out of him, Jorinde turned her attention back to the weatherworker.

Master Arturo, she said, trying to keep her tone even and polite, Wub is on this barge because he is the finest helmsman on the Loper. He knows every sandbank and turn and current from Lopermuid to Cantria and he has been working for my family since before you were born. If there is anyone I am regretting hiring, it is you. But—. She took a deep breath. I do appreciate that weatherworking is not always easy or simple or possible. So. Can you do the work you were hired to do and create a steady wind?

Even as Jorinde addressed him, Arturo continued to furtively switch his attention between the front of the barge and the bank. Jorinde took a look over her shoulder, wondering if there was something in particular happening ashore to distract him. But the only thing of note was the rider with the red neckerchief who’d been keeping pace with them: he’d stopped and was watching them, his hand lifted to shade his eyes.

She turned back to Arturo, who had still not answered her. Master Arturo? she prompted, feeling Tyman step up to her shoulder as she spoke.

Arturo finally dragged his gaze back to meet hers. She caught a haunted look — or was it a fearful one? — in his eyes, before he closed them. Hands now dangling limply by his sides, he once more tried to slow and deepen his breaths. Jorinde waited, trying to remain confident that he would, in a minute or two, be able to compose himself.

The barge had just begun to slide backwards, carried by the current, when Arturo opened his eyes and snapped, No. I can't. I need rest, quiet. He glanced again towards the front of the barge, where the small cabin allocated to the weatherworker lay. Not to be disturbed....

Jorinde looked at Tyman and then at Wub for confirmation that this was currently their best option, trusting the judgment of her bargemaster and helmsman more than her own, before she nodded at Arturo. Very well. When he made a move towards the ladder, she held out her hand to stop him. Wait. Let me tell the passengers before you go up there and they tear you apart.

She turned back to Wub. Can we get anything out of the world's wind? The natural breeze, playing with a few wisps of hair that had escaped from under her cap, was almost broadside and Wub was making constant tiny adjustments to the tiller to stop them swinging around in the current.

Wub shrugged. Enough to make some headway, but we'll be slower than an ox-cart with a broken axle.

And they were already behind schedule....

Poling, then, Tyman said grimly. He added in a contemptuous mutter, So much for weatherworkers! He nodded his head to where the four deckhands were gathered near the foot of the ladder. I'd better tell them first. Though no doubt they've already guessed.

Jorinde thought quickly. Tell them I'll pay double the usual poling bonus, she said as he began to turn away. At this rate, they weren't going to make any money on this trip — but it would be a far greater hit to her finances if she lost her reputation for running fast, reliable barges that always arrived on schedule simply because the crew didn't put their full effort into it. And I'll take the middle night's watch myself, so they can all get a full night's sleep.

Tyman nodded and made his way down to the main deck.

Repeating her instruction to Arturo to wait until she waved him forwards, Jorinde followed her bargemaster down the ladder. Passing the crew, she heard him telling the two senior deckhands, Guus and Hein, who'd poled them out of port, to set the sails, while the less experienced deckhands, Kees and Dirk, would take the first shift on the poles.

At least it's double bonus! Dirk remarked in a cheery tone as the four men followed Jorinde forwards. He added with a laugh, Should help you when we reach Cantria, eh, Kees? Take you slightly longer to lose it all! Kees's only reply was an annoyed grunt.

Ahead of Jorinde, the passengers were now all gathered beside the cabin block, watching her approach. Their somewhat dour expressions suggested they already had a good idea of what she was about to tell them.

Jorinde stopped a few paces from the group. Ladies and gentlemen. Without thinking about it, she held her hands out in a calming gesture. I'm afraid our weatherworker is feeling a little unwell and needs a short rest. Let that be all he needed. We'll be poling until he can resume his duties.

She let her gaze sweep over the group, trying gauge their reactions now she'd confirmed the news. She'd expected, after the fuss the woman had kicked up earlier, that the loudest and quickest complaint would come from Erminia. But she simply gave a shrug and, with a glance in the weatherworker's direction, lowered her gaze and fell to playing with the half dozen rings she wore. Leaving Loperpoort had evidently been more important than arriving at their destination.

The older of the two templaresses had bent her head and was making a gesture with her hands that indicated it was the Gods' will. Jorinde hadn't thought she'd have any trouble from either of them: the Temples taught that patience and acceptance were virtues. The two wine merchants, Lammert and Rufino, also didn't seem much bothered. Their tour of the vineyards would happen at its own pace anyway. But she didn't much like the smirk they exchanged. She could just imagine how much the two of them were looking forward to telling the rest of the Merchant Guild what a mess she was making of this trip. She knew they'd all been waiting for her to fail from the moment her father had finally succumbed to the wasting disease that had made his last months a misery and she'd formally inherited the business.

She switched her attention to the other two men, who'd appeared from the direction of the foredeck. One of them, with work-roughened hands and the simple garb that marked him as a craftsman, merely gave her a pained look and turned away to stare out at the far bank, but the other stepped around Erminia to occupy the centre of the deck and demanded, How much delay? I was told this barge was not only the fastest way upriver but also the most reliable.

Although the man's clothing was plain and serviceable, with none of the flourishes and fripperies that were the latest fashion among Loperpoort's rich young bucks, Jorinde's trader's eye had already noted that it must have cost a pretty penny: well-tailored and made from only the best leather and linen and wool. Now his accent — and tone — confirmed that she was dealing with some minor lordling.

I can assure you, sir, that our reputation is well-deserved, she answered, trying not to sound defensive. And I can’t tell you how much delay there’ll be. All travel on the river is subject to many hazards and the health of our weatherworker is only one of them. Just as your horse going lame or an encounter with bandits would be a risk if you’d decided to ride the river road instead. I can only tell you that we’ll be doing all in our power to get you to your destination as soon as possible.

The man tapped his fingers on the hilt of his belt-knife, before finally giving her a sharp nod. You have a point. He added, with a hint of wryness, Besides, I think you give us little choice, mistress. We are all your prisoners here, are we not? Unless we wish to go swimming.

Jorinde bit back her irritation. She could understand his unhappiness, but there was no need for him to mock her. But at least he didn't seem inclined to make any further trouble — for now.

Taking another deep breath to calm herself, Jorinde turned and waved to Arturo to indicate he could now come forward. The weatherworker clambered awkwardly down the ladder and slowly made his way along the deck, his gaze fixed on the passengers and an anxious look on his face.

Guus and Hein had already trimmed the sail to Wub's liking, while Dirk and Kees had begun poling, so the Noortje was finally moving forwards again. Jorinde saw there was a savagery to the way Kees was digging his pole into the water and she wasn't much surprised when, as the weatherworker drew level with him, Kees turned and, without breaking rhythm, spat on the deck just in front of Arturo's feet.

Arturo started sideways with a look of almost sheer terror on face, before scuttling past Kees, keeping his head turned to watch him until he was well beyond the reach of a blow from behind. Then he turned his gaze forwards again, now apparently determined not to meet anyone's eye.

Glancing back at the passengers, Jorinde saw that the lordling who'd made a fuss was watching Arturo's approach with a narrow-eyed stare, his expression once more irritated. Jorinde quickly took a step forwards, so that Arturo would have to pass behind her on the way to his cabin. Any passenger who wanted to remonstrate with her weatherworker would have to get past her first.

The move drew the attention of the lordling back in her direction. He looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her hands and then her feet — clad in light leather shoes with a low heel — and then back up to meet her gaze, his expression now thoughtful.

She resisted the urge to fidget while he examined her. Only when she felt Arturo pass behind her did she move, stepping back and swinging around so she could watch the weatherworker as he headed down the narrow strip of deck between the railing and the cabins to his cramped quarters at the bow end.

He paused when he reached the near corner of the cabins. Clemente, the Noortje's steward, was hovering there, with a jug of water in one hand and four stemmed goblets held expertly in the other; he must have been about to offer refreshments to the passengers when Arturo had lost control of the sail. Arturo looked at the jug and then shook his head. Wine, he muttered hoarsely. Bring me wine! Before Clemente could acknowledge the order,