Murder by Misrule

CHAPTER 21

  James Shiveley mounted the stairs to his chambers slowly, his shoulders hunched against the cold. He'd neglected to wear his cloak to supper. The light of his shielded candle preceded him. Its yellow glow drew the eye, making the shadows darker.

  A man stepped out from the depths of the dark landing.

  "Mercy!" Shiveley jumped. "You gave me a start. Were you waiting for me?"

  "I wanted a word. I had a thought about the statute you've chosen for your Reading."

  "Can't this wait until morning?"

  "I might forget."

  Shiveley frowned. What an odd remark!

  His colleague moved closer and reached toward his candle as if to assist him while he unhooked his keys from his belt.

  Shiveley took a step back. He suddenly felt boxed in. "I hardly think now is—"

  "Allow me." The man grasped him firmly by the arm and swung him full about to face the steep descent into the black stairwell.

  "What are you doing?" Shiveley's voice spiraled up. Fear had found him, too late to be of use.

  Hard hands set flat upon his back and shoved. The candle flew from his hand. His keys tumbled, clanking. He struck the stairs on his shoulders. Pain lanced through his back. He rolled, helpless, down to the landing. There he lay, sprawled facedown, legs stravaging up the stairs behind him.

  He groaned. "Help me."

  Feet pattered down the stairs and stopped beside him. Hands cradled his face, their warmth reassuring. They lifted his head, testing the flex in the neck. And then twisted, hard.

  Crack!