Well Dead

VII. Field Study

How long it took Harun to finish his tale, he did not know. He felt it could not have been that long, for the attention of his listener never wavered for a second. He looked at Harun with his alert, piercing gaze and made no secret of his interest in the matter.

“So, you have appointed yourself shurta,” the recluse said thoughtfully, when Harun had finished his tale.

“Yes,” answered Harun, thankful of having found someone at last who understood the term. “Interesting. Do you plan on appointing yourself cadi as well?”

“What?”

“I mean, what will you do when you find the murderer? Are you planning to be investigator, judge and executioner in one person?”

Bertram looked at the horrified expression on the harmless, oval face of the intellectual.

“No, I see that you are not. But what are you planning?”

“I… don’t know. I have not thought about it, really.”

“You should, you know. Knowing who a murderer is may be fine, but if you really wish to do something useful in this matter, you need to go further.”

Harun nodded. “Yes, I see that now. Thank you.”

“By the way, why do you want to do anything in the matter? Did you know the murdered man?”

“No. He was only one of the people on whose back I lived, who grew the corn I ate every day. I wish I could say I did it out of moral obligation, but I don’t. You are the second person to ask me this question, and I will have to give you the same answer as I did before: Ask me again in a week.”

“I shall”, Bertram said, earnestly. “And now… Since I have taken care of you this far, it would not be fair of me to send you off alone into the forest. Shall I accompany you to the field of the bondsman Lukas? Assuming that is where you were heading. As I said, I know my way around these parts.”

“Thanks”, Harun said, meaning it. “That was indeed where I was heading.”

They determined to set out immediately. Though it was the middle of the night and he had just eaten, both things after which Harun normally would have liked nothing better than to sleep, he felt wide awake. There was a feeling in and around the forest that kept you from feeling tired, even inside the hut. A feeling of watchfulness and tenseness. Yet what did this feeling relate to: things past, or maybe things yet to come?

The recluse opened the door of the hut.

“I shall extinguish the lamp,” he said. “The moon has come out again and will light our path. A bright flame might rather give us away than help us see things, and I take it that being seen would not be desirable.”

With a small smile, Harun shook his head. “No. It is best that the peasants should not know of our presence, especially mine.”

Bertram took the scribe by the hand. Harun noticed how rough and calloused the fingers of the man were, so unlike his tone of voice. The rough hand tugged at his, and they started through the forest. Harun could see no path, just the faint outlines of trees in the moonlight. His companion however had no problems keeping his bearings, for soon the moonllight intensified, the spaces between the trees widened.

“Are we getting nearer?” Harun asked.

“No. In fact, since you have asked me to bring you to Lukas’ field, I am leading you into the opposite direction to the den of some fearsome wild beast that swallows scribes whole every day.”

“My question was simply intended to restart our conversation.”

“Well it worked, didn’t it? I gave you an answer.”