“He did not pull back the cowl of his cloak or unwrap the black silk mask which covered the lower half of his face. Athelstan noticed the very fine brows over heavy-lidded eyes: strange eyes, close-set and chillingly blue, they never flickered in their gaze. ‘My lord Coroner.’ The voice was well modulated, just above a whisper through the slit in the silken mask. ‘What do you want from the Harrower of the Dead?’ ‘We, er . . .’ Athelstan stammered. ‘I need your help.’ The Harrower’s eyes neve...r left Cranston’s. ‘I only come when the coroner calls.’ He shifted his gaze; Athelstan was sure the man was smiling. ‘Nevertheless, Brother Athelstan, priest of St Erconwald’s, you need all the help there is, don’t you?’ Athelstan felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He silently cursed his fears: it was those eyes and the sweet, perfumed smell which came from the man’s black woollen robes which unnerved him. ‘Don’t you ever take your mask off?’ Athelstan snapped, fighting hard to steady his voice.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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