Chapter Eight
The Crow’s Foot was more improved than otherwise by the heavy snow cover, for the thick, pristine white hid the general decay of its exterior. Approaching the building at as near to a run as he could manage against the force of a driving, snow-choked wind, Konrad found his mark by way of the tavern’s creaking sign, displaying a glossy black crow with only one leg.
He threw open the stout oak door and dashed inside, Tasha quick upon his heels.
The scene inside was horrific. Most of the tavern’s patrons had, presumably, fled. The two remaining lay in the centre of the floor, throats torn open, their torsos soaked in crimson blood. They were both men, middle-aged: labourers, judging from their weather-roughened faces and hands.
Inspector Nuritov stood with Nanda a little way
