Title: Small Proofs
Fandom: Bradecote & Catchpoll
Rating: G
Length: 531 words
Summary: When nothing has been found, even something small is valued.
A/N: Mods I'd suggest tagging as f: book (category)

Serjeant Catchpoll peered glumly into the River Severn.  “It’s flowing too fast, there’s no chance we’ll find anything that’s been thrown in there.”

Hugh Bradecote looked down from his horse.  “Well, it was worth trying.  If it hadn’t been for last night’s rain, we might have been in luck.  Let’s move on.  We haven’t got that much daylight left, and I’d like to be back at the manor by nightfall.”

Catchpoll grumbled as he came back to where Walklyn, his apprentice, was holding his horse.  “You’d think we’d have found something today, but there’s been nothing.”

“I’ve just had a thought,” Walklyn said.

“Haven’t I warned you about that?” Catchpoll muttered.

Walklyn ignored him and added, “It rained on and off all last night, but for a while it was really heavy.  Wouldn’t our man have taken shelter at that point if he could?”

“That’s true.  Apart from not wanting to be soaked through in minutes, anyone seeing him like that would have been curious.  It’s one thing to be caught out in a storm, but deliberately setting out in one is quite another matter.”

“In which case we can look as we retrace our steps,” Bradecote said.  “Although I don’t recall seeing anywhere which would have served such a purpose.”

“Aye, you may not, my lord.  But I spotted a couple of places where I might have sheltered if I’d need to,” Catchpoll said.  “And I don’t doubt Walklyn would have done likewise.”

“Then I’ll be guided by you.”

The three men rode along in silence, pausing every so often to examine potential shelters.  Finally, Catchpoll said, “There, in that thicket.  Walklyn, your eyes are better than mine.  Do you see anything?”

Walklyn slid off his horse and passed the reins to Catchpoll to hold before pushing his way through the bushes.  “Yes, it looks as if someone has cut a couple of branches so they can hide underneath.” 

He scrabbled in and emerged triumphantly a few minutes later, something grasped in his fist.  He held out his hand to Bradecote, revealing what looked like two muddy pebbles.  Bradecote took them and rubbed the soil off them.

“Well spotted.  I’d say these were two of the emeralds that have been taken from Lord Dewsbury’s box.  They’ve been prised out of their settings, but I’d be fairly confident that’s what they are.  I presume they can’t have been lying there for long.”

“No, my lord.  I’d say they must have slipped out of the scrip and then been trodden on by mistake.”

“So if nothing else we are on the trail of one of the men.  And it proves Dewsbury was lying when he denied having the jewels with him.  It’s getting dark now, we’ll not see anything more tonight.  I suggest we head back to the manor and start again first thing in the morning.  We may not have found a lot, but at least we now know our original belief was correct.”

“Aye, and if we know he lied about one thing, there’s a good chance he knows more about the death than he’s prepared to admit,” Catchpoll said.

“Indeed.  But let us take one thing at a time.”