by J. R. Tomlin
Autumn’s early nightfall closed in. Mist shrouded the corners, and the sliver of moon shed light on the uneven slate roofline like the crumbled teeth of a long-dead corpse. Dim shapes of buildings on each side of the street loomed in the murk. Muffled through the fog, he heard the thump of feet as people hurried on their way to escape the encroaching darkness. Lights in the vague shapes of windows blurred in the haze.
At last, the light of Cullen’s tavern filtered through the drizzle. As he entered, Cormac looked up from his clàrsach, with a rueful smile. He waved Law over as he plucked one last note with his fingernail. “Sergeant Meldrum came in about the Sext bell looking for you. He said he would return. He was insistent that you were not to leave until he spoke with you.”
Law scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose he said what he wanted.” Frowning, Law considered a fast exit through the window. If the sheriff had changed his mind about the extra time, he’d see the inside of a dungeon. But he shook his head. He’d have to risk it because there was nowhere he could run.
Cormac made a face at him while he strummed a few notes on his harp. “He wouldnae be likely to tell a ‘Hieland dog’.”
Law sank onto a bench at the nearest table and leaned an elbow on the marked surface. He tossed down a handful of groats and waited for Mall to scurry over with a pitcher and cup. “Did he say anything forbye that he would return?”
“He told Maister Cullen he would sup here and to have a fowl from a cookshop for the meal. Why do you suppose he would do that?”
Law twitched a wry smile. “Damme if I know.”
Sergeant Meldrum paused with the leg of a roast hen halfway to his mouth. “The other day was nothing. I take my orders, certes, but Sir William kent he was wrong about the murders. It’s that he has to worry about the king’s commands, just as I worry about his.” Meldrum grimaced. “But it is nae he who has to walk the streets. I do and prefer that they be peaceful.”
Law pondered the slice of meat he had impaled on the point of his sgian-dubh. “You wanted to talk to me to tell me that?”
Meldrum stuck the entire leg into his mouth, stripped off the meat, chewed, and swallowed. He dropped the bone onto the flat bannock that served as his trencher. “That is part of it.”
“Does Sir William ken that you’re here?”
Meldrum snorted. “I dinnae need him to tell me my every move. He judges at the assize. I run the watch and catch the malefactors. And if you’re wise, you’ll nae be telling him.”
“So you’re here to catch me as a malefactor? Is that it?”
“If that was what I was after, we’d not be sitting here at a meal that I paid for.” Meldrum scowled and chopped the hen in half with his knife. “You’d think that we wanted to hang you. Though I cannae find any way around it if it comes to that. There was nothing personal in what was said or in giving you a few slaps. You’d think you’d never had worse.”
“With all the trouble I’ve had, what’s a little more? Aye, I cannot argue with that.” Law stuffed the slice of chicken in his mouth and slowly chewed. “Have there been any more bodies found?”
“None that were murdered. An old biddy died yesterday, but nothing to worry the watch. Listen, Sir William kent that you did not kill your friend, Duncan. What else was he going to do but put pressure on you to tell what happened that you’d held back? So you should let that go and help us.”
“Aye?” Law filled his cup with ale and gazed into it for a moment. “How does he ken that I didn’t do it? Why would you think I didn’t?” He hadn’t considered that Meldrum would actually learn something or make an effort, but perhaps he was wrong.
Meldrum leaned forward on his arms, thrusting his face near Law. “The other man we found, de Carnea as you named him, might have stabbed Duncan.”
“So you think that is what happened.”
“If Duncan was following him and he had aught to hide, that would explain the killing. He had a dagger that could have made the wound. But I believe he died before Duncan, from the stiffening his body had when we found him. Would Duncan have killed him?” He shook his head. “If de Carnea had something valuable, Duncan might have killed him to steal it and then gotten killed for the same reason: because someone else wanted what he had.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought of that. But Duncan was no assassin to slit a man’s throat with a dagger. He would have cut de Carnea down with his sword. And believe me, he could have.” Law tugged at his lower lip. “Which leaves my question unanswered. Why have you decided I didnae do the killing?”
Meldrum savagely tore a bite off the half of the hen he held and chewed, his face ruddy with irritation. He swallowed and cursed. “I dinnae believe there was time for you to kill de Carnea and reach Blackfriars Monastery to kill Duncan. And you had nae quarreled with either that I have heard. But you’d still be an easy man to blame, so you’d be wise to tell the rest of what you are holding back.
“If you tell me everything, I’ll use my watch to help you investigate. I think we can make sure the sheriff goes with a more likely suspect if we can find one.” He shrugged. “I don’t feel right about an innocent man hanging if I could have done something about it.”
Law nodded thoughtfully.
“Whatever I think, it won’t keep you from hanging because Sir William means to keep the king sweet unless we come up with evidence it was someone else.” Meldrum shook his head at Law’s smile. “I did find some information about de Carnea. But I expect your information in payment.”
Meldrum’s cunning blue gaze was fixed on Law’s face. “I talked to the monsignor at St. John’s Kirk. When I described the body to him, he said that a priest of that description had visited but left suddenly with no word.”
At Meldrum’s significant silence, Law burst out, “You said that you weren’t going to look for where de Carnea bided.”
“I didnae intend to, but when the lord sheriff was in a lather about what the King would say about murders in his favored city, I decided to do some looking myself. The priest said that you had nae been there, so what I dinnae ken is why you aren’t surprised that de Carnea stayed there.”
Law shrugged. By the time he considered talking to the priests at the Kirk of Saint John, he’d already found the cross in the garden of the huge church. “I suspected he was a trickster of some sort. I wonder if he was truly a priest or passing himself off as one. Did they say he gave them that name?”
“They said he used the name that you gave us. De Carnea. Whether he was truly a priest or nae…I doubt that it matters.”
Law poured both of them a cup of ale. He leaned back in his chair and swirled the liquid in his cup.
“And has anyone seen this Lord Blinsele as he called himself?”
Meldrum pushed his chair back and stood, fists clenched, eyes sharp and penetrating. “No. Not unless you’ve seen him. Now, what is it that you ken? There is something.”
“There is a Sassenach mixed up in this, which is something neither the king nor the sheriff would like. How he got past the border without the king’s men arresting him, I dinnae ken, but he is in Perth. And when I bring the lot of them together, I believe I can show the truth of what happened.”
Meldrum raised an eyebrow. “You only believe?”
Law gave a sharp nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Chapter 8
When Meldrum left, the usual crowd of workmen had gathered, bent over their cups. Cormac played his clàrsach and sang, but he broke off when Law closed the door and nodded toward a full-bellied man in a good woolen merchant’s gown, not one of their regulars and far too well dressed for the tavern.
The man rose from his seat, so Law smiled and bowed to him, but he held up a hand to ask for a moment. Law went to Cormac and asked, “Has any message come for me?”
“No, Sir Law.”
Law motioned for the waiting man to precede him to his room and closed the door. He was a maker and exporter of fine leathers that were shipped to the Low Co
untry. Some bundles of leather had gone missing, and he suspected one of his workers of conspiring with the thieves. When Law pointed out he was not part of the watch, the man said that the watch was too clumsy for such a job. He had been impressed with Law’s discretion at the inquest. Law hurried him out with a promise to call on him in two days to consider taking the job. At least there was the prospect, once this business was over, of enough work not to end up on the street.
As soon as the merchant had left, Cormac opened the door and came in. His fresh face was drawn up with worry. “You haven’t found either one of them, have you?”
Law unfastened his doublet and twisted to look at the bandage over his wound. He gently poked at it and flinched.
“How bad is it?” Cormac creased his forehead even more. “You haven’t wound fever, have you?”
“It’s not so gey bad, but it throbs like the devil.”
Cormac shoved Law with a hand on his chest to make him sit on the edge of the bed and squatted to examine the bandage. “You dinnae feel hot, but I should look at this wound. There are a few spots of blood, so it’s still bleeding.” He untied the linen bandage and unwrapped it.
Law sighed. “There’s naught you can do. Either it heals or it doesnae, and I die.”
“I have some yarrow poultice my mamaidh gave me when I left home. She used it on all our bad cuts, and none of us died, so it might help.” He pulled a little pottery jar out and smeared the spicy-smelling stuff on the slash. “The skin is puffy around the cut, but I’ve seen worse when someone recovered.”
Law leaned back to rest against the wall and took a deep breath, letting some of the tension go. “Thank you, lad. That feels better.”
“I’m not a lad,” Cormac muttered. He finished rewrapping the bandage and looked up into Law’s face. “Do you think that they’re dead?”
“I doubt it.”
“But you dinnae ken where they are.” His voice squeaked with alarm. “If you cannae find them, they must be dead. What if you’re the next one someone kills?” The young man glared at him, his lips pressed in a tight line so hard they turned white. “How many people are going to be murdered over that cross that you have hidden, and you not doing a thing about it? Do you think you’ll sell it for a huge pile of gold? You won’t get it if you’re dead.”
Law’s face felt hot as his temper rose. “The man, the most danger to me, is the lord sheriff, and that cross can help me find a murderer to hand him in my place. If you think I’m going to hang for any of them, you are wrong. I’m using it as bait to bring them together.”
“A mhic Ifrinn! So you’ll end up dead with a blade in your back instead.”
“You neednae curse at me!” Law jumped to his feet, flinched, and carefully laced up his doublet. “I’m going out to see if anyone is left in this goddamned burgh. From how well I did earlier, I suspect everyone except us has left.” He stomped out.
The afternoon light had turned to pewter gray as the sun sank. For once, the sky was clear. High clouds scurried across the sky before a high wind. If anyone was going to show up at the house Carre was using, after dark was the most likely time, so he trotted through the emptying streets. He took the winding back-alley route that Carre’s guards had used to take him there the first time since it would be as well if he weren’t seen.
When he reached the narrow street, far ahead a brazier burned on a distant street corner. Narrow beams of light striped the dusk from houses on either side. The thin sickle of a moon cast a cold glow, and in the distance, a dog barked.
Law slipped through the gate of Carre’s house and walked softly through the dark garden, keeping an eye out for guards. A faint light from a candle shone in one window behind closed shutters. He went up to the door and listened. The house was silent. He pressed his ear to the door. Still he heard nothing, so he tried the door. It was locked. He crept to the window where there was light and tried to look between the boards of the shutters, but all he could see was bits of the wall and the corner of a table. When he tried the shutters, they were barred.
He tiptoed around to the back of the house, where there was another window. When he tugged on the shutter, it opened. The room within was cloaked in darkness.
Law was considering climbing through the window when the silence was broken by a thump at the front of the house and a loud, rasping groan. Law left the window and walked toward the door. It opened before he could reach it. A man, not tall and slightly built, crouched like a black silhouette in the opening against the faint candlelight within. Law stopped and grasped the hilt of his sword.
Sounds came out of the man’s mouth, but they were nothing more than a liquid gurgle. He held onto the door and swayed. The other hand pressed to his chest. He didn’t seem to see Law, but he made another agonized rasping sound and said, “I meant to—” There was a horrible bubbling sound that covered the rest of his words as he fell forward.
Law leapt to the door and dropped to his knees. A single gush of blood sprayed from the fallen man’s mouth onto the ground. With his head turned to the side, now Law could see his face in the faint candlelight. It was colorless, the eyes blank and his mouth lolled open although no more blood came out. There was no mistaking the young man who Law had seen leave the house, the same Marguerite had met in the garden a few nights past, Law thought. The back of his yellow doublet was soaked with blood. Law cursed repeatedly as he felt the still body to see if there was any trace of life in him. His chest didn’t move with breath. He was still as death. His face lay in an irregular pool of blood.
Law continued muttering, “Devil take them.” He looked up and down the dark street before he scurried inside, grabbed the body by the ankles, and dragged it in. He quickly slammed the door and slid the bolt closed. Another dead body on his hands and no witness that he hadn’t done it. He cursed.
Was he the only one here? Where were Carre and his guards? But a quick run through the house confirmed that it was empty.
Several candles were burning on a nearby sideboard. Law brought one over to put better light on the body. In spite of the blood the man had spewed, there was no wound in the front of the body. He unlaced and opened the doublet. When he rolled the body over, the back was wet with blood and had two gashes in it. He had to wrestle the shirt off, not easy on a limp body. It was sodden as well in the back and had two cuts, the same size as the ones on Duncan’s body.
Suddenly, the room smelled of piss. Law jumped back to avoid the widening pool of piss that spread from the body. He stepped around the puddle and knelt by the body, again holding up the candle.
The hairless chest had no injury at all, not even a scratch. Lifting the limp hands, he examined them, but the young man had made no attempt to defend himself—or had had no chance to. When Law turned the body facedown, the stab wounds were much like those on Duncan’s body though he’d been stabbed in the chest. But where had it happened? Surely he had not gone far, coughing up blood as he had been. Law picked up the candlestick and looked around the room, the same where he had shared drinks with Carre.
There was one chair overturned, but the other where Law had sat was upright. Beside the table was an overturned wine cup in a pool of red. Law squatted and touched the liquid with his finger. It was sticky, and when he sniffed, it had a coppery smell.
Blood. So the young man had probably been stabbed here. He might have lain unconscious for a short time, though not long or he would have bled out. It must have been done before Law arrived at the door. The stabbing and the murderer’s escape could not have been so silently done that he wouldn’t have heard even a single noise.
Another cup stood undisturbed beside the flagon, with the dregs of wine still in the bottom. Someone had been here. A guest? One of the guards? But it wasn’t likely the youth would have been drinking with a mere guard. Almost certainly, the same person who had stabbed the young man had partaken the wine.
No fire burned in the hearth. Law held his hand over it. There was not even a trace of heat. W
here the devil was Carre and why was this young man, who had seemed to be part of his household as Law had seen, here alone? He might be Carre’s son? Not a servant certainly from his fine clothing.
He left the wine cups where they were and went to the window. This was the one that was barred, but Law tried it anyway to be sure. He took the candle along with him into the next room, a storeroom by the look of it, with only a barrel and a bag with a scent of apples. If there had been dust on the sill, it was clean now. Either the servants were careful, or the window had been used for an exit.
Of course, the murderer might simply have gone out the door, but Law suspected he had cut off escape, so the murderer had taken another way out. Or she? Even a woman could have climbed out. And a woman could stab someone in the back as easily as hitting Law over the head. Perhaps more so since, like him, they might not have feared her.
So the young man had been unconscious on the floor when the murderer fled.
The house was well appointed but not large. Besides the storeroom downstairs was a kitchen, barren of food and cooking implements. Up the stairs was a large bedchamber with a red-draped bed and a pallet near the hearth for a servant and a garderobe. Other servants, had there been any, would sleep in the kitchen. He lifted the lid of a kist at the foot of the great bed, and it had only a small pile of clothes, some for a larger man and some that would have fit the body downstairs. Of course, Carre was English, so the house was borrowed or rented. Little that was here belonged to him, apparently nothing of importance.
Law wrestled the shirt and doublet back on the body, blew out all the candles, and went to look between the boards of the shutters. Across the street, a pale face and shining eyes caught a stray beam of moonlight. The figure pressed back into the shadows, a cloud covered the moon, and Law saw only darkness. Law sucked on his teeth. That was Dave Taylor’s face, or he’d be damned for a fool.
