Pat McIntosh - The Fourth Crow

‘I brought the best yins,’ said Andro. ‘No that that’s saying a lot,’ he added, and the three fellows behind him stopped grinning. ‘So we’ll hope they can lie in concealment wi’out alerting the quarry. How did yir man reach you afore? Where did he wait for you?’

‘Under they bushes.’ Tam pointed.

‘But it’s a different man, mind,’ Gil said. ‘No telling what he’ll do.’

‘Aye.’ Andro looked about him. The night was cloudy, and a brisk wind had got up, making sufficient noise in the trees to cover movement. ‘We’ll ha two o you lads in the sail shed, I think, and you and me, Richie, ahint yon bushes. Where will you lie up, Maister Cunningham?’

‘I think,’ said Gil, who had had time to consider the matter, ‘I’ll sit out by the brazier. No need for Tam to be the bait, our man has no notion of who he’s to meet so far as we ken, and in the dark he’ll not get a right sight of me.’

‘Here-’ began Tam.

‘Aye, that would work,’ said Andro.

‘No, it’s no right,’ protested Tam. ‘I’m no one to stand by-’

‘You’ll come wi Richie and me,’ said Andro, ‘so we’ll cut off his retreat if he tries to flee that way. What time do you look for him?’

‘Any hour fro now on,’ said Tam, still dubious. ‘Maister, I’m sweirt to let you take my place, I am that!’

‘Did I hear something?’ said one of Andro’s men.

‘Aye. Places,’ said Andro, low voiced, ‘and nae mair argument. Bring that light, Richie.’

Sitting on a balk of wood by the brazier, Gil warmed his hands and listened. The river rippled past ten feet away, chuckling quietly to itself. He could hear small movements in the sail-shed behind him as the two men lurking there settled down, and occasional more distant stirrings which must be night birds, small animals, a hunting fox. His own lantern gave a little light; now they were in place, Andro’s men had shut theirs and showed no sign.

The row of small houses belonging to the shore folk, set well back from the strand, was silent. Beyond that, the burgh seemed to be asleep, except for the occasional barking dog; on the opposite bank Govan slept as peacefully.

The sound which had alerted Andro’s man came again, a shifting of stone on stone. A footfall, or the sound of a wheel, Gil wondered. Surely he wouldn’t bring the cart down tonight, he thought, he can’t be certain of meeting his man. Another footfall, a scuffle, a muttered curse. A light bobbed into view on the rough ground at the foot of St Thenew’s croft, came closer. Stopped by the nearest clump of bushes.

‘Stockfish Tam?’ said a hoarse whisper.

‘Who’s asking?’ Gil responded in the same tone.

‘I am,’ said the other unhelpfully. The light bobbed forward as if its bearer had taken a couple of steps. ‘Are you Tam?’

‘What do you want wi Tam?’ Gil countered.

‘I think you ken what. You’ve got something for me, something that belongs to Holy Kirk.’

‘And if I have?’ Persuade him closer, so that Andro can cut him off. Bring him down onto the strand. ‘Where’s the other fellow?’

‘He’ll no be coming. As you well know. Come on, where’s my money?’

‘Yours? I thocht you said it belonged to Holy Kirk.’ Sweet St Giles, Gil thought, we missed a trick here, we should have had a purse ready to tempt him wi. He reached for his own purse, and hefted it so that the contents clinked and scraped together. ‘It’s here. Come and get it, then.’

The light advanced another few steps, and halted. Watching tensely, Gil saw a shadow move behind it, and then another.

‘Come to the fire,’ he invited, ‘and get your due.’

‘Bring it to me.’

‘It’s you that wants it,’ Gil returned, ‘no me. It’s here if you’ll come for it.’ He clinked his purse again.

After a long moment, the light moved forward. Boots crumped on the sand and pebbles of the shore. Gil rose to his feet.

‘Now!’ he shouted, and the night was full of running men and shouting. A tussle developed, people were swearing, but the dark shape Gil had his eyes on dropped its lantern, and moved to pass him with quick crunching steps, making for the bridge. He launched himself full length, and found he was rolling on the sand with an opponent who, though he was a handy fighter, lacked Gil’s advantages. Street-fighting in Paris was a hard school, but an effective one. He dodged an attempt to claw at his ear, got one hand under the other man’s jaw, used his knee efficiently, came out on top and trapped a flailing arm under his thigh.

‘Light here,’ he called, getting a grip on the throat. ‘Lights, and a rope!’

‘Have ye got him?’ It was Andro. ‘Oh, well done, maister. They eejits were fighting theirsels. I’ve got his arm, you can let go now, let him up. Lachie! Get ower here, man!’

The gasping quarry was hauled to his feet and held firm, crowing for breath, while Andro bound his arms to his sides. Gil lifted the lantern, and held it up to see the man’s face.

‘Good e’en to you, William,’ he said. ‘You’re out ower late, for one that’s to rise and sing Matins and Lauds.’

‘I deny that absolutely,’ said William Craigie.

‘You expect us to believe you?’ said Otterburn, peering at him gloomily across his desk in the candlelight.

‘Killing a man in the High Kirk? Hiding his body so he canny have absolution? What kind of priest do you think I am?’

‘One that would steal from Holy Kirk,’ Gil said.

‘That’s different,’ said Craigie implausibly. ‘I was about St Mungo’s that afternoon, I grant you that, but I never saw Barnabas till after he was dead.’

‘Where were you?’ Gil asked.

‘I was in our hall, the songmen’s hall, for a time. Then that daft Robert cam to say Dame Ellen was seeking me,’ Craigie swallowed, ‘and when she’d done I went back to the hall, for I’d a notion to con some of the music for the next day. I tellt you that at the time, Gil. There was one or two folks in and out,’ he recalled hopefully, ‘Sim and Dod Arthur for one.’

‘So who was Barnabas seeking?’ Gil asked. ‘He went off wi a sack-tie saying I see it now, what did he see? What had it told him?’

‘How the Deil should I ken? I wasny the man’s keeper! Though I failed him in that,’ the prisoner added, his voice dropping. Gil studied his bent head.

‘And what about Peg Simpson? You deny that you put a cord about her neck?’

‘The lassie at the Cross? Was that her name?’ Craigie muttered a swift prayer in his rich bass. ‘No, Gil, I wasny about that night. I was at the cards in the hall till midnight, then I gaed to my bed. Dod Arthur was there, and John Ross, and we convoyed one another home.’

Gil made a note of the names, and flicked open a different leaf of his tablets.

‘What’s your claim to a property called Hallrig? By Tarbolton, I think.’

‘Hallrig?’ Craigie stared at him. ‘None whatever.’

‘And yet I’m tellt you’ve been going the rounds o men o law in Ayrshire, looking for one to take on your claim for it. Convenient, certainly, for you to own the property, what wi the quarry.’

‘I have not!’ said Craigie incredulously. ‘I’ve never- I haveny been into Ayrshire in the past year! No, no, it belongs to the Gibbs, it left the Craigies forty year since. And who goes to law over one property? It would cost more than the plot’s worth by the time the bill cam in.’

‘Why did you tell me you were no kin o Annie Gibb?’

The prisoner attempted to shrug, despite his bonds.

‘It was easier than trying to explain.’

‘Ach!’ said Otterburn. ‘I haveny patience for this. Take him away, Andro, and the Archbishop can question him in the morning. And the Dean,’ he added.