Pat McIntosh - The Rough Collier

‘Here,’ said Alys, pausing before the wide, low structure of the upper shaft-house. ‘Simmie said he found something here, hidden in the thatch, and I wondered if there was anything else to find.’

‘Proof?’ asked Henry sharply. ‘Simmie Wilson wouldny ken proof if it bit him on the bum, any more than our Patey Who I’ve sent back to Belstane, by the way, mistress.’

‘This could have been proof,’ admitted Alys, ‘but one of the colliers destroyed it.’ She shivered. Her skin was still crawling at the sight of the little figures, brief as it had been, with their tatters of clothing and their pierced bodies.

‘Colliers is odd folk,’ pronounced Steenie. ‘But who’s he naming for the witch? Who’d hide something up here as far from the house? What are we seeking anyways?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Alys. ‘I want to look for a hiding-place, but there may not be anything left in it, if Simmie found it.’

Both men looked at her a little oddly, but they began to inspect the thatch obligingly enough, looking under the eaves at the bundled ends of the heather-stems and prodding as far up the roof as either could reach. Alys ordered the dog to sit at the doorway, stepped inside and peered up into the shadows at the purlins which supported the thatch, trying to ignore the shaft gaping blackly at the centre of the hut. There seemed to be nowhere to hide anything; the clay-daubed hurdles rose to meet the roof-frame, with no ledge or wall-plate at the top, and she could see nothing like a shelf or niche under the thatch. Up in the crown of the roof there was the ruffling sound she had heard before, exactly like feathers, like a bird settling its plumage. She turned towards the winding-gear, and something fell from the rafters in silence and swooped at her face, missing her as she ducked and exclaimed in terror, sailed on out of the doorway and up over the hillside, the dog in delighted pursuit.

‘What’s up?’ demanded Henry, arriving with Steenie as she straightened up. ‘What made ye squeal, lassie? Mistress,’ he corrected himself. ‘What was yon?’

‘It was a owl,’ said Steenie, looking back over his shoulder. ‘Did it hurt ye, mem?’

‘No,’ she said shakily, her heart hammering, ‘no, it gave me a fright, that’s all. It came down from nowhere, out of the roof.’ Yet another of the creatures. And no wonder Gil had a bad dream, she thought, after the same thing happened to him.

‘Out of the roof? Where was it perching?’ asked Steenie.

Henry nodded. ‘A good thought, Steenie lad. What was it standing on?’ He swung himself up on to the frame of the winding-gear and peered along under the roof-tree. ‘I see it — there’s a cross-beam. Now can I reach it?’

‘Have a care!’ said Alys involuntarily, as he stretched out an arm, but he drew back, with a wary look at the rope disappearing down the shaft, swung himself on to the ground and tried again from the other side of the structure.

‘Aye,’ he said, groping along the beam. ‘I’d say it roosts here. Foot of the shaft must be littered wi’ its pellets. And what’s this? Cloth?’ He came down again, holding his find by one corner, and looked at Alys. ‘We’ll take it into the light, mistress, but are ye for opening it up?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She took the thing from him, and stepped out into the daylight to inspect it. Socrates returned from his pursuit of the owl and sat down, tongue hanging out, as she did so. The cloth bag was as big as the palm of her hand, very dirty though not troubled by owl droppings, and seemed to be of silk damask as if it contained a relic. She untied the cord and drew out a swaddled bundle; both men were watching intently, and Steenie crossed himself as she began to unfold the brown linen wrappings.

The object at their centre was not readily recognizable. It was longer and thicker than Alys’s thumb, yellowish, wrinkled and waxy. She stared at it for a moment, and said, ‘Is it a root of some herb? A mandrake, perhaps? I never saw one.’

‘Nor did I, mistress,’ said Henry drily, ‘but I never heard that a mandrake had a fingernail. See, this side.’ He indicated one end of the thing. She tipped it over on her palm, and saw the nail, thick and cracked, as yellow as the rest of the finger. She jerked the object away from her in a sudden convulsion of horror, and it flew between the two men and landed in a clump of heather.

Socrates pounced, and came up grinning, the hideous thing clutched in his teeth. Alys lunged at him, but he bounded away, tail waving.

‘Give!’ she ordered. ‘Leave it! Leave!’

‘What is it, anyway?’ demanded Steenie, crossing himself again.

‘A thumb,’ said Henry grimly. Alys drew a deep breath, and forced herself to stand still and consider matters.

‘It could be a relic of some sort,’ she said, ‘all wrapped up like that, but there was no paper with it to name it, as a relic should have. I don’t — ’ A crunching sound alerted her, and she flung herself at the dog again. ‘Socrates! Give, you dreadful dog, give!’ This time, despite Steenie’s attempt to help, she managed to get the animal by the collar, and prised his narrow, powerful jaws open with difficulty. The fragments of bone and dried flesh which emerged were bonded with saliva; she caught them in the linen binding and pushed the dog away, holding the unpleasant bundle out of his reach.

‘What do we do wi’ it, mistress?’ asked Henry, scratching the back of his head. ‘If it’s a relic it’ll no do to let on the dog got it — ’

‘It’s no relic,’said Steenie scornfully. ‘Hid in a filthy place like that? I say we put it in the bag and drop it down the shaft, mem, and nobody’s to ken how it got there if it’s ever found.’

‘It is a proof of witchcraft,’ said Alys, stuffing the bundled linen back into the bag. Socrates pushed at her hand with his long nose, hoping to get his new toy back, and she tapped his muzzle with her finger. ‘No! No, I think I must show it to Gil at least, though I do not like taking it with me.’ She pulled up her skirt to reach her purse, and after a moment’s thought wound her beads round the damask as some protection, before she stowed it beside Gil’s tablets. ‘Did you find anything in the thatch?’

‘Only the hole where Simmie Wilson pulled out whatever he got,’ said Henry. ‘Mistress, is that the family coming home? There’s a deal o’ ponies coming across the hill yonder.’

‘Your brother stayed behind,’ said Arbella in a faint voice, ‘to see to the coffining and arrange a burial. But Maister Michael here, seeing how weary I was, offered to bring me away.’ She accepted a glass of the omnipresent cordial from Bel, sipped at it, and gave Joanna a smile of infinite sympathy.

‘It went well enough,’ reported Michael, nodding at her words. ‘The assize brought it in as murder, and directed Maister Gil to search out who was the guilty one.’

‘He was there in time, then?’ said Alys. She moved her feet to allow the offended dog to lie down under her backstool, and her purse bumped against her leg.

‘Oh, never doubt it, my dear,’ said Arbella. ‘So all will be well. I’m certain he’ll get that settled in good order. And what brings you up here? Did I see you at the over windhouse the now?’

She has eyes like — like an owl, thought Alys.

‘Davy Fleming’s on the policies,’ burst out Phemie before she could speak, ‘and searching the place for evidence of witchcraft so he says. Cauldhope’s man Simmie found something up at the windhouse, so he said, and she went up for another look at it. Did you find aught, Alys?’

‘We found the hole in the thatch where Simmie got the bundle he had,’ said Alys truthfully, though the object in her purse seemed to burn her shin through kirtle and shift.