Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘My trick.’ He set out the King of Batons, its double-ended figure entwined in tendrils of leafy growth from its wand, the crowns barely visible among the arrow-head leaves. Three court cards and three numbers, Gil thought, and I have the Knave. What’s still in his hand?

As if for answer, his opponent played the two. Gil put the Knave down and swept the two slips of card to his end of the bench.

‘Who did you see at the college?’ he asked.

‘My nephew. That snivelling boy, what’s his name?’ Gil recognized Ralph. ‘Couple of other scholars were sent to find Robert when I wanted him. Who should I have seen?’

‘That’s a question?’ Gil played the seven of Coins, and Montgomery slapped the three on top of it.

‘Let’s stop playing here,’ he said, apparently not in reference to the card game. ‘What do you know about how William died?’

‘That’s quite a question.’ The Knight and Knave of Coins. ‘Your trick. We know,’ he said carefully, ‘that William was knocked down and put in the limehouse as a joke. His hands were bound, to make it harder for him to free himself. While he was still dazed, someone else whose hands smelled of cumin came into the limehouse and strangled him with his own belt. After he was dead, he was moved into the coalhouse, where he was found.’

‘By the same person? My trick.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gil, ‘but there are already too many people running in and out of the limehouse for the story to have any credibility. It seems ludicrous to postulate another.’

‘Credibility?’ exploded his opponent. ‘I never in all my days heard such a tale. What has the cumin to do with it? Why the devil move him into the coalhouse? What gain is that? Was he robbed? No, you said there was money on him. His chamber had been searched, but I canny tell whether they got anything of value. Why was he killed, Maister Cunningham? Tell me that? You haveny found that out, with your nonsense about cumin and coalhouses.’

‘When I know why,’ said Gil calmly, watching Montgomery add five pairs of cards to his pile of discards, ‘I’ll know who.’

Montgomery glared at him, and put down the two of Coins. Gil stared at it, thinking, Is that all he has left, or is he bluffing? It hardly mattered; there were no more Coins in his own hand. He selected the picture-card with the image of a naked woman incongruously called L’Estoile. ‘My trick, my lord. If you’re asking me why William was killed, I take it you don’t know, so I’ll ask you a different question. Why was Jaikie killed?’

‘Who the devil’s Jaikie? What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Jaikie was the college porter.’

‘Oh, him. Glumphy impertinent bugger. Tried to buy — tried to make out he knew all about William’s affairs. Gave him the back of my hand for it.’

‘Knocked him down, you mean?’ asked the mason.

Montgomery threw him a glance. ‘I did not. Last I saw him, after Robert went back into the college, he was snoring in that great chair of his, with half a jar of usquebae under his belt. I heard he was dead, but it wasny me that stabbed him,’ said his lordship, sounding very like his nephew. ‘Likely it was whoever I heard arguing with him.’

‘Arguing?’ Gil repeated. ‘When was this?’ Jaikie argued with everyone, he reflected.

‘Is that another question? When I got to the yett, looking for Robert, I heard someone arguing with the porter. Your play, Cunningham.’

‘A moment,’ said Gil. ‘Did you see this person?’

‘I did not. The surly chiel never rose to let me in, and when I stepped into his chamber to tell him off for that there was no other there. And I looked behind the door and all,’ he added. ‘Are you going to play this game or no?’

Gil, setting aside disbelief, surveyed the four pairs of cards aligned beside him, and the row of tricks now neatly herringboned on the bench by Montgomery’s knee. He had weeded out all the small stuff, and had only high-value cards left. Let’s see what’s in his hand, he thought.

The next trick went to his opponent. Gil, avoiding Maistre Pierre’s eye, watched Montgomery arrange his cards while he considered his questions.

‘Who d’ye suspect?’ he demanded bluntly at last.

‘I won’t answer that,’ said Gil with equal bluntness. ‘Never mind the law of slander, my position if I name someone in error and you act on what I say, my lord, would be very precarious.’

‘Lawyers,’ said Montgomery in disgust. ‘Tell me this, then. What else of William’s have ye found?’

‘There was the notebook,’ said Gil.

‘A notebook,’ repeated his opponent. ‘What like notebook?’

‘Just a notebook,’ said Gil. ‘Red leather cover, a lot of writing in it. Mostly notes, by the look of it, and accounts. It’s in Maister Mason’s house,’ he added. Montgomery snorted, but did not interrupt as Gil continued, with all the innocence he could muster, ‘And there was some kind of medallion, or pilgrim badge, or such like. Made of brass, with a figure in the middle and the alphabet round the outside like a criss-cross row. That was in the lining of his doublet, as if it was something he valued.’

‘It was, was it?’ said Montgomery with equal innocence, rearranging his cards again. ‘I’ll send Thomas for that. He can lift the lot off your hands. He’ll come by your door with ye when ye leave here.’

‘As you please,’ said Gil. He watched as Montgomery, tight-lipped, played the four of Coins, and after a moment set the trump called La Lune on top of it.

‘So who did search William’s chamber?’ he asked.

‘Not me,’ said Montgomery.

‘Who do you suspect it was?’

‘Now why should I answer that one, after what you just said?’

Gil half-bowed over the cards in acknowledgement of the point.

‘Today,’ he said, picking up the next trick wrong-handed, ‘there was a bundle of papers in Jaikie’s brazier — ’

‘No idea. Your play.’

‘And what was Billy Doig doing up at the college?’

‘Doig?’ said Montgomery sharply. ‘When?’

‘About midday.’

‘Never saw him. Who is he, anyway? Your play.’

Gil looked at the two cards in his hand, and laid down Judgement. The woodcut figure, in angular draperies with sceptre and scales, flickered in the light. One of the dogs raised its head, then sat up, staring across the hall.

‘Uncle?’ said a voice in the shadows.

Gil jumped convulsively, and looked beyond the circle of brightness. He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and Maistre Pierre drew breath sharply. Outlined against the half-lit door to the stair was a gangling figure in a student’s belted gown, a chance beam from the distant lantern glowing redly on its springing, curling hair.

‘Uncle?’ said the voice again. The figure moved, and stepped into the hall. ‘I’m just away back to the college,’ said Robert Montgomery, coming nearer the fire.

‘Aye, right,’ said his uncle, twisting round to look at him. They exchanged a significant look, before the older man added, ‘Can you get in without trouble?’

‘There are ways,’ Gil said. Robert’s glance flicked to him and back to his uncle, before he raised his cap in a general courtesy to all three adults.

‘Good night, sirs. I’ll see you the morn, uncle.’

Hugh Montgomery waved his free hand and muttered a perfunctory blessing, and Robert left. Gil sat staring after him for a long moment.

‘Your play,’ said Montgomery impatiently. Gil, looking down, found Judgement neatly obscured by the Knave of Swords.

‘How well do you know Bernard Stewart?’ he asked, setting that trick with the others he had gained. His opponent stared at him.