Pat McIntosh - The Nicholas Feast

‘What in the Fiend’s name has he to say to the matter? He was chaplain in my house for a good few years, tutored my brother Alexander and — and others, but it was better than sixteen years since. I know that, for he went to the Blackfriars’ Paris house before Alexander was wedded. His mother married my grandsire’s youngest brother as his third wife, but I haveny set eyes on him since, not till he came to Glasgow and they made him chaplain here, just after Robert came to the college. Are ye playing that last card, Cunningham law man, or are ye turning to stone at my hearth?’

‘The card.’ Gil looked down, and set the Fool on the bench beside him. ‘Je m’excuse. The last card out.’

‘Your trick,’ said Montgomery in disgust, throwing down the image of a woman improbably wrenching open the jaw of a complacent lion. ‘Ask your question, while your good-father tots up the scores.’

‘I’ve no more questions for now,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll save them for tomorrow, when I’ll have two, for I think I’ve won the game.’

‘You have,’ agreed Maistre Pierre, counting strokes of chalk on the wall by the hearth. ‘But it was close. You have taken eight tricks, his lordship has twelve, and with the other points from the cards you held I think you win by one point.’

‘Aye,’ said Montgomery sourly, and looked at the windows, where the last of the sunset was faintly red beyond the rooftops of the houses opposite. ‘Well. It’s been an interesting evening.’

‘It has,’ agreed Gil, stretching his long legs. ‘You’re a gratifying opponent, my lord.’

For a moment he thought he had overreached his mark. Hugh Montgomery’s face darkened in the candlelight, and his eyes glittered. Turning his head he roared, ‘Thomas!’ The dogs leapt up, barking, and he cursed at them. ‘Thom- as ! Get up here wi’ your boots on, you lazy ablach.’

‘I’m in the lower hall, no’ in Irvine,’ said Thomas on the stair. ‘No need o’ the shouting.’

‘Then why so long to answer me? Be silent, Ajax, you stupid lump! I want ye to convoy these gentry home and bring back the things they’ll gie you. Not the dog, I canny take the dog while these brutes are here, but I’ll want a look at it. It’s a matter of our William’s graith, Thomas, it’s no likely to tax your strength.’

‘We may not be able to put hand on all of it at this hour,’ said Gil, realizing with resignation that Montgomery had not forgotten his threat.

‘Then Thomas can wait till ye do, can’t he no?’

‘No, he can not,’ said the mason unexpectedly. ‘It is after all my house, my lord, and I do not choose to entertain your man.’ He rose and came forward from where he sat. ‘I myself will undertake to return all your kinsman’s goods before noon tomorrow. Agreed?’

‘That’s a fair offer,’ commented Thomas.

‘You keep out of this,’ snarled his master. He glared at Maistre Pierre, showing his teeth, and finally said, ‘Aye. Agreed.’

‘My hand on it.’

They spat and shook hands as if it was a trading agreement.

‘Now get out of here,’ said Montgomery. ‘I’ve a lot to think on, and William’s funeral tomorrow.’

Maistre Pierre set the jug of ale down on his desk and wiped his mouth.

‘The house was like a barn,’ he commented. ‘No hangings, no cushions, no comforts at all, and only that ill-conditioned servant to wait on him.’

‘He planned a brief visit,’ Gil surmised as the wolfhound scrambled on to his lap. ‘His lady has stayed behind in Irvine. She might not wish to leave the children, and bringing them would be a lot of work for a short stay. I’ve no doubt there are cushions in plenty in his other houses.’

‘And I did not understand the play at all.’

‘It was hardly play,’ said Gil.

Alys, rubbing violet-scented oil into the bruising on his wrist, nodded, but her father said, ‘What do you mean? I was keeping score.’

‘They were both more interested in the information than the game, father,’ said Alys. She turned Gil’s hand, and he winced. ‘You should not have used this. You won’t be able to sign your name for days.’

‘You are quite right,’ he said, and smiled wearily at her. ‘I was certainly buying questions, and the ones Montgomery asked were even more interesting than the answers he gave me. I don’t know whether he felt the same way,’ he added. ‘He isn’t a strong player but I should hate to underestimate him.’

‘So what have we learned?’ asked Maistre Pierre. ‘And what have we given away, apart from the cipher disc?’

‘The cipher disc is small loss,’ said Alys. ‘It isn’t a simple substitution, so we would need another the same, so that the message could be deciphered at its destination.’

‘Montgomery seemed eager to get it back,’ said Gil, heaving the wolfhound into a more comfortable position. ‘This creature has grown again. We have promised Montgomery — you have promised,’ he corrected himself, and Maistre Pierre pulled a face and nodded. ‘William’s clothes, the notebook, the papers, and the cipher disc. I must have a look at the notebook, but the rest can go back to his kin without harming anyone.’ He scratched rhythmically behind the pup’s ears, and it groaned in ecstasy. ‘What have we learned? Montgomery knows or suspects who William’s father was, and he knows that William was gathering information. He didn’t search the boy’s chamber, he doesn’t know who killed him, and he probably didn’t kill Jaikie, which leaves us with the dog-breeder for that. I hope he thinks we haven’t read the cipher letter. He would have liked us to believe he didn’t know Billy Doig, and I have brought Bernard Stewart to his attention. Oh, and I think he wants a look at the dog too.’

‘Pretty well, for one game of cards,’ said Alys approvingly.

‘But what don’t we know yet?’ asked her father. ‘And what have we let Montgomery know? I thought you let him win far too many questions, Gil.’

‘His questions were very informative,’ said Gil. ‘As I let him find out, which was a mistake. What don’t we know? We don’t know who killed William, or why, though we know he had cumin on his hands. I think we know who killed Jaikie, and possibly why, but for William’s killer we are still searching in the dark.’

‘I thought that was the object of our search.’

‘So did I. Pierre, I must go up the hill. I am too tired to think. Saints be praised, there is a moon tonight. Alys, where is the notebook?’

‘I will fetch it.’

She slipped away, and Gil sat quietly petting the dog and staring at the painted panelling of the small room.

‘I suspect we don’t have all the pieces,’ he said at length. ‘Did you ever break a plate? One of those majolica ones with a picture?’

‘Frequently.’

‘Some of the pieces may have a hand and a foot, or an elbow and a head, and only when you set all together do you see they belong to different figures. I think it’s like that — too many of the pieces we have refer to more than one figure.’

‘I was never good at metaphor,’ declared the mason, and poured himself more ale. ‘We have till noon tomorrow. What will that man do if we have no answer for him?’

‘I feel he will not challenge the Dean and the Faculty to Tarocco.’ Gil sat up straight as Alys returned, holding the notebook.

‘Kittock has just told me,’ she said, ‘that someone came from the college an hour or two since, to say Maister Coventry would like a word with Maister Cunningham.’

‘Too late now,’ said Gil, glancing at the window. He fumbled one-handed with the buckle of the dog’s collar. ‘I’ll leave this beast with you again, and be off up the road, but first I must loosen this. He has quite definitely grown. It fitted him yesterday.’ He slipped the long tongue of the collar through the keeper, and pushed the animal off his knee. ‘Go with Alys. Good dog.’