J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

Law heard a splash and a yelp: "That's hot!" Steam was rising from the surface, so Law was sure that it was, but it looked better than anything he had seen for a while. He put his cup of ale next to a knob of soap and a cloth on the board fastened to one side of the barrel-shaped tub. He eased himself in, wincing as the heat hit scrapes and bruises, and sank, knees drawn up, until the water came up to his chin.

"So someone kilt the carter and then robbed his house," Cormac said from beyond the curtain.

"Aye." Law frowned. "Well, not exactly."

"That makes nae sense. They did, or they did nae."

Law huffed through his nose. "Let me think on it, Cormac. My head aches too much to talk." He took a sip of the ale, feeling his aches dissolve into the hot water. With his head lolling against the edge of the tub, he tried to remember something he knew had struck a chord when the sheriff had been talking, something about the key. Three horsemen had been waiting there. That meant Blacader had been expected. Meeting them? Or had they ambushed him? That the were meeting was more likely. Perhaps he'd been lured there? They were meeting for someone to receive that message the kist had been searched for-if the sheriff was right, and it was a message. Why kill him then? He couldn't have had it on him, or they wouldn't have had to go looking. Perhaps he hadn't had what they were searching for and told them as much. And was killed for his trouble?

Law grunted softly to himself. That made a certain sense. And they tossed the purse aside when they found the key. But it was a strange killer that balked at thievery.

The water was cooling, so he sat up and used the cloth to scrub all over as hard as he could bear on his bruises. To start, he would have to question Tam, who had accompanied his father to Glasgow on that last trip. But that would wait until tomorrow. Any moment vespers would ring, and the gates of the burgh would be closed as curfew fell.

There was a tremendous splashing as Cormac emerged from his tub. "I'm through," he called, "but I can scrub your shoulders for you if you want."

Terce was ringing when Law halted in the gateway of Blacader's yard, startled at the silence. It seemed deserted.

"Is there even anyone here to question?" he muttered. As he spoke, the door of the barn at the far end swung open, and a scrawny lad stepped out and started toward one of the sheds. When he spotted Law, he stopped and stared and then turned to hurry back the way he had come.

"There is someone down yon," he called.

Tam Blacader appeared in the doorway of the barn. "Why did you nae say it was Sir Law?" He aimed a cuff at the lad, who dodged the mild blow. He strode toward the gate, and Law noticed he was wearing an unusually fine doublet of blue silk and what looked like new ankle-high boots. "How are you, sir? The lord sheriff handled you right roughly."

Law shrugged. "I've taken worse in the practice yard." He touched the purple bruise on his cheek under the stubble he'd decided not to shave off this morning. "How is your mother doing? And yourself?"

"We're all overset as you would guess. Mother is with the priest, for we'll have the funeral this afternoon and the wake after. But Da left business all awry and…" He threw his hands up. "Nothing has been delivered, and if I dinnae take care of it, how will my mam and Hew and I survive?" Then he colored and shuffled his feet. "Sorry, that is nae your concern."

Law sighed. He felt sorry for the young man, but there was nothing he could do to help. "I ken it is a bad time, but I need to have a word with the men who went to Glasgow with your father."

"Cannae it wait?" He put a hand that shook slightly to his forehead.

"I wish it could, but you saw what the lord sheriff was like. Better than I deal with it than that he does."

"The three of us went with him-Andy, Syme and me-for my da will nae travel the roads with less." He frowned. "He would nae have."

"Then is there somewhere we can talk? And then I'll talk to the other two, and I need to take another look at your father's office."

"Talk to us one at a time, you mean?" He scratched the back of his neck. "Aye, well, we may as well talk in the house. Only thing is, with my mam at the kirk and Marioun preparing for the wake, things are all tapsalteerie in the house."

"That doesn't matter," Law said. "We'll talk in there."

Law established himself in the larger chair, with a grateful sigh for the thick cushion, next to the hearth where a small peat fire burned. In spite of Tam's protest that the house was all to pieces, there was no sign in the room of yesterday's violence. Even the bloodstain from Syme's injury had been scrubbed up. The room had a scent of lavender and beeswax, and the large table had been polished until it sparkled. A pewter tray held a dozen cups that Law assumed would be used at the wake.

Tam took the smaller chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands. "I dinnae what I can tell you that will help. I dinnae ken why anyone would have kilt my da. Or broken into his kist."

"Tell me about the trip to Glasgow. You had deliveries there? Or were you only bringing some barrels back?"

Tam looked up, his forehead wrinkled. "That was an odd thing. Usually we would have had a full load to take there or otherwise there is nae profit, but he was in a hurry to go, so we had only a crate of leather to deliver."

"Anything happen on the way?" When Tam shook his head in denial, Law asked, "Where did you bide? Is it somewhere you have before?"

"Aye, at the Broun foundry. You ken our trips are nae often to Glasgow because ships dinnae land there, but when they are, we bide there. Da has an agreement to pay them once a quarter. They have room for our cart and a shed we can overnight in. He has…" His lips trembled, and he rubbed roughly at his eyes. "Usually he took me with him to call on our customers, but that day he said it was nae worth my time with only one crate. He said I could have the morning to look about the town, and he and Syme made the delivery and picked up the barrels and sacks of wool we were to bring back."

"How many was that?"

"There was a barrel of dishes for the song school. I suppose the lads there break a great many. Some sacks of wool for David Mason, and a barrel of wine for Maister Reidheid that had come to Glasgow through Dumbarton."

Law rubbed his forehead, still aching from yesterday's beating. "The wine and the dishes were from a ship from France? Or the Lowlands?"

"I'm nae sure, but the Lowlands I expect. You ken that nae many ships slip past the English from France, and of course the water at Glasgow is too shallow for them to dock there. But there are always fish, especially cod, so we brought back a barrel.”

"Do you know who brought the shipment from Dumbarton? Or if he called on anyone else?"

Tam shook his head. "You'll have to ask Syme. I had nae reason to ask that. We left at first daylight the next morn."

"Where did you go next?"

"We overnighted at Stirling, and Da was in a hurry to get back, so we left before prime had even rung and came straight home. But then he went out again without even unloading the wagon." Tam's Adam's apple bobbed as he made a strangled sound in his throat. "And that was the last we saw him alive."

"Where did you bide in Stirling?"

"There's a cooper there by the name of Maister Strachan. Like the foundry in Glasgow, my da had an agreement to stay there, and they totaled up the sum at the end of the quarter."

Marioun peeked in from the doorway. "Should I bring you refreshments, Tam?" She blinked rapidly, and her cheeks reddened. "I mean, Maister Blacader."

"It's all right, Marioun." He cast Law a questioning glance.

"She has much to do for the wake, so let's nae take her time. Is Syme fit to speak with me? How is his injury?"