J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

"He's bandaged and woozy from strong ale to ease the pain, but he's in his right mind. I gave him permission to rest in his pallet for a few days." Tam looked doubtful. "You want me to bring him to answer your questions?"

"Mayhap I should go talk to him there, but I'll look at your father's office first. Is it still as it was?"

"Aye. We were so overset, none of us even thought of it although my mam hid the money under…" A hint of a grin curved his lips when he realized he'd almost let slip their hiding place. "She's like that."

Law stood, looking up the stairs. "It was a strange thing that someone would open his kist and nae steal the coins. Do you have any thought on what they might have been seeking?"

Even the hint of a smile faded as Tam shook his head no. "He kept dockets of deliveries and tallies. Why would anyone else care?"

"I had better look, and then we'll go speak to Syme."

The only sounds in the house were Marioun humming as she worked in the kitchen and the thump of their feet on the stairs. As Tam had said, the room was as they had left it the day before. The light from the one window was not bright enough to read by, so Law took the striker, flint, and steel in a tiny box with some tinder from the desk and lit the candle. He knelt and sifted through the wreckage of Neill Blacader's life, picking up the scattered parchments, searching for clues about the intruders.

What had been so special about a carter that led someone to murder him and ransack his papers? What was he involved in?

As he looked at the score or so of bills of lading and lists, he recalled a question he had meant to ask Tam when his mother was not about. He looked up at the young man standing in the doorway, his face wrinkled into a look of distress. "You kent where your father went of an evening, did you not? It was nae to Reidheid's Inn."

"Aye." He sighed. "He went to that tavern on the New Road. The woman there was…willing. You ken? There is nae reason for my ma to learn about it."

Law grunted. He had thought as much and wondered at Una's lie. Had she simply not wanted to admit to trysting with a married man, or was there more to it? Law had most of the papers in hand, for there were no more than a score of them, when what he picked up was not merely a bill of lading. It was a list of tasks to be done, but one that was written on the back of a short note:

If you show your loyalty, you will be rewarded. I will be in the copse behind the tavern you ken after nightfall to give you your orders. Keep your lips sealed and burn this. P

Even poor-quality parchment was costly, so apparently Blacader had reused it instead of burning it. Law stood. He put the docket of papers on the desk and read the note again. He folded it and put it in the breast of his doublet.

"What is that?" Tam exclaimed.

"I suspect has to do with what got your father murdered, so it is safer if you dinnae see it." He thoughtfully dropped his hand on the hilt of his dirk in his belt. He didn't usually wear a sword in the burgh, as that was against custom. But perhaps it was time to belt it back on before he went to the tavern.

Tam was looking at him with his eyes stretched wide. "I'm nae fighter. Whatever it was, I dinnae want to know."

"So…was your father ever a part of any dispute that you ken? Mayhap supporting a lord he owed allegiance?"

"Only that we've done cartage to Doune Castle for the duke, but we are nae Stewarts." He gave a wry shake of his head. "We're nae that important."

Law glanced around the room, lifted the lid to the kist to be sure nothing remained in it, and then said, "I had better talk to Syme. I need to hear what your father did when he was in Glasgow."

"Aye." In a daze, Tam led him out of the house and to one of the sheds. Inside there was a space in the back where the workers could lay out their straw-stuffed pallets at night and a couple of crude stools. Syme lay on a pallet covered with a blanket. He pushed himself up onto his elbows as they entered. His head was thickly bandaged, with a bloody spot over where his ear had been.

Tam cleared his throat. "Syme, Sir Law has some questions, and I want you to answer them."

Law pulled over one of the stools and sat down. He twitched a smile at the woozy-looking man. "You look a mite better than you did yesterday, any road."

Syme pulled a grimace and rubbed his face. "I expect a man can manage wi' just one ear. Won't keep me from lifting barrels into the cart or driving the horses."

Propping his elbows on his thighs, Law leaned forward and said, "I think something that Maister Blacader did whilst he was in Glasgow is what got him kilt, so I need to hear about it. You went with him when he was picking up the cartage, aye?"

"Aye. Usually Tam here went with him, but that day I did. We went to pick up the bags of wool first and then to the pierss for the barrels of wine and dishes that were waiting there. And we bought a barrel of fish from one of the fishing captains. But after that…" He frowned and licked his lips. Law noticed a cup of ale next to the pallet and handed it to him. Syme took a drink and went on. "He said we had time, and aye, it was early, so we stopped at a tavern near the Clyde, the Spilled Flagon he called it for the sign above the door. Odd to nae call it by the name of the tavern keeper, I thought. But we went in, and he paid for two cups of ale. He was usually nae so free with his groats, so even though it was a watery brew, I was nae going to complain."

"And?"

Syme shrugged. "He talked to someone for a few minutes. I thought mayhap it was about, well, it must have been about business. Though it was a fisherman, but what business would the maister have with a fisherman? I thought probably the man sent by a captain with a message, because he handed the maister a paper and left. Then the maister downed his drink as fast as could be, and we went back to meet Tam. The next morn, at first light, we were on the road for home."

"You're sure it was a fisherman?"

He frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I think so. Like most of that ilk, he was wearing baggy trousers and a rough coat with slits in the back." He squinted as he tried to remember. "And a knit cap."

"Did you hear him speak? Was he a Glaswegian, do you think?"

"They were standing close to each other, and with the talking and laughing in the tavern and so on, nae, I could nae hear what he said or how he sounded."

"Besides his clothes, what did he look like?"

"Blond haired, that I noticed. Not tanned as dark as most fishermen that I've seen, but he was young so mayhap he'd nae been at the fishing for long. Medium tall, about like the maister, but not as broad." He sighed, as though he'd used the last of his strength, and leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, but that's all I remember."

"Only one other question, Syme. Did you notice anyone following you or anything different from your usual trips?"

Syme managed a slight smile. "I think that is two. But my answer to both is nae. Not that I remember at all."

Law patted the man's shoulder and stood. "Thank you. You have been a help."

The man slid down on his pallet and pulled his coverlet up to the bandage around his head.

"I doubt there's much that Andy can tell me that I haven't heard, but I'd better ask."

Andy was sweeping in the large barn, which looked pretty well-swept already. He shook his head no. He'd noticed nothing. He'd seen no one follow them. The master had not said why he wasn't unloading the wagon. Law saw no indication that he wasn't telling the truth, so he didn't press him further.

Law walked with Tam to the gate and stopped with his hand on it. "Nothing else comes to you? Nothing your father said about the trip? Nothing to say he had some matter on his mind?"