J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

"I was wondering how you would go about finding one man when you dinnae even ken his name."

"After asking around at the tavern where Blacader met him, to tell you the truth, I have no idea. I am just hoping that we find some hint of where to look when we talk to people there. And for that matter, he may have nothing to do with the matter, so I want to talk to people at the inn where they stayed. And even the yard they stopped for the night at Stirling. But somewhere, someone must have seen something to point me in the right direction."

Cormac raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure of that?"

Law snorted a wry laugh. "I am hoping it, any road."

When the horses were rested, they mounted and headed for Stirling. The road was busy in spite of the ankle-deep mud from the spring rains-mostly farmers and freeholders about their daily business, for it was not market day in Stirling or Perth. The villages they rode through were busy, but people still looked at them warily. The king had promised them peace, but no one had any confidence in it yet. And it was a pleasant ride in spite of the suspicious looks and men clutching their pitchforks as they passed. The burgeoning heather and gorse were alive with bird song, newly foaled lambs gamboled in the pastures, and a spring-scented wind ruffled the ripples of the shallow streams they crossed on their way.

The sun was still a hand span above the western horizon when they reached Stirling town. The enormous gray castle sat like a surly giant on the top of the high gray crag above the town, and the king's lion banner fluttered above its ramparts. He found an inn where they could stable the horses, then went in search of the cooper Strachan.

The first man Law asked pointed them down a vennel toward what was apparently a well-known cooper's yard. When Law opened the gate, he could see a wide cobbled yard. On one side was a solid stone house backed with a kailyard and orchard. Finished barrels were stacked high along the opposite fence, and half a dozen men were shaving slats of woods while two younger ones shoveled up the shavings. There were a couple of closed sheds and a large barn, so Law could see there would be ample room for Blacader to overnight there with his men and wagon, although much of the room was taken up with stacks of wood yet to be worked. A cart stacked high with lashed-down barrels was being turned to leave.

"Where might I find Maister Strachan?" Law asked one of the men.

He thrust his chin toward the house. "He does nae deliver the barrels, if that is what you are wanting."

"It's not." He turned toward the house as Cormac complained that his arse was sore and this could have waited until the morn.

"If we finish this tonight, we can be off for Glasgow first thing by prime."

Cormac groaned as Law knocked on the door. It was opened so quickly that the man who answered must have seen them approaching. The tall man with a thick black beard wore leggings and a good leather jerkin. "What can I do for you, maisters?" he asked although he looked askance at Cormac.

"It is a serious matter that might best be discussed-" Law looked over his shoulder at the bustling yard. "-out of people's hearing, if you dinnae mind."

"And just who might you be?"

"Sir Law Kintour of Perth."

The man's beard seemed to bristle as he stuck out his chin, but after looking Law over, he invited them in with a motion and closed the door behind them. "Now what is this serious business?"

"Ill news, I'm afraid, and bad business. Maister Blacader, you ken who I mean, aye?"

"Aye."

"He was murdered in Perth the same night he left here."

Strachan stared at him for a moment. "You're sure it was murder?"

"His throat was slit, so there was no doubt of it. What they dinnae ken is who did it, and the lord sheriff tasked me with looking into the matter. I'll find the culprit if I can."

Strachan was shaking his head slowly. "But it must have been a thief."

Law sighed. "Since nothing seemed to have been stolen, not even his siller, it would seem not. So I am tracking his steps from that last day. I think mayhap someone was following him, looking for something he had."

Strachan invited them to seat themselves by the fire. His wife, a tall handsome woman modestly dressed, brought them ale, and then her husband told her to leave them to talk. "I'd nae have her hear this from a stranger. Mind, he was only an acquaintance, but still… It is oversetting."

Law and Cormac accepted a cup of ale, and Law said, "He bided here often then?"

"Aye, when he had to overnight in Stirling. We'd had an agreement for five or six years, and he always paid promptly. And he kept a firm eye on his men, so there was only two or three times they stumbled in drunk."

"So he bided here on his way to Glasgow and then when he was on his way home."

"Aye."

Cormac leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Do you have any watch in the yard of a night? Or a dog loose?"

"Aye, I loose the hound at night." His mouth twitched. "He'd nae kill anything fiercer than a rabbit, but he'd bay his head off if anyone tried to enter the yard."

Law nodded and continued, "Did anything happen out of the ordinary? Anything you noted at all? Someone around that you couldn't explain?"

"The only thing was Maister Blacader leaving so early in the morn. He even made them take the bread for breaking their fast to eat on the way. He'd never done that before, but I did nae think anything of it."

Law stood and nodded civilly to the cooper. "I thank you for the answers. And thank your goodwife for the excellent ale."

Strachan smiled. "It is her sister's brewing." He showed them out, and they strolled wearily to the inn. It had been a long day with nothing learned.

The road from Stirling to Glasgow was well made, and it was busy enough that the two of them often had to wind their way past carts of goods and laborers carrying bundles of tools to the fields. They clattered through villages, hens running squawking out of their way while dogs barked after them.

Law turned east at the Mercat Cross. A short way ahead, a board with a painting of a man with a halo holding a sword swung from an ale-stake: the Saint Julian Inn. The patron saint of innkeepers had a look of open-mouthed idiocy, but the inn was large, prosperous, and conveniently located near the fishing piers of Glasgow. The inn's blue painted timbers and whitewashed plaster made a cheerful appearance after the thirty-mile ride from Stirling to Glasgow. They had started after the ringing of prime when daylight lit the sky. Now it was sunset as they climbed from the saddles and tossed the reins to a stable lad. A tradesman in a leather apron stood at the counter waiting for a mug of ale to carry away with him, and behind him an apprentice squirmed impatiently.

Law ducked to go through the low door. Inside the long, low-ceilinged room was a wooden worktop on one side; behind that, barrels of ale and wine; and opposite that, trestle tables and benches. At the far end of the room was a wide stone fireplace. Supper was being served, so a dozen or so travelers were eating at the tables-but no locals, who had no doubt gone home for the light evening meal.

The pudgy, round-faced innkeeper raised his eyebrows when Law said they would have a private room. Law winced at the cost, but he would not risk his armor and weapons in a cheaper common room. At least, judging by the innkeeper's girth, the food would be good.

A grumbling of his stomach reminded Law that they had not eaten since a bit of cheese and bread halfway from Stirling. It was fish day, so the smiling serving girl carried over a tray of herring. Her eyes flashed a bold smile at Law. "And some pickled onions." She laid the ale jug, fresh-smelling bread, the pot of herring, and a smaller pot of onions before them. It cost more than Law liked to spend, but after two days in the saddle, he decided, they deserved it.