J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

Andy set off out for the street and toward the Tower Port. They passed the merkat Cross where vendors were setting up their stalls. Carts trundled creakily past. Blind Con, begging in his usual place near the merkat cross, shouted for a coin as they passed. Law's companion trudged silently through all. Law nodded to the guards at the port but stopped when he heard the jangle of tack and thud of many horses' hooves. He walked to stand beneath the spreading branches of a hoary chestnut covered by clusters of green buds about to burst into bloom. The ground where he stood was scattered with sticky husks it had shed. He leaned against its trunk, and from there, he watched a river of polished steel, knights and men-at-arms-at least two hundred strong-streaming toward the port. Over their heads whipped a banner emblazoned with the red lion of Scotland combined with the blue checky device of the Albany Stewarts.

Law sucked a breath through his teeth. That had to be Murdoch Stewart, Duke of Albany, the king's most hated cousin. There was no parliament called to bring him to the king's favorite city, and the duke's Castle Doune was near enough that coming here was odd. But he shook away the thought. What did the machinations of dukes mean to him now as long as he and his friends were not caught up in them?

"Come," Andy called from before a lattice gate. “Herself is in the barn.”

Law heard raised voices as he stepped through the gate into a long open space. A timber-framed house stood to the right with a neat kailyard behind it, several wooden sheds to the left, and a large barnlike building at the far end. Next to the gate, tall racks sagged beneath the weight of heavy clay pottery. Crates and barrels were stacked hither and yon around the hard-packed yard.

Law crossed the yard into a barn filled with racks of barrels and crates. A gaunt woman, austere in appearance, stood holding a packet of papers. Deep creases ran from her nose to her chin, accentuating the length of her face. She wore a fine woolen gown, and her hair was hidden under an elaborately folded wimple.

“A barrel of dishes with a blue glaze,” she muttered to herself, turning a page. “That is what Gil must see to. Here, the three sacks of wool sent by David Mason. And a barrel of malmsey for James Reidheid with cost of the porter fee and boat hire to be paid.”

“Mistress,” Andy said, “here is that Sir Law that you sent me to bring.”

She turned to look Law up and down with cold gray eyes that seemed sharp and judgmental. “They say that for pay you help people with problems. So I’ve been telt.”

“Aye, if the problem is one I can help with.”

“You’d think you’d have a lord to work for if you’re a knight, but if you can help me, I’ll pay you.” The creases bracketing her mouth deepened. “But dinnae expect pay unless you do the job for me.”

“Fair enow. But what is this work you need me to do for you? I’ll tell you if I can do it.”

She sucked in a deep breath as though what she had to say took huge effort. “My husband, Neill Blacader, is gone. I need you to find him.”

Law frowned and thought about this odd request. A tradesman as prosperous as one with such a large yard did not usually just disappear. “Gone? Since when?”

Mistress Wrycht rolled up the papers in her hands, looking at them as though she wasn’t quite sure how they’d arrived there. “Since he returned from a trip to Glasgow yesterday near time for vespers to ring. He always goes out in the evening to Reidheid’s Inn for just one glass of ale and to talk to men he does business with. Every evening as the lads close up the barn. The walk and ale are for his health, he says, as though it is any such thing.”

“Mayhap he thinks it is.”

“Men are that foolish. But the wagon wasn’t even unloaded when he told the lads to close up the barn. He always supervises them and unloads as soon as he returns, so that was passing strange. He went into the house, saying he would change his clothes. After only a few minutes, he left. And usually he is gone for an hour or mayhap two when he leaves in the evening. But last night he never returned, nor this morning.”

“But surely you already searched for him?”

“I had the lads go to Reidheid’s Inn to see if he was still thon and search on the way to see if the man hurt himself on the way home. There was no sign!” She sounded more indignant than worried. “I dinnae ken what to do. Something must have happened to him. And now I must see to his business.”

“And you want me to find him.”

“Aye, find him. Or find out what befell him. If he lives…” Her lips were a thin line. “If he is dead, I must learn of it. And who is to run the cartage, if he is?”

Law hesitated, torn between his usual need for money and doubt he wanted to work for this woman. Law considered that the man might have fled a marriage he disliked. Fleeing a business that was thriving seemed unlikely, but it might not be as thriving as it appeared. And Neill Blacader might be drunk with a whore or simply be hiding from a sharp-tongued wife, intending to return after a fling, though the yet unloaded and undelivered goods… It was passing strange.

"Did he seem himself besides not having the cart unloaded? Say anything that would give a reason he'd stay away?"

The deep scores beside her mouth deepened as she frowned in thought. "For the past few weeks, I thought he had some worry, but he said nae he did not." She shrugged. "I dinnae kin if it has to do with why he has nae come home."

Glad to think of an excuse not to do the work she was asking, he said, "How can I look for someone I never met? I'd nae ken the man if we were standing nose to nose."

"I can fix that." She turned her head and yelled, "Tam, you come here."

The young man who trotted up was skinny, but his broad shoulders showed he would not always be. He had greasy auburn hair, and a sharp, hooked nose and long arms and legs under his sturdy homespun. Mistress Wrycht grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him toward Law. "He takes after his da, hook nose and all." She snorted. "Acts like him, too."

The youth glowered at her resentfully but made no protest.

Law made another try. "I doubt your man looks like a skinny youth."

"Och, he's full grown enow, but about the face, they look the same. He's near as tall as you and heavy around the shoulders. Not much of a belly in spite of the ale that he swills." She looked Law up and down. "If you have half a brain, you'll recognize him when you see him. But mayhap you have an empty head."

Tam sidled out of reach of his mother and said, "He would nae just go off. I am afeart something happened to him. But where could you look?"

Law stifled a sigh. “I'll try to find him for you then, but I make no promises. And I must be paid whether he be quick or be dead.”

Her lips got even thinner, which Law hadn’t thought possible. “Aye, if you find him, you will be paid.”

“He went of an evening to Reidheid’s Inn, you said.”

She sniffed. “I already sent the lads thon. I telt you so.”

“Aye, but it’s best I check myself. The innkeeper should ken who Blacader’s friends are. It’s a good place to start.”

He stomped out of the carter’s yard, already regretting having taken the job. It was a tedious prospect, tramping all over Perth. Even thinking about it made the twisted scars on his leg ache. Most likely by the time he was done, his feet and temper would be as sore as his leg. And what were the chances he would find Neill Blacader alive? Yes, his wife had said he would be paid either way, but from the look of her, she would begrudge every penny. And it would be beneath even a landless knight to pursue a debt from a widow. The devil take it. Why had he been so foolish as to say yes?