J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

The hall was abuzz with low morning chatter. There were fifteen or so people seated at the trestle tables, hurriedly eating the bannocks and cheese that Mall and Anny bustled to set before them, while Wulle filled mugs with ale. Soon the place would empty as the guests made their way to the day's work. Most, like Law, were regulars who ran a chit that they settled every month, for coin was always in short supply. Law was in no mood for morning chatter so he nodded to Wulle to note on his chit and scooped up a piece of a bannock and a thin wedge of cheese. He walked out the door into the usual morning hubbub. Two journeymen in worn leather aprons were waiting at the window to buy mugs of ale. The goodwife next door was sweeping her stoop, and a boy was staggering past on the vennel under a load of faggots.

Law blew out a breath. It was no good letting the fine weather go to waste, so he started for port. The night's rain had left deep puddles, so he trudged along the edge of the cobbled street to keep out of the deepest of it. As he approached the North Port, a cart clattered through, splashing water in every direction. The beggar Gilleasp was drenched. " Contrachd ort !" he shouted, shaking his fist.

Water dripped down his face and dribbled from his beard.

"At least you have no need for a bath this season," Law told him. That earned Law a gob of spit at his feet. Law tilted his head and considered the little man. His sharp eyes did not seem to miss much. "I'm looking for a tall man who carries an ax at his belt instead of a sword. And I'll pay if you can direct me to him."

Gilleasp shook the water off, flapping his hands. Then he scowled up at Law. "An ax? You mean a battle-ax?"

"Aye. That I do."

The dwarf slowly shook his head. "I cannae say that I have. But for a groat, I can keep an eye out for someone like that."

"You think that I'm a rich lord to throw my siller about?" Law returned the glare in kind. "I'll pay if you have news and nae before."

The guard was smirking at the exchange as Law stomped in disgust through the gate and turned onto New Row Road. The road was mire from the spring rain as well as passing carts and other traffic. It sucked at his boots with a smacking sound as he slogged through it past the women preparing to begin their waulking, the smith at his forge, and the runrigs with fields covered with green sprigs of new growth.

The trestle table in the hard-packed yard stood empty, and one of the shutters was hanging askew. Law put his hand on the door to push it open, but a gruff voice behind him said, "What are you about?"

Law turned to see the smith, a heavy hammer in his hand, glowering at him. "You're the first finder?"

"Aye. What is it to you?"

Law propped his shoulder on the doorjamb and crossed his arms. "The lord sheriff tasked me with finding out who killed Blacader, and I think it had to do with what was done to Una."

Iain Smith was almost as tall as Law but had huge arms and shoulders from working the forge. His face crunched up at the mention of the dead woman. "It was an evil thing he did to her. And she was a good woman." He shrugged. "Mayhap nae the way a priest says to be good, but fair in her dealings and never harmed no one."

"Aye. No woman deserves what the sergeant said was done to her." He paused because he suspected the smith wouldn't like saying something ill about the dead. "She seemed fair enow and made a braw ale…though I thought she did nae want to admit she kent Blacader better than his wife would have liked."

The smith looked around uneasily. "That's the worst of it and she dying unshriven." He gave a heavy sigh. "She was a good neighbor, a widow, you see, and if she sometimes was friendly with a customer, well, it was no business of mine."

"And when you saw him fleeing, you could tell no more than he was a large man?"

"It was early. There was mist, and the light was nae good. He was big." The smith looked Law up and down. "About your size, though I think a mite wider through the shoulders. That was all I could tell."

"What about his hair? Dark? Light?"

"Dark. It was flying about as he ran. And I raised the hue and cry, but I heard hoofbeats, and when we reached the trees he was gone."

"I'm going to look about. I dinnae expect to find anything, but…" Law shook his head. "I shall find the man if there is any way on earth that I can."

Iain Smith transferred the heavy hammer to his left hand and held out his right. His palm was horny from hard labor when Law clasped it. He gave Law a respectful half-bow, turned, and strode back to his smith's forge down the road.

Inside every table was turned over, the benches smashed. Even the barrel had been smashed open, and the room stank of the soured ale that covered the floor. Law kicked a few shards of wood out of the way as he paced around the room. Standing ajar was a narrow door to the small chamber where Una had slept. The straw from the mattress was dumped out onto the floor, and there was a small pile of shredded cloth. Law knelt and poked at what had once been Una's clothing. He sucked a breath through his teeth.

Whether he found the letter or not, he had to stop this. Who knew who might be killed next. He thought of Blacader's family, who had already been attacked once. He had to come up with some plan, and then he'd think further on where Blacader might have hidden the damned letter, if it even still existed.

He rose and went through the tavern and circled into the backyard. The destruction extended even there. A barrel of barley had been dumped out and the chicken coop knocked over.

Law rubbed the back of his neck as he turned in a slow circle. He had no way of finding the murderer, but the murderer seemed ready to find him. That might be the solution to one part of the problem. Who was the biggest gossip in Perth? He would need word to spread and the faster, the better.

He waved to the blacksmith as he strode past but stopped at the barn where once more some dozen women were giving bundles of cloth thumps into stinking urine to bleach them. They ceased the waulking song when he reached them. The granny who led the song frowned at him. "Murder of a woman alone, harming no one. Who will be next?" The others murmured in agreement.

He shook his head. "The man was seeking something she had hidden. I found it so anyone else should be safe."

"Seeking? What would she have except a little siller, and little enow of that?" another woman demanded.

"Not siller, but it's best not to ask about something that gets someone murdered. But I have it now, so you need nae worry."

The granny's faded blue eyes gave him an assessing look, wiser than he expected. "Aye, and what will you do with this secret?"

"I have nae decided that. I'll hold onto it and see if I can make myself some profit."

The old woman twisted her mouth in a wry smile. "I dinnae suppose you'd want that news noised about."

Law shrugged a shoulder. "If no one kens that I have it, how will I find a buyer?" He winked and sauntered toward the North Port. The dwarf beggar rattled his cup as Law passed, but not many people would stop with him to gossip, so Law walked along High Street. A little way over, he stopped at a shop that sold buns through the window to passersby. The warm scent of dried fruit and baking wafted out, and the shopkeeper called, "Try my fine buns with almonds and currents! You've never tasted better."

His stomach grumbled. All the walking had worked up an appetite, so he dug in his scrip for a half-penny and bought one of the buns. He took a bite of the warm pastry and hummed his pleasure, but he made steadily for one place he was sure he could find people to spread gossip for him.

It was a busy day with people taking advantage of the spring sunshine, in spite of the wind still having a sharp bite. Shopkeepers were shouting the quality of their wares. Goodwives followed by servants carrying baskets bustled toward the market square. A troop of mounted men clattered past toward the port, the rearing lion of the king gleaming on their cloaks, and for a moment Law watched after them. It was odd that the king's men were in Perth when the king wasn't. He turned off High Street and wended his way to Mill Street and the narrow vennel where Cormac lived.