J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

The shutters were thrown open, and the sound of several musical instruments and someone singing floated into the air. Law followed the sound up the stairs and knocked. The door was opened by a man with a flute under his arm and a mug in his hand.

"Cormac, here is your friend," he called over his shoulder.

"Och, let him in then," Cormac answered from somewhere in the chambers.

The man stood aside, and Law entered a room filled with several men and women in threadbare finery. Near the window, two men with lutes were arguing over the fingering of a piece they had been playing. Beyond a man with a vielle was tuning his instrument, and three singers were bent and tutting over a piece of paper.

"Law, what are you doing here?" Cormac said as he made his way through the crowd. Today he was wearing his second-best doublet: green and orange wool and orange sleeves tied with bunches of blue ribbons. Law suppressed a smile. It wasn't in a minstrel's interest to be easily overlooked.

Law made his way past the lutenists, drummer, and a female singer who launched into a vigorous " Quand Je Bois du Vin Clairet ."

"There was another murder. Had you heard?" Law asked. "And I have a favor that these others may be willing to do."

"Aye, the murder…" Cormac shuddered a little. The man who had admitted Law put a cup of wine into Law's hand. "If you want a favor, ask it."

Law hesitated, wondering how to explain. "It is the second murder."

"The third by my count." Cormac crossed himself. "What do you want us to do?"

The players and singer stopped their music to listen.

"I need it to be noised about that I found what the killer was seeking."

"What was it he was seeking?" one of the lutenists asked. He was wearing a red and blue doublet even brighter than Cormac's. "It must be valuable."

"A letter. And since it cost two lives…" Law frowned at Cormac. "…I think you dinnae want to ken more than that. But I have it, and I need the people who are seeking it to ken that no one else does. If there are any who can spread the word, I think it is the lot of you."

"We could do that," said the singer, a woman with golden curls and a full bosom above her worn velvet. She smiled. "People like to talk to me between songs."

The lutenist scowled at her. "Aye, and you like talking to them."

She cocked her head at him. "And what's wrong with that, Billy? They pay better for a smile than your frowns." She poked him lightly in the ribs. "I dinnae leave with any of them, you numpty." One of the men laughed.

The woman wrinkled her nose at Law. "But we can spread that news. The poor woman that was murdered never did me any harm. I saw her the day before she was killed and had a beaker of her ale." She crossed herself.

"Aye." Billy shook his head sadly. "We had just reached Perth from Edinburgh and were athirst. She brewed a braw ale."

"And now she's dead," the blonde woman said. "Will you find who killed her?"

The room was silent, and suddenly everyone was paying attention.

Law scratched his neck. "I just want whoever is seeking the letter to hear where it can be found." Cormac was looking at him with arms crossed and mouth pressed hard into a hard, disapproving line.

"But spreading that kind of story might cause someone to come after us," said the man with the vielle, gripping his instrument so tightly that his knuckles were white. "We're minstrels, nae fighters."

"Dinnae say that you have seen it or ken anything about it. You won't be at risk. Just let on that you heard that I have it. Tell anyone who will listen."

Cormac said through gritted teeth, "There's nae changing your mind about this, I suppose."

"No."

"We can spread the word easily enow. We're playing this eve at the Horseman Inn and can spread it about." The second lutenist turned abruptly to Billy. "I still say you had that note wrong. We need it to sound better before we play for an audience."

Several others said they were playing for nobles and vowed that everyone they spoke to would hear the gossip.

Clouds blew in from the west, and the day turned dreich beneath a steady drizzle. At the Reidheid Inn, a cup of hippocras-heated claret scented with cinnamon-took away the damp chill and eased the ache in his leg. Law tempted the innkeeper to join him in a cup and repeated his story of having found the letter Una's killer had been seeking. Law had never met an innkeeper who didn't collect gossip to share with his customers, so he was confident the word was being spread. Drawing his cloak close around him to hide his sword, he left. But he had to wonder how long it would take for the gossip to reach its object. Was he even in Perth? Perhaps he'd given up and left. And who had it been meant to reach? Cormac was right that Queen Joan was English. Her uncle Cardinal Henry de Beaufort was, Merciful Mother help us, the chancellor of England. If she was plotting with her English family, Law would make damned sure he was not the one to tell her royal husband.

Mall and Wulle would not be happy to be told he had something that might bring a killer into their tavern, but Wulle was the biggest gossip of even the tavern and innkeepers. As the bells rang for the hour of none prayers in the midafternoon, Law trudged home. He sank gratefully onto his favorite bench near the hearth and told Wulle to bring a flagon to share with him. After he lied that he had found the letter and refused to show it, Wulle said, "This is a glaikit plan." He leaned on his elbows close to Law. "You're trying to lure the killer to you. You think he won't see through it?"

"He may, but he's desperate to find the letter, so he'll take the chance."

Wulle wagged a finger in Law's face. "You had best nae lure him to my tavern!"

"I'm making sure that I'm seen about the town. He followed me from Glasgow to where there was no one to see and fled. I'll make sure to give him a chance to find me where no one else is in danger. Tomorrow, I'll hire a horse again and pretend that I'm riding for Stirling. I'll wager he'll follow me. But I need to be sure that everyone in Perth hears that I've found the letter."

"Including the lord sheriff? He'll nae be happy if you dinnae bring it to him."

Law huffed a laugh. "I'll deal with that when it happens."

"I still say it's a bad plan."

Law took a drink of the ale and looked at Wulle for a few moments. "It's the only plan I have." Then he stood and went back out into the drizzle. He'd have a few words with Blind Harry at Blindman's Tavern and then wait the night. Tomorrow he'd make sure he was seen leaving for Stirling, and on the way he expected his glaikit plan would work.

Law stood in front of the window of his room on the top floor of the tavern. The air was damp and cool and filled with the scent of the peat fires burning on hearths across the burgh. The drizzle made a sputtering sound on the thatch above his head. A dog howled in the darkness. The voices of a woman and a boy came from a neighbor's house, the woman scolding that it was time to go to bed and the child whining that he wanted to stay up a bit longer. The moon made a smudge of light through the overcast, and it was black night past his window.

He pulled the shutters closed against the night air except for a crack. After he hung his sword belt on its peg, he sat on the edge of his cot and toed off his boots. It was a night like any other except for worrying about what would happen when he tried to lure the killer out of Perth on the morrow. He stripped off his clothes, tossed them onto the stool, put his dirk on top of them, and lay down. He pulled the blanket up to his chin but was a long time staring into the dark before drifting to sleep.

Law's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure what sound had awakened him, but he knew he had heard something. After taking several quiet breaths, careful not to stir, he decided it must have been a dream. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again, and then there was a thud. Then there was a scrunching sound above his head. Sometimes animals crawled across the thatch, but that was too loud to be a rat. He glanced toward the window. A beam of moonlight was shining through the narrow crack. The rain must have let up during the night.