J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

But the late morning sun had warmed the air. The sky was so blue it made his chest ache, and green buds decorated the trees. Reidheid imported good claret, so he shook off his doldrums as he walked. Yes, he would treat himself to a good cup of wine, a luxury he could not often afford.

It was one of the larger inns in Perth where nobles of the king’s court often stayed when King James took his leisure in the royal guest house at Blackfriars Abbey. There was not room at the abbey for even half of the king’s following, especially if there was a parliament. But for those rich guests at the inn, you could count on good fare-at least if you paid for it.

The yard of the inn was cobbled, and on one side was a good-sized stable. On the other stood the large stone inn, smoke rising from three chimneys, a solid and comfortable establishment. When Law entered, he spotted the middle-aged hostel keeper, round of face and tidily dressed beneath a clean apron, and signaled the man.

“Sir Law,” Maister Reidheid exclaimed. “I have nae seen you in a while.”

Law took a seat at a small table in the corner. “Much as I enjoy your claret, I'm nae rich noble.” He grinned. “But I’ll treat myself today. And join me for a cup if you will.”

When Maister Reidheid returned with a flagon and two cups, Law put a merk on the table. The man raised an eyebrow in query.

“I’m seeking Maister Blacader, the carter. Did you see him last evening?”

Reidheid too a seat and leaned back with an amused look on his face. “One of his lads, Andy, was here this morning asking after him, though I’d swear on Saint Andrew’s dog’s toe bone that he kent Blacader had nae been here. Och, he did drop by now and again to talk with me about the goods he delivered, but no one who kent him would believe he was a regular customer.”

Law twitched a smile. “Not even his wife?”

The innkeeper snorted. “Mayhap his wife, though I’ve heard she is a sharp one, not easy to fool. But who kens what a wife or a husband might believe. Any road, he was nae here yesterday nor since I ordered him to pick up some wine from Glasgow.”

Law took a sip of the claret and licked his lips, not wanting to miss a drop of it. He raised the cup. “Braw wine, Maister Reidheid.” Law grinned. “You telt his lad that when he came asking this morning?”

“Pffft. I only said the man had nae been here last eve. That was all he asked, and I had nae reason to tell him more.” Reidheid smiled amiably and took a drink as Law considered what he had just heard.

“Do you ken if any of your other customers are particular friends of his?”

“I cannae say that I do. I’ve seen him speak to a few about his deliveries. He does nae do a great deal of local business. I use him because my da used his da, but…” Reidheid frowned thoughtfully. “He seems busy enow, but I am nae sure with what. He’s always delivered my orders on time, so it’s no porridge of mine.”

“But there were a few he talked business with?”

“Aye, that maister mason, Raymond Gaudin.”

Law recalled he had seen the French maison about town occasionally but he’d had no reason to be acquainted with him. “Anyone else you recall?”

His host chuckled wryly. “You’ll like this. I saw him talking with the lord sheriff a time or two. Probably a few others but those are all that come to mind.”

Law drained his wine cup and smacked his lips. “I swear I’ll be back again soon, Maister Reidheid. I have missed good wine since I’ve returned to Scotland.” He started to rise when there was a commotion at the door.

At the head of a knot of armed men stood Murdoch Stewart, the king's cousin and the Duke of Albany, his marten-lined cloak billowing about his long, thin body. Behind him were two young men who resembled him about the face. The first-a head taller than his father and burly with hands like hams-had to be Seamus Mor. The other, swaggering but much older-at least in his thirties-must be the older son, Walter Stewart, Master of Fife. All three were in velvet and silk beneath their cloaks. Then four men-at-arms trooped in, wearing surcoats with the Albany colors over their armor.

Maister Reidheid leapt to his feet and bowed to the newcomers. He scurried to them, saying, "Welcome. Most welcome, my lords." He turned to one of the servants and shouted, "Put our largest table before the hearth for the duke!"

Seamus looked around the inn with a sneer. "Do you have anything here fit to drink?"

The whole room was abustle as four customers had jumped up from their places at a trestle table and the servants were dragging it into a place of honor before the fire. Two of the serving girls were moving chairs for the duke, eyes darting nervously.

"Sir, I have the best wine you'll find in all Perth. Will claret suit my lords? Or I have braw malmsey as well."

Law leaned back in his chair. He couldn't help having a flash of curiosity about what would bring Albany to Perth. But perhaps-considering that Albany thought that he should be king, or so it was said, and the king hated him with a passion-when the king was not in the burgh was when they would come.

The Duke of Albany smiled. His sharp pointed nose and thin, striding legs made Law think of a curlew running down a sandy beach. He looked smug and self-satisfied as he swept to take the chair closest to the hearth. Law remembered well the duke's elder brother having much the same look when they were in France. Much good that self-satisfied look had done him in battle when the English hacked him down with their pikes.

Law sat still. It was never wise for the powerless to draw the attention of the powerful. And the reason the king hated Murdoch-or one reason-was that Murdoch was even more powerful than the king.

"Claret," Seamus said, and thumped himself into a chair that groaned under his heft.

"Hurry!" Reidheid yelled and slapped one of the servants on the back of the head who was not scurrying fast enough.

"It is a waste of time remaining here," Seamus said to his father as he took a seat.

"Ah, indeed." The duke folded his claw-like hands, which were decorated with several heavy gold rings, and looked from one son to another. "You may tell me of your progress later."

"'Tis a sorry state," Seamus continued as though his father hadn't spoken. "We would be ready if Walter-"

"Shut up," Walter Stewart snarled at his younger brother.

"Shut up," the duke said. "I did nae tell you to blather our business before the world." He snatched the cup of wine that Reidheid was extending to him, giving his sons a glare that made his prominent eyes bulge.

Law pondered the depths of his empty cup as the duke's men were handed cups of the claret. They were oddly dour-faced and angry. Once they were busy drinking, Law rose and quietly slipped to the door.

Whatever the earl's sons were incensed about, what interested Law was that Blacader had lied about where he spent a few hours every evening that he was in town. He pulled a face at the thought of trying to question the lord sheriff about his dealings with the man. Besides, it seemed unlikely the sheriff would know where the carter actually spent his time, so he would put the sheriff and Gaudin off until later.

First, he would ask in some obvious places even though it meant more tramping through the town than he wanted to do. There were not many inns in Perth besides Reidheid's, although some of the alewives and taverns rented their spare space as Wulle Cullen did him. He thought of trying Horseman's Inn near the South Port, but that was where much of the king's court stayed when he was in Perth. No, taverns were more likely; the inn was too rich a place for a merchant. He'd try Blindman’s Tavern first. There also was the little tavern that was really more of a whorehouse, not far from Cullen's tavern.