J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

Law chuckled and gave the beggar a last wave as he headed out the arched gate. The suburbs outside of Perth formed busy communities largely made up of craftsmen that required more room than could be found within the burgh proper and narrow runrigs where crops or goats and pigs were raised.

The sun was pleasantly bright. The trees were dressed in the soft green of early spring, and the road was dry. But the stench of the tanner's yard made his eyes water when he stopped to question a man stirring a steaming cauldron. A blacksmith sweating over his forge glared at his work being interrupted. They all shook their heads when he asked whether they had seen the carter. A goose girl in a fenced runrig smacked with her crook at the dozens of screeching fowl and shook her head when he asked whether she had seen his quarry.

In front of a large barn, a dozen women were seated at a long table, pounding lengths of cloth back and forth as they sang a waulking song. The woman leading the singing turned and watched him as he walked up the rutted road. Law called to her since she looked like she probably noticed anyone passing by. They continued their rhythmic back-and-forth pounding, but the square-faced grannie smiled, so he pushed the gate open and strolled over. The singing slowed and stopped.

The air was reeking with the stink of the urine they pounded the wool into in order to bleach it. His eyes watered, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. He described Blacader, and the woman shrugged. "Many a man passes by. And may look so. Why are you seeking him?"

"He's a reliable carter, not a man to just wander off, and he has nae returned home since last eve."

The women all laughed when a sharp-faced goodwife on the other side of the table retorted, "There's nae such thing as a man you can rely on."

Law grinned at her. "Mayhap you can rely on us being at the nearest tavern?"

That provoked a few chuckles.

The grannie waved farther up the street and said, "There is a tavern after the next runrig. You cannae miss it. No man hereabouts does." That caused a loud outburst of laughter. She lifted the bunch of wool in front of her and began their interrupted chant. Obviously, he was going to learn no more from them as the others responded.

He didn't see anyone in the raw field of the next runrig, which looked ready for planting, but beyond it rose the peaked. thatched roof of what must be the tavern. It would be easier to stop there first and was as likely as anywhere for Blacader to have headed.

He pushed through the gate into the hard-packed yard. There was a weathered trestle table where customers could drink on a fine day. The front door was open to a long, low room that made Law feel as though he should duck when he stepped inside.

Near the door, a barrel of ale stood behind a trestle. Two gaffers sat on stools, talking in loud voices. Beyond them a man bent over a bowl, eating at a small table. At the far end of the room, a peat fire glowed in a brazier, and a girl was stirring something in a cooking pot hung by a crane. Across the noise, one of the gaffers yelled, "Your tavern is coming up in the world, Una. Yon's gentry at the door."

As he looked around, a woman straightened from behind the trestle that protected the barrel of ale. She smiled at him and leaned over the counter, so that it pushed her breasts up high under her bodice.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked. He judged her to be only a few years older than himself. Her nose was big, and her mouth was wide. Beneath her wimple, a few strands of gray mixed in with the bright red hair. Round, blue eyes took him in with sharp appraisal. The combination was attractive, if not pretty. Her mouth twitched, and she shook her head. "You'll be wanting a drink then."

"Aye." He dropped a few farthings on the counter and nodded. "I've had a long walk."

"Just tapped today," Una said and filled a wooden tankard.

Law took a sip. It was indeed fresh with a strong barley flavor. "It's good."

"Some seem to like it." She gave him a speculative look. "You're nae from around here. I'd ken you if you were."

He nodded in the direction of the gate. "I live in the burgh. I'm trying to find someone that was seen in these parts, though, a man who's gone missing."

"Friend of yours, is he? Relative?"

"Trying to find him for his family. It's a man by the name of Neill Blacader."

The corners of Una's eyes and mouth twitched. It was so slight Law would have missed it if he hadn't been watching so closely. "I thought if he came this way, he'd stop for a drink of your ale." He motioned with the cup.

"Never heard the name afore."

"A man about my size. Brownish red hair and a hooked nose. It would have been two eves ago."

She shrugged. "That was a busy night, and a lot of men have hair with a mite of red in it. He might have been here. Might not." She forced a smile. "Do you want another cup of ale? If not, I have work to do. Don't have time to stand here blathering."

"I'll nae keep you then," Law said. He stood and sipped his ale. With a huff, she sashayed, hips swinging, out from behind the counter, grabbed a broom and began furiously sweeping the floor.

He swirled the dregs of his ale. He was certain that the name had meant something to her, though it was impossible to tell what. But there was nothing to gain by standing with an empty cup, so he put it down and strolled out to the yard. If nothing else, her reaction made him sure that Blacader had reached this far, so the question was, where did he go from here?

Not quite sure why, he wandered around to the back of the tavern where a boy was raking barley malt in a shed. Una must be an alewife as well as running a tavern. Behind the shed was the fenced field of another runrig where several goats were grazing. Beyond the fence and a stand of tall pines that marked the boundary with the runrig, he saw the ground was trampled, and the grass bent and broken. He put a hand on the top and vaulted over, biting back a yelp when he landed hard on his bad leg. Sometimes he forgot he couldn't move as well as he used to.

He squatted for a closer look and poked at the hoof prints in the bent grass. The horseshoes had scored the ground, and the grass was bent and broken but not yet browned or dried out. They had to be recent. This was an odd place for riders-three, it looked like, as he counted the prints. He stood and was looking around when the odor hit him, sickly sweet and pungent. It was a smell a man never forgot.

Pausing, he sniffed reluctantly to pick out the direction of the smell. There was little wind so it had to be near, and after a moment he nodded to himself. He strode to the pines and scanned the ground within their shade. It was thickly covered with a pad of brown needles. The smell was stronger, but there was no sign of a body, so he walked a little way into the shade beyond the first trees.

The man was sprawled on his back. In the shadows, he might have been sleeping, but no sleeping man had ever given off that sickening smell. Law had smelled worse in his days at war, though, so he knelt to see exactly what he had found.

The wife would have to identify the body, but he had little doubt it was the man he'd been seeking. The resemblance to Tam was as great as she had said: the same color hair and the same thin, hawkish nose. No need to look for a cause of death. The head lolled to the side, almost severed by a slash to the neck. The blood that had soaked into the pine carpet had already turned black. Flies crawled in it in a living mat. Next to the body lay a leather scrip with coins spilled onto the ground.

It had taken an immensely strong man to give such a blow.

Law blew out a breath. This was no longer his business. He had not been hired to discover who did the killing, but curiosity overcame his reluctance, and he lifted the arm. The wrist moved, but the shoulder was still locked in place, so Neill Blacader had been dead long enough for the rigor mortis to begin to pass-at least a day and a half most likely. The night was still chill and which slowed the process. So he had been dead the whole time they'd sought him.