J. Tomlin - The Intelligencer

"And you expect her to pay you now with her husband dead?"

Law couldn't stop a bitter laugh. "Nae. Though I suppose I may hope."

"Then begone. But the next time you cause trouble, you'll see the inside of the dungeon. You've brought too much trouble to the burgh already."

When Law left the tolhouse, he was facing across the River Tay. Past the stone bridge on the east side of the river, the tangled masts and spars of sea-going ships jostled for anchor room at the quays. There must have been fifteen or twenty ships moored even so early in the sailing season. One tall-masted ship was just lifting its sails, setting out toward the Firth of Tay and the open sea. Would it be making for France and the fighting that still raged there? No, more likely it make for the peaceful Low Country where there was trade to be had.

On the west side of the river, crowded fishing boats were unloading their catch to be carried to the fish market. Against the brilliant sky, hordes of voracious gulls drove toward the boats, their wings catching the sunlight with a steely shimmer, and while soaring across the sun were turned into lances, reddened with the sunlight as if dripping blood. Law refused to believe in omens.

He turned toward onto Watergate Street. As he passed Saint John's Kirk, a boy who was obviously supposed to be at his studies darted along the high wall of the church gardens and through the song school gate. Brother Nevan, the porter, opened the door and then gave him a clout on the ear as he entered.

Law strode resolutely toward Watergate Port, debating whether he should even bother to ask for payment from the widow. It went against his teachings to do so. Then he huffed. Those teachings had never kept the widows and orphans that knights were supposed to protect from starving when those knights burnt their fields and homes. He was still trying to decide what he should do when he came to the latticework gate into Blacader’s yard and heard someone shrieking.

"Murder! Holy Mary, Mother of God, murder!" a woman cried from inside the yard.

For a brief second, Law actually considered leaving. He had had more than enough death and grief in his life for a dozen men. He loathed the prospect of another dead body and of explaining that it was not himself being a troublemaker to the lord sheriff. Then he flushed with shame at his momentary cowardice and pushed the gate open.

The door of the house within the confines of the yard flew open, and young Tam Blacader scrambled out of the house, stumbling on the doorstep in his haste. His mother threw the shutters of the window open and stood there, clutching the sill, babbling, "Murder. Someone has done murder."

Law lengthened his stride. "What has happened?"

"Damn them," Tam yelled, almost dancing in his distress. "Someone broke into the house while we were at the inquest, and they've kilt old Syme. He's lying with his head all bloody in yon. Dead!"

Law noticed Andy peeking out from the barn at the end of the yard, afraid to come out. He could hardly blame him.

"Who kilt him?"

The youth stared at him, wide-eyed. "I dinnae ken who, but someone."

"Holy St Andrew, help us," moaned the widow. "I have to see if they robbed us. We will be ruined."

"Widow Blacader!" Law called. "May I come in? Who is it who was kilt?"

She clutched her hands to her breast and said to her son, "Tam, bring Sir Law in. He must take care of this for us."

By that time, Andy had come out of the barn and had apparently decided it was safe to join them. When Tam motioned for Law to go inside, the man followed them, curiosity overcoming any remaining alarm, but Tam threw his arm up and barred the way. He shut the door behind himself and Law.

At the far side of the hall before a wide fireplace, a man rolled onto his back and moaned. Widow Blacader gasped and smacked her hand on her chest so hard, Law heard the thump. "Och, he is nae dead!" she exclaimed.

Law bit his lip to keep from laughing, but housebreaking and assault was no laughing matter. He went to crouch next to Syme and examined the gash on his head that had the man's ear dangling by a thread of skin. "From the looks of this, he's lucky to be alive." He looked at the two of them standing there like lumps. "Bring some cloth to stanch the bleeding." He looked around the hall, well-appointed with a cushioned chair next to the hearth, a smaller one on the opposite side, a long polished table with a pewter candle stand, and several stools. The rushes were thin underfoot, but fresh and sweetened with heather.

The maid, whom Law hadn't noticed, pressed into the corner as though she could hide there, moaning, "Christ save us."

"Marioun, stop your moaning!" Widow Blacader told the maid. "Go fetch clean cloths. I must look to see what was stolen."

The hall took up most of the ground floor, and there would be a pantry and buttery behind. Sleeping chambers would be up the stairs. Widow Blacader hurried up the stairs to the rear chamber followed by her son. As Law waited for Tam to return, Syme was still moaning, but he opened his glazed eyes and tried to look around.

Law put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Be still until we have you bandaged."

Above his head, the widow gave a scream of distress. Law jumped to his feet, cursing that he hadn't searched the house for an intruder. "The devils," she screeched. "Look what they've done."

Marioun peeked in, her arms full of linen cloths.

"You try to stanch the bleeding," he told her as he turned to go up to the widow who was now screeching wordlessly. "I'll see what has happened." He ran up the stairs and into the rear chamber. Widow Blacader stood in the center of the chamber, which was barren except for a writing table with a large, heavy pricket candlestick on it, a cushioned chair, a stool, and a small kist beneath the shuttered window. She pointed to the kist. "How did the they open it? It was locked. The outlaws! I shall be ruined!"

Law kicked a bag that had spilled a few coins on top of papers dumped everywhere on the floor as though they'd been thrown about in a fury. "Whoever it was did nae take your money, or at least not all of it."

She gasped and dropped onto her knees and started gathering up the coins.

He went and crouched before the kist. The lock was still whole, with no sign of tampering. The dark iron had no scratches and was unbroken. "Did your husband generally carry the key with him?"

She pressed her hand to her mouth and nodded.

The devil take it, there was no choice but to send for Meldrum, and certainly the lord sheriff was going to blame Law for this, though how it was his fault was beyond his ken. He stood up with a sigh. "We had best leave this alone and send for the sergeant and for a barber to tend to Syme." He shook his head. "That ear will have to come off."

"I'll nae leave the money lying about for him or another to steal," she said indignantly. She continued stuffing the coins back into the leather bag.

"I dinnae suppose it matters, but Sergeant Meldrum will need to know that no money was stolen." He paused. "Or was it? Do you ken if it is all there?"

"I…I think it must be, but I cannae be sure." She picked up the last coin, used the drawstring to close the scrip, and clutched it to her breast. "I shall have to find someone to run the yard for me. They'd never listen to Tam." Her mouth gave a bitter twist.

The business would have a hard time until Tam was older, although it occurred to Law that she might think just a bit more about her husband, who wasn't even buried yet. Still, she was a widow, and he would try to remember his oaths. "Let us go down to the hall. I suppose you had best send Andy for the sergeant. Mayhap you should sit by the fire and have a cup of wine to calm you whilst we wait for him."

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "You think I'm a hard woman, nae grieving my man. But I have a family to care for, and they cannae eat grief."