J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Sir William’s mouth was drawn into a tight line with anger. “Why didn’t you tell this story at the assize?”

Law wiped his mouth, stalling for time as his mind raced. He had no reason to protect Wrycht, but knowing more than the sheriff might later give him an edge. “I was hired to keep my mouth shut, so I did. But then I started looking for this Lord Blinsele and if there is anyone by that name in Perth I cannae tell it.”

“And the other body is…?”

“I think it was de Carnea but since I ne’er saw him in life, there is no way I can be certain.”

Sir William’s lips were white from being pressed together so hard, and he glared at Law. “And did this…this supposed lord give you a reason for seeking the man?”

“Lies. I was sure of that from the start.” Law brushed his fingers over his throbbing jaw. “The whole thing was a pack of lies, but he was well enow dressed and had money to pay, so I ignored my suspicions.”

“And what was this lie that he telt you?” the lord sheriff barked.

“As I said, not one I believed. He said the man had absconded with his wife. No lord would have brought a stranger into such a privy matter. I kent that. He was searching for something valuable. That I am sure of.”

“This whole story sounds a tarradiddle to me. But I’ll give you a chance.” Sir William leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Law. “I’ll give you two days to bring me a good reason not to hang you. If you don’t, I shall have no problem finding an assize to find you guilty to please me-as I mean to please the king. I shall have a hanging and care little who dangles from the rope.”

Law stood, still lightly fingering his jaw. “Oh, I shall find you someone to hang. You have my word on it.” He caught Cormac’s gaze and nodded towards the door.

The minstrel hurried out and Law closed the door behind them.

“Are you all right?”

“Aye.” Cormac clutched his hands and looked down at them. “I meant well coming with you, but I made it worse.”

Prodding him with a hand in the middle of the back, Law said, “I shouldn’t have allowed it. He was bound to see me as an easy target to blame. But dinnae worry. One of these liars is the killer, and I’ll yet ken which.”

Obviously Sir William wasn’t going to let the matter go although Law wondered if the king would really put that much pressure about the murder of two unknown men. Most kings or lords wouldn’t. But then King James had spent years in a dungeon himself, locked up by the English, and had been home only a year from his captivity. Apparently he had something to prove or thought that he did. The strange story about King James imprisoning a lord who’d abused an old woman, though the tale was hard to believe, might be true. The sheriff seemed convinced.

The next morning, Law took his time dressing. He prodded the bruise, but it was only a little swollen and tender. It was not much noticeable, mostly hidden by his short beard. Doubtful anyone would even notice it. He buckled on his sword belt but also dug his dirk out of his kist. Downstairs, he motioned to Cormac to join him. The minstrel raised an eyebrow in evident surprise but followed along. Law would have preferred not to involve him further but needed help with his plan. It shouldn’t put the minstrel at any risk-he hoped.

Rain pelted down in heavy sheets. Law pulled up his hood and strode up the rain-slick street, grateful when the Reidheid Hostelry appeared through the curtain of water. In the heavy weather, the hostelry only had a few customers who huddled over their mugs. Law shook a shower of droplets out of his cloak and scanned the room until he spotted the innkeeper talking with one of the servers. “Wait here,” he whispered to Cormac before he walked over and said, “A word, Innkeeper.”

The man turned, looking startled. “Certes, good sir. How may I help you?”

“I was wondering if my friend Maister Wrycht is still lodging here.”

The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “Since he is a friend then I think you would ken if he bides here.”

Law slipped his fingers into his purse and palmed a merk, making sure the innkeeper saw it. “Mayhap he is not that good a friend, but I would know if he still lodges here.”

The man drew his face into an indignant scowl, glancing around at the watching customers. “I dinnae gossip about my guests. I’d soon have none if that was how I ran my business.”

“I am sure you do not.” He twitched a faint smile. “But I would have a word with you more privily if I may. Though I ken you will not gossip.”

He reached into his purse for another coin. The innkeeper eyed his hand for a moment.

“Not in here,” he said and turned to lead Law through a door opposite the entrance.

A round, gray-haired woman stood stirring a huge kettle that hung over the fire. The scent of mutton, onion, and thyme arose in the thick steam. Two boys chatted in loud voices as they stood over a washtub, clattering iron pans against it as they scrubbed. A girl stood at a long, scarred oak table chopping a pile of leeks with a large knife.

The innkeeper pulled him with a grip on his arm to the side so they could not be seen through the doorway. He leaned close so Law could hear over the hubbub. “Yesterday, he specifically paid for his comings and goings to be private and said someone might inquire, but I saw he talked wi’ you so I don’t mind telling.”

Nodding, Law slipped the man the two merks.

The host slipped them under his apron. “His rent is paid for three more days but he was nae here last night and I’ve nae seen him the day.”

“But his belongings are still here?”

Shrugging, the innkeeper said, “I think I would have seen him carry out his kist, but I cannae say that I’m sure.”

Law patted the man’s shoulder. “Just to be sure, I’ll go up and clap on his door. Busy as you are, you could have missed his return.”

The innkeeper clutched Law’s arm. “There’s no need to tell him we spoke aught about it.”

Law loosened the man’s hand and went to find Cormac. “You saw him when he came to my room. If he comes through the door, give a whistle. And keep a sharp eye for him.” He looked around the inn to be sure no one was paying them any heed, then led the way up the stairs, motioning for Cormac to stay at the top to keep watch.

He pressed his ear to the door. It was silent within. A knock drew no response. He waited a moment and knelt. He’d never stayed at an inn with a good lock, and many poor ones had no lock at all. He had however opened one on a certain drunken night in Touraine when he’d lost his key. He took out his dirk and slid the narrow point between the door and the jamb. It took a few fumbling moments until he pushed the point behind the bolt and carefully forced it back into the lock. It gave a soft click. He huffed in relief as he stood and shoved the dirk back into this belt.

He didn’t expect Wrycht had this mysterious cross and certainly not a bloody dagger proving he was a murderer. But he might have something to show what they were really up to. Of course, he might have it on him, but eliminating the easier possibilities first seemed a good plan.

A wooden kist rested at the foot of a four-poster bed with threadbare drapes pulled back. A brazier sat cold in the middle of the room. A quick glance showed, as he expected, nothing to be seen on the bed. An empty flagon sat on the windowsill that served as a sort of table. He wanted to groan at dealing with another lock and wondered if he should have trained as a thief instead of a knight. The same method dealt with the lock on the kist as it had the door although it left scratches around on the lock. That couldn’t be helped.

When he threw back the lid, a waft of pennyroyal and camphor from a sachet on top hit his face. The black houppelande the man had worn that day in Law’s room was carefully folded on top. He set that aside along with a set of rough workman’s clothes and a sturdy blue woolen gown such as any merchant might wear. Law shook his head at proof of one thing. Wrycht was a swindler. With the kist empty and a pile of clothes on the floor beside him, Law worked his fingers around the cloth that covered the inside until he found a loose edge. He slipped his fingers under to find the crinkle of a piece of parchment.