J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

“Whisht.” The man grasped Law’s arm and pulled him into a corner. “I ken that he was murdered and dinnae need the sheriff poking about my business. But…” His shot his gaze back and forth to be sure no one was listening. “He stayed here two nights and ne’er returned.”

“Did he leave any belongings?”

The man scowled. “Are you accusing me of stealing?”

Law glanced quickly around for his follower, but the man wasn’t in sight. “Not at all, man. If he left anything, it might be a clue as to who slit his throat. I did not expect it, but I’d be a fool not to check since the sheriff looks to blame me for the murder.”

The man shrugged. “Unless small clothes and a pair of patched hose are clues, nothing he left here will help.”

Law drained his cup. “No more than I expected to hear. I thank you.” He put the cup down and made as if to turn, but paused. “I dinnae suppose anyone called on him whilst he abided here. A dark-haired woman mayhap?”

The innkeeper said no with no change in his face. He told the truth or was a good liar, so Law walked briskly out of the inn, thinking it was about time to pay Wrycht and Marguerite another visit. It was time to talk about the two deaths; he could drop a hint that he’d gained more information and see how they reacted. Though a stabbing with a dagger might be more in the line of the ratcatcher. But would Duncan have ever let the man within reach of him? Perhaps if he spun a good enough story.

As he crossed the street, Law sidestepped out of the way of a horseman. A man within shouting distance was staring at him, the same man who’d been watching him earlier. The man’s broad shoulders and heavy arms under his oiled leather jerkin were those of a fighter. A sword hung at his belt. Law dodged between two carts to cross opposite him as another man, wirier but also in a leather jerkin, joined the first. The two followed after him.

His mouth went dry and the back of his neck prickled. He started striding up Watergate when he realized stood a man ahead of him and nearly as muscled than the first. A deep scar slashed across his cheek. He was staring at Law, not even bothering to disguise his attention. If it was going to be a fight, Law didn’t want it to be in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Perth. If he survived the fight he could end up in the Tolhouse dungeon, so he turned onto South Street. He walked for a way and then ducked into Meal Vennel. A quick look over his shoulder showed him the wiry man scurrying after him. He dodged into an alley, hurried through and came out into another vennel that was overshadowed by the jetties of buildings on both sides. He hurried down a few houses and squeezed through an ally that was barely wide enough for his passage that. His breath came fast and his leg was beginning to burn. He came out on St. John’s Street then he took another alley that led to Red Brig Port, zigzagging away from his chamber in order to lose his pursuers.

When he looked behind him, the three had been joined by a fourth. Cursing under his breath as he went, he dodged into a wider alley and found himself at a dead end with the city wall at his back.

The first man Law had noticed led the group. Thick of neck, he had a chest like a barrel. His nose had been flattened, probably in a fight, and his cheeks bristled with dark stubble. “You have something that belongs to our employer,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Who are you?”

“We’re men with a job,” the wiry one said, his lip twisted into a sneer.

“Wait,” the man in front said. “Our job is to take back our employer’s property. I’m Thom of Bondgate and these are my…friends. Now hand it over before we have to take it from you, and you’ll be alive to walk away.”

Law slowly slid his blade from its sheath. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” He pressed his back hard against the wall and kept his blade low, but ready. Four against one were not odds he would rush into, not with a leg that might give out from under him.

“Our employer says that you do.” He worked his massive shoulders and fingered his sword hilt. He half-drew the sword. “So we will have it. And if we must take it, well, I don’t mind a fight.”

When he moved, Law thought of the parchment he’d burnt, but he had no idea if that was even what they were after. Or did they think he was carrying the cross around with him? He was sure these weren’t in the employ of Wrycht. The man did not have the coin to hire bully boys. Would Marguerite have known where to hire such men in Scotland? He doubted it. He just shook his head. “You’ll have to look elsewhere for what you’re seeking.” They were professionals, he was sure, but they were overconfident facing only one man.

For a second, he considered telling them where the cross was, but once he divulged it, they’d be as like to try to kill him anyway whatever they said now. And if whoever was seeking the cross was the killer, then he needed it as a lure. He licked his lips; sweat trickled down his back. Och! I’ve survived worse odds , he thought.

Thom drew his blade and came at him. They were closing in from both sides. Law dared not turn his back on the other blades, so he let Thom come at him. In his gut Law knew he would lose, but they would hurt first. He blocked a savage blow that would have split his head like a melon; the jolt of impact made him grit his teeth. He threw Thom back. The man’s feet slipped on wet cobbles, leaving him open. Law slammed a sidestroke into the man’s ribs, cutting through leather and skin all the way to the bone, and was rewarded with a shout of pain. Thom stumbled to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. Blood dripped down his side.

Another man ran at him. Law blocked a swinging blow and gave him a kick to the balls. There was a high yelp and his sword clattered to the ground. Law saw a sword coming at him from the side and whirled to catch it, but that left his back open. He gasped at a blinding pain in his back. His leg gave under him but as he went down he managed to catch a blade with his own. He fell to his knees. Tried to use his sword to stay upright but somehow he was facedown on the ground. A foot swung at his head. Stars exploded behind in his eyes. They were the last thing he saw for a time.

Law choked. He jerked awake, snorting. For a moment he thought he was in the river until his hand slapped against a wet, ice-slick cobble. His face was in a puddle of cold water. He spit out a mouthful and hawked. When he rolled onto his side, pain sliced into his back and side. Stifling a groan, he stared into the murk, trying to see if his attackers were still near. The night was silent except for the patter of rain.

He curled into a ball, shivering from cold and loss of blood, and pressed a hand to the slice from his back around his side. The cobbles pressed uncomfortably, but it was nothing to the throbbing pain from the wound. Finally, he rolled over onto his hands and knees. He felt for the city wall and used it to laboriously work his way to his feet. Panting, he leaned against it, and pushed his dripping hair out of his face.

He pulled up his hood and wrapped his sodden cloak around himself though it was as icy as the rain that splattered around him. “Hell mend them,” he cursed when he realized his sword was gone. He kept his hand pressed to the wound in his side. It was sticky with blood but the flow seemed no more than a dribble now. Had they thought he was dying? He must have been deeply unconscious for them to make that mistake. And perhaps once they had searched him, they hadn’t looked very closely. If he was still bleeding a little, he must not have been out more than an hour or two. He had to get warm and bandaged. That meant reaching home. With a groan, he straightened and staggered through the alley. A brazier on the corner of the Red Brig Port sputtered in the rain. He had a long way to go to reach the tavern.