J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Long minutes passed. There was a voice and the bang of a door. Peeking through the gate once more, Law saw that Marguerite was speaking to someone in the deep shadow of a birch. He could make out nothing of the newcomer. Wrycht? He couldn’t tell from here.

By the Holy Rood. Now what? There had to be a reason for sneaking around at night. A house so large-whoever owned it might have the coin for hiring mercenaries. Through the branches of the birch, he saw their silhouettes as they walked toward a summerhouse. He looked up at the top of the garden wall, only five feet high. It would be easy to climb over. Keeping close to the wall, Law sneaked to a far corner of the wall, and grabbed the top of the wall, scrabbling to make his way over. His boots slipped on the slick stone but then he found a crack for his toes and hauled himself up. Lying atop the narrow wall he waited, sweating from having jerked on his injury, to see if the sounds had alarmed his quarry, but all was quiet. Moving silently, Law let himself down from his perch and edged to the tree where they had met and from whence he should be able to see into the open shelter.

Staying on the far side of the tree, he climbed into the branches, his leg and back injuries jolting with pain, and found a sturdy branch, though it was slippery from the damp. From his perch he had a clear view into the simple, open building. He slid so that the branches hid his shape should they look his way and through their lattice; he saw a gleam as the newcomer lit a lantern.

Not Wrycht.

It was impossible to make out what they were saying. The fog seemed to even muffle the sound, but the light gleamed on a man with fair hair, young, Law thought, from his slight build and his lithe way of moving. Law strained to try to hear but it was no more than an indistinct murmur over the creak of branches in the slight breeze.

The youth took her hands in his. Was it a romantic tryst? From his experience of Marguerite, she would have a motive beyond the allure of a bonnie face. She seemed to be talking at some length, the young man nodding several times. At last he kissed both her hands.

Law’s leg had a sharp cramp from being bent under him and pulling on the bad muscle for so long. The slice in his side burned like fire and his hands ached from his tight clutch on a limb to keep from slipping from the slick branch. He loosened one hand and rubbed at his thigh to ease the pain. He was considering if he should climb down and risk crawling close to try to hear what they were saying when Marguerite pulled her hands free.

“Marguerite,” a young voice called, startling Law so much he nearly slipped from his perch.

Law grabbed the branch as Marguerite turned back and replied, “Not now, mon cher. We shall meet again soon.”

He watched Marguerite’s slender figure hurry away as she held her cloak tight around herself. The lantern was blown out and dead leaves rustled and crunched under swift footsteps as the young man muttered curses beneath his breath. After a moment, he strode towards the house where only a few faint bars of light were shining through the shutters.

Several minutes elapsed before Law felt sure it was safe to gingerly let himself down from the tree. He dropped into the soggy leaves that covered the ground and went to the summerhouse. It was small with six posts that held up the simple roof. The wooden floor was scattered with leaves and bird droppings. There was nothing here to give any clue to the reason for the strange tryst. Nothing more was to be learned here, if he had learned anything in the first place.

There had to be a reason she was trysting so secretly in the night. Law slipped from bush to bush until he could peer between the slats of the shutters. Inside, he could see the young man who was speaking and waving his arms about, arguing it looked like with someone who was just out of sight. There was a raised voice. He made out a deep voice shouting, “Shut up! It’s none of your business, you useless popinjay.” Law leaned sideways trying to see who the man, actually little more than a lad, was arguing with. His leg, shaking with fatigue, slipped. He banged into the shutter. The shouting stopped for a moment, and then the young man asked, “What was that?”

There was a curse, and Law ran for the fence. He heard a door slam behind him as he scrambled over. A glance over his shoulder showed the light of a torch moving. He dropped to the ground and ran toward the nearest alley, and to hell with the pain in his leg. A few twists and turns through the dark street and he leaned against a wall, listening for pursuit. Hearing nothing, he hoped they’d given up. He limped toward home. Once he ducked into a vennel to avoid the watch but at last he climbed the stairs and sat to lever off his boots and stretch out on his bed, for now every bit of his body ached.

The long walk had left him aching all over, but somehow he had to buy himself time to meet Sir William’s deadline. It felt like thrusting his head into a noose, but calling upon the man was the only possible way to do that. He would tell the sheriff he had a lead but needed an extra day. At worst, Law decided, he would hang a day earlier.

Law opened the door to the Tolhouse and nodded to the guard in boiled leather who stood inside. In the past week, the place had become so familiar as to be almost comfortable. The guard apparently knew that the sheriff had had some dealings with him. They gave him a knowing look.

“Is Sir William in his privy chamber?” Law asked the man.

The guard eyed Law. “He is. Did he send for you?”

Law nodded as he started for the door to the back hallway. “He expects me.” Law made his way through the large chamber and up the stairs to the sheriff’s privy chamber. At his knock the sheriff barked out an order to enter.

Law stepped across the threshold as the sheriff looked up.

Sir William scowled. “What is to do?” His desk was still strewn with parchments and he threw down his quill pen as he spoke, splattering ink across one of them. The man shook his head. “From the look of you, you’re nae a popular man, Sir Law.”

Law shrugged. “Or too much so. You commanded that I find you a murderer.”

“And did you?”

Giving a crooked grin, he asked, “Why take such an unfriendly tone with me? I’m nae so bad, I give you my oath.”

“I dinnae care what kind of fellow you are. I shall have a murderer before the return of the king.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Law sank down into a chair and put a careful hand on his throbbing side. “I want you to have this murderer even more than you do. The whole mess got me a blade in the back last evening. So believe me I’ll find you the culprit.”

Looking at him steadily, the sheriff said, “But you have not found him yet.”

“I admit I am slowed by a blade in the back.” At the sheriff’s severe expression, Law sighed. “I ken that several people are in Perth looking for some lost valuable. But I am certain that neither de Carnea nor Duncan had it. So why kill them? It makes no sense, but it is the only thing that connects the two men. I cannot believe it was coincidence they were both stabbed on the same night.”

“And you ken who these people are and what this ‘thing’ is that connects them?”

“Only some of them. The man who called himself Lord Blinsele and a Frenchwoman. There is at least one other I’ve seen but dinnae yet have a name.”

“His doxy?”

Law shrugged. “More like an accomplice if it matters. They seem to have hired a sleekit creature here in Perth by the name of Dave Taylor. But whoever hired the assassins that came after me-four of them-” Law stared into the wide hearth. He once used to sit over a long game of cards with a companion in such a chamber, a fire crackling, a flagon of red wine at hand. He shook off the memory. “Whoever sent those is a different party and spent good gold on attacking me. More, I think, than they have.” He looked back at Sir William, who’d crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows with a skeptical look. “The king will surely be gone for a few weeks. I give you my word, I’ll have this murderer in your hands before he returns.”