J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

“Those are a great many facts you had not shared with me.”

“I thought that you wanted the murderer, not my musings on the matter.”

The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “So there is someone involved with enough coin to hire four killers. That puts a different face on it.”

“The assassins who came after me didnae do the killings. They’re swordsmen, not assassins who used daggers. But it still could have been whoever hired them.” It burned like bile in Law’s belly to beg, but he had to. “I need time, my Lord Sheriff.”

Sir William rose and sauntered to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of wine. He drank slowly, savoring the beverage, before he turned back to Law. “I shall allow you a week, but do not mistake. I would not hesitate to hang you if it comes to that.”

Law strolled to the house where he’d followed Marguerite the previous night and ambled past. It was quiet. If anyone was within, Law couldn’t tell. The nearest vennel didn’t allow sight of the gate, so Law paused to listen to a Blackfriar who was praying on the street corner for the health and safety of the king. After a moment, Law realized it was the brother who had been sent to bring the sheriff, so Law cleared his throat when the man paused.

“I wondered if you’d include a prayer for my friend who died near your abbey a few nights ago?” Law asked.

The man’s eyes widened. “Aye. Poor soul dying unshriven as he did.”

After Law handed the man a pence, he continued, “I wondered if you’ve seen anyone going to or from that house.” When the friar raised his eyebrows, Law hastened to say, “I heard they’re looking for a man-at-arms, so if they’re about, I might find myself work.”

“Ach, I’m sorry.” The friar tucked the coin into his belt. “I’ve seen no one the day.”

Law walked casually away as the friar bent his head and once again began intoning a prayer. Just out of the friar’s hearing, Law stopped a baker’s boy crying out that he had fresh bread for sale, sighing that every step seemed to cost him something out of his own purse. He bought a bun wrapped around a sausage and nodded to the house. “Do you ken who might live there?”

“Nae one did for a time but a few days ago, someone came with a wagon.” The boy shrugged. “They’ve bought none of my bread though.”

He leaned against a wall as he munched on the bun but there was nothing to see. Hanging about asking questions any longer would only look suspicious on a prosperous street like this one. He could look around better after dark, so he headed for the house where he’d found Wrycht and Marguerite.

He squatted in the shadow of an out-thrusting jetty and out of the bite of the stinging wind. Keeping his hood down and his cloak wrapped around himself, he used his sgian-dubh from his boot to casually shave slivers off a stick. The morning dragged out into afternoon and was nearly spent when two familiar figures came out of the house, a dark-haired man with a build like Wrycht and a heavily cloaked woman. Law let them walk a block past before he stuck the small knife in his boot top and followed. When he turned the corner of a narrow vennel, he saw them go into the Blindman’s tavern.

He hurried to push through the door for fear they were making for a rear exit if they had spotted him. A crush of travelers and locals in the long, draughty room shouted and laughed over the sound of a bagpiper’s skirling. There was a huge wooden keg at one end and a large fireplace at the other. A serving boy ran back and forth with pitchers of ale and bowls of steaming gruel.

Craning to see through the press, Law spotted them. Marguerite had her hood back. Her black hair gleamed in the smoky light as she pushed back a cup of ale with an expression of disgust. Beside her, Wrycht lifted his cup to take a long swig. Law wended his way through the crowd to a table where he could keep an eye on them. He shook his head. This was too public for them or for anyone they might want to meet. If they didn’t leave soon, he’d go back to the house where Marguerite had met the mysterious youth.

Law signaled the serving boy and buried his face in a mug of ale, but when he looked up Wrycht was staring straight at him, his face drew up into a scowl like a clenched fist. Apparently following people without being noticed was harder than he thought, Law decided, so he stood and walked to stand over the man. “Where have you been? I paid you well to protect me, and you’ve done nothing but accuse me and disappear.”

His side gave him an angry twinge at walking and standing so long, so Law sank onto a stool and said nothing.

Marguerite sneered at him. “You think because you wear gold spurs that you can take his coin and do nothing to earn it?”

The throbbing made Law decide he had had enough. “Too much has happened in the last week for your games.” Law looked from one to the other with a hard smile.

Wrycht had his gaze fixed in the depths of his cup as though he saw something fascinating there, but she met Law’s gaze with a fixed one of her own.

“I met up with four men who were distinctly unfriendly last night. Although now they may only be three.”

“What does that have to do with the cross?” she asked.

“That is what I want to know. It has something to do with it. Now if you want me to find the thing for you, it’s time to speak plainly. It could be that the men who attacked me were sent by the buyer you talked about. Mayhap that was who killed Duncan as well.” Law paused. Thom and his friends were not the killers. They would have used their swords and Duncan certainly would have defended himself, but that didn’t mean the killer hadn’t been hired by the same man-or woman.

Wrycht shoved his cup back and jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of your demands. You work for me, not me for you.”

Law grabbed Wrycht’s forearm and jerked him half over the table, bringing up his dirk. “Sit down.”

Marguerite yelped, leaning back out of the way.

Glaring, Wrycht sat. “The buyer is in England.”

“Someone sent them after me.”

Law slipped his dirk back into its sheath. He poured a cup, drained it in a long pull, and poured another.

“Damn it, man. I cannae protect you unless you cooperate.” Law drained his second cup of ale. It settled warmly in his belly. “Tell me about this buyer in England.”

Marguerite shrugged one shoulder, but she looked thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “Law is right, Johne. The buyer is called Maister Carre. A merchant, of sorts. He finds items that the powerful want and provides them. He would not soil his own hands with blood.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “He would have his men dispose of someone who got in his way, so…that is possible…if your friend was in his way. All the more reason to find the cross and put it into his hands. That will end this whole mess.”

“There will still be two men dead. But I think I have a clue where the cross is hidden.” Law took another drink and licked his lips. “We can retrieve it the morrow night if I am right.” He stood and straightened his doublet. He wouldn’t hand over the cross until he was sure of the killer and that he could hand the man over. At last, he thought he saw his way clear to that.

“Wait!” Marguerite said. “Why not now?”

“It has to be at night, and I have matters to take care of first.” Law turned and headed for the door. That should keep the two of them quiet for a while, but brought him no closer to knowing who the killer was. Still he felt stronger than before though his side still pained, so he was walking a steady pace with not even any limp. He’d only gone a block down the vennel when he saw three figures barring his way. He stopped, his hand instinctively going to his side. He was in no shape for another fight with the men who’d nearly killed him a few days before.