J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Perhaps Carre read his thoughts on his face because, for the first time, a smile curled his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t bother lying to such as you, but if you find me what I want, you’ll be well paid.”

“Then have the money ready for me.” Law nodded amiably and left, but the back of his neck tickled. He was sure the ratcatcher was following him, but he’d improved, for Law caught no sight of him on the way through Watergate and High Street. Law took the main roads. He had no more taste for back alleys.

He strode down the vennel and banged at the door, now mended, of the house where he’d found the pair. He needed to bring all of them together, but he’d have to locate them first. When they didn’t answer, another kick opened the door. The hearth was cold and there was no sign of clothing, food, or the two who had ‘hired’ him.

Without bothering to close the door behind him, he left and headed for blind man’s tavern. When he stepped inside, the bagpiper hadn’t yet begun to play but the tavern was crowded. Law scanned the tables. He saw no one he recognized.

The serving boy brought him a bowl of bean-and-kale gruel. When he returned with a pitcher of ale, Law slid three groats toward him with his fingertips. He held them down whilst he asked, “I spoke with a man and woman in here earlier the day. You’d notice her.” Law winked. “Bonnie dark-haired thing she is, but the man she’s with keeps her close.”

“You mean the woman with the strange way of speaking?”

No doubt her French accent sounded strange to most Scots, so Law nodded.

“What about her?”

“Have you seen them?”

The boy wrinkled his brow in a fierce frown, lifting his gaze to look into the distance as though it would help him recall. Finally, he shook his head.

Law released the coins and the boy snatched them up, clearly thinking Law might change his mind. Law gave him a mild smile, but under his breath he cursed. The two had chosen a fine time to disappear again. He filled his cup and took his time eating and drinking. When the bowl and the pitcher were empty, there was still no sign of either Marguerite or Wrycht.

He went to the Reidheid Hostel. The innkeeper looked nervous when he saw him but Law patted his shoulder. “Nothing to alarm you, but I want to be sure my…friend is all right. Is he here?”

Reidheid gave Law a considering look. “You move as though you’re not so well yourself. Will you have a cup of ale?”

“Not now, as fine as your ale is.” Keeping his face blank although inside he winced, wondering if unwinding this tangle would cost more than he’d been paid, he palmed a half-noble from inside his doublet. “It is nothing. Merely a scuffle with a thief I had to fight off. The streets are dangerous at night. Has my friend been here at all?”

“He went out early in yestermorn, and I have not seen him since.”

Law slipped him the gold coin. “I must see for myself that he is well, so send me word at Cullen’s tavern when he returns. If you cannae find me, leave word with the minstrel there. You need not say aught to Wrycht about it.”

Reidheid slipped the coin into his purse and grimaced a smile. “You are kind to worry about him. I’ll send you word.” He glanced quickly around to be sure no one was close and stepped near Law to whisper, “What is the truth about this man? Wrycht or whatever name he is using the nonce. Was it he who has you walking so stiff? What is he up to?”

Law puffed a soft laugh. Keeping his voice low, Law said, “It was not him. He paid me to track down someone he said was a thief, but he’s lied so many times I cannae trust him.” He looked thoughtfully at the door to the street and then up the stairs. “Would that coin allow me to check his room-to be sure he is not there and ill, of course.”

Reidheid stopped by the storeroom where his rawboned wife was measuring out barley for a new batch of ale and left word to send a boy up to let him know if Wrycht showed his face, and then went up to Wrycht’s room. A pitcher of ale still sat on the window frame. Law sniffed it and made a face at the stale smell. A dry towel hung beneath the brass mirror on the wall. He pried open the lock on the kist and the clothes were the same as before.

The man put his hands on his hips and screwed up his eyes as he looked at Law. “Did Wrycht have something to do with those murders? I won’t have my hostelry mixed up in murder.”

Law closed the lid on the kist and stood. He gave the innkeeper an open look. “He hired me to find someone. My friend who was murdered, Duncan, was helping me look. And he gave me that false name, so I’m wary of him.”

“You’ve nae idea who killed your friend?”

Law smiled. “Well, according to the lord sheriff it was me that did it.”

There was only one more place to look, so Law made his way back to Carre’s house on the nameless lane and watched from the shadows in a nook between two houses opposite. After a while, Dave Taylor left and then a youth of perhaps eighteen, richly dressed in a velvet cloak over a red doublet, and with brown hair that curled onto his neck and forehead. Law frowned after the two of them. Was that youth the man Marguerite had met? Law had only seen him in the dark and from a poor view through the window.

Two streets down as the sun sank behind the walls, he bought some meat on a stick from a street vendor. For an extra groat the man talked as Law pulled the tough meat off with his teeth, and he learned that the man and his son had moved into the house a week before.

Law decided he would have no better luck finding them today, so he walked toward home. A few streets down he spotted a lean figure rubbing his hands to warm them over a brazier whilst keeping his head down so the others around it would not see his face. With a shrug, for Law no longer cared about being followed since he wanted to find his pursuers to bring them together, he turned down High Street toward Meal Vennel.

Autumn’s early nightfall closed in. Mist shrouded the corners, and the sliver of moon shed light on the uneven slate roofline like the crumbled teeth of a long-dead corpse. Dim shapes of buildings on each side of the street loomed in the murk. Muffled through the fog, he heard the thump of feet as people hurried on their way to escape the encroaching darkness. Lights in the vague shapes of windows blurred in the haze.

At last the light of Cullen’s tavern filtered through the drizzle. As he entered, Cormac looked up from his clarsach, with a rueful smile. He waved Law over as he plucked one last note with his fingernail. “Sergeant Meldrum came in about the Sext bell looking for you. He said he would return. He was insistent that you were not to leave until he spoke with you.”

Law scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose he said what he wanted.” Frowning, Law considered a fast exit through the window. If the sheriff had changed his mind about the extra time, he’d see the inside of a dungeon. But he shook his head. He’d have to risk it because there was nowhere he could run.

Cormac made a face at him while he strummed a few notes on his harp. “He would nae be likely to tell a ‘Hieland dog’.”

Law sank onto a bench at the nearest table and leaned an elbow on the marked surface. He tossed down a handful of groats and waited for Mall to scurry over with a pitcher and cup. “Did he say anything forbye that he would return?”

“He told Maister Cullen he would sup here and to have a fowl from a cookshop for the meal. Why do you suppose he would do that?”

Law twitched a wry smile. “Damme if I know.”

Sergeant Meldrum paused with the leg of a roast hen halfway to his mouth. “The other day was nothing. I take my orders, certes, but Sir William kent he was wrong about the murders. It’s that he has to worry about the king’s commands, just as I worry about his.” Meldrum grimaced. “But it is nae he who has to walk the streets. I do and prefer that they be peaceful.”