J. Tomlin - The Templar's Cross

Cormac shrugged. “You ken that sort better than I do. Mayhap? Wulle is glaring at me. And I’ll feel better if I play something lively. And before Wulle gives me hell for not letting you keep his customers sweet.”

“Wait. When you are done, find a lad to deliver a message for me. You ken of someone who can carry it?” When Cormac nodded, Law continued, “I’ll write it and have it ready for you.”

The air was icy and Law’s breath fogged as Law walked up to the little house where he’d found Marguerite and Wrycht. Carre would have received his message by this time. It was past time to wind up this charade.

He lifted his hand to knock when the door swung open. Just inside the door, Carre sat in an armchair Law had not seen before, cold-eyed and his face so still he might have been a statue, but Law saw a flush beneath his skin like a bath of fire. Dave Taylor stepped out of the next room, a wry smile twisting his lips. The scar-faced guard stood by the hearth and lifted his crossbow. It clicked as he cocked it. Marguerite rose from her chair, both hands palm down on the table, her face pale as whey. Wrycht came through another doorway with two more guards behind him, an uncocked crossbow hanging from one guard’s hand, the other one a wiry man Law had never seen before.

Carre looked from one to another, only his eyes moving. “Someone has stolen what is mine,” he said. He fixed his gaze upon Law. “Close the door.” As soon as Law had reached behind and softly closed it, Carre motioned to Scarface. “Take his sword.”

Law gripped his hilt and glowered at the guard as he took a step. “Mayhap I cannae kill both of them, but you’ll be short at least one guard if he tries. And you’ll ne’er find out that cross when they have to kill me.”

Scarface paused and on his face was written the realization that he had a crossbow in his hands, not a weapon to go up in close quarters against a swordsman. He looked at his patron.

Carre’s face was blank as he said, “Ne’er mind. But if he touches his sword again, put a quarrel through his knee.” He looked at Law for a moment with a gaze that seemed almost approving. “As I said, no one steals what is mine. Yet I am now missing the cross that I paid someone to retrieve and a son.”

Marguerite stared at Carre, “But, I-” Then she snapped her mouth shut and looked, eyes narrowed, from Carre to Law and back again. “I do not understand.”

Carre ignored her. “You were there.”

“Aye. Though I didnae kill him.” Law flicked a glance at Marguerite and Wrycht. “He was dying, stabbed through the back, when I found him.”

A flicker of disgust played across Carre’s face. “Roger was not my eldest nor my heir, and I thanked God for it. He was given to unnatural acts. No beatings cured him of his vice. But he was my son.” He glared. “And the Templar’s cross is still not in my hands. This entire affair has given me no profit.”

Marguerite clenched her fists, paling even more than before.

Law wouldn’t have wanted to be in the place of such a father, although what Carre said was no more than what most people would. He strolled to lean an elbow on the hearth and kicked at the stone a couple of times. “Whoever killed him also killed de Carnea. And killed Duncan as well.”

“Roger was a shame to me, but he had nothing to do with the cross. I merely brought him to keep him under my eye.” Carre’s hand curled into a fist. “My son, such as he was, is lost, but the cross I shall have.”

Law went to the sideboard and checked the flagon. It was half-full of wine so he poured himself a cup. He swirled the wine as he thought, took a deep drink, and set it back down. “You dinnae care who killed him?”

“That is none of your business.” He leaned his elbows on the arm of his chair and wove his fingers together under his chin. “Your note told me you could find where de Carnea hid the cross. Have you?”

“That would be difficult since de Carnea never hid it.”

Wrycht made a choking sound. “He must have.”

“Then he tricked the lot of them.” A smile flickered across Carre’s lips.

“He did, but I found it anyroad.” The corner of Law’s mouth twitched as he caught Carre’s expression. “Of course, I wanted to speak to you. You would pay me well for it-of course, I did. I went to your house expecting to find you there and complete our agreement.” Only partly a lie but a satisfying one, Law thought. “How could I guess that you were out searching… What? For my friends here? They canna tell you where the cross is. On that I give you my word of honor.” Honor was a strange word to use with the people in this room, perhaps including himself, but he kept his slight smile.

Wrycht sat in a chair next to the table near Marguerite, who seemed to have recovered from her surprise. Dave Taylor stood in the doorway. The smile had faded from his face but there was still a mocking look on his thin, grimy face. Scarface had uncocked his crossbow and let it dangle by his leg. He looked Law up and down with a speculative gaze.

“I am here now,” Carre said curtly.

“Aye. So how soon can you pay me for the job and take the goddamned cross before someone else ends up murdered?”

Marguerite blinked a few times and then stared wide-eyed at Law. He winked at her. Wrycht leaned forward, his lips parted and his eyes darting from Carre to Law and back again.

For the first time, Carre smiled but it did not reach his obsidian eyes. He reached into the breast of his houppelande and withdrew a velvet bag. He tossed the bag in his hands two or three times. The coins made a rich clinking sound.

Carre’s eyes were on him, so dark and cool they gave Law a chill. The man gave the bag one more toss in his large, smooth hand and pitched it toward Law. It landed a yard short with a muffled clank. Carre gave a curt nod, having clearly put the bag exactly where he meant to.

Law bent a knee to pick the bag up and rose. If that was supposed to humiliate him, Carre would have to do better. Law opened the bag with one hand and took out one of the gold coins; he examined one side with the English king on a ship beneath a banner and the other with a cross surrounded by crowns and fleur. Law poured them into his other hand and counted them. He suppressed a wry smile at the avid looks the gold was receiving from the others. Wrycht bared his teeth in a snarl that made Law nod to himself.

“You said a hundred gold nobles. This is only twenty.”

Carre’s lip curled. “Money in hand is worth more than promises.”

Law poured the coins back in the bag and jerked the string closed. He took a single step toward Carre and tossed it into his lap. “Keep that until I deliver the goods and then pay me what I was promised.”

“Then hand it over.”

Giving a short shake of his head, Law said, “You dinnae think I carry it about on me. I have to go retrieve it.” That he had hinted in his note that he’d bring it, well, that was a pity.

Wrycht slammed his hand down on the table. “Where did de Carnea hide it?”

Law gave the man a cool look. “What makes you think that he hid it?” He looked back at Carre. “And the lord sheriff means to have someone to hang for the murders, three of them now. So I need someone to give him as part of the deal.”

Carre shrugged. “That is no concern of mine. Give them anyone you please.”

The chair crashed over when Wrycht jumped to his feet. “You promised us pay, Carre. And I’ll be damned if I end up hanging for Sir Law here. That wullnae happen.”

Scarface lifted his crossbow and gave Wrycht an icy glare. Marguerite grabbed Wrycht’s arm and tugged. Fiercely, she said, “Don’t be a fool.” Law carefully kept his face neutral at their satisfying argument.