J. R. Tomlin

The Intelligencer

Preface

In medieval Scotland, a married woman continued to use her own family’s surname. She only assumed her husband’s surname if or when she was widowed when she took the title ‘Widow’ along with his surname.

1

"Careful you don't give her a good show," said Cormac the minstrel, lanky and grinning, one shoulder resting on the wall.

"Wheesht. I'm giving no one a show," Sir Law Kintour said. He reached for a tiny jar sitting in the window and pulled out the cork, and released a sharp, musty smell. The canoness had told him that, if swallowed, it was poison, but when the cream was rubbed on his scars, it soothed them a bit.

When there was a tap on the door, Cormac opened it. Anny Cullen stood there with a steaming bowl in her hands. At twelve, she had started to look much like her mother, sturdy and muscular. She smiled at him shyly.

He watched as she put the bowl on the wobbly little table in the middle of the room and pulled a long rag out. She twisted it hard to wring out the excess water. He held out his hand. "Give it. You'd best run along to help your mam." He took the rag gingerly away from her since it was still steaming in the chill morning air.

"Careful and don't let it cool off."

"You could have brought us up some bread and cheese when you came," Cormac grumbled. He gave her his best attempt at a piteous look, but it worked poorly with the wry twist to his mouth.

"If you want bread and cheese, you go down and tell my mam." She frowned at him, but then her round, freckled face lit up with a smile for Law. "Go ahead, Sir Law. You dinnae want to wait. It will only help while it's still hot."

Law smiled, but he thrust his chin toward the door. "Not until you're gone. Now shoo."

'You will use it?" she asked.

"I shall." He forced a smile over his gritted teeth, just anxious for her to leave. "Thank you, lass."

"You're welcome." With a glance over her shoulder, Anny left, and the door closed behind her.

Law unfastened the laces of his tights and pushed the left leg down. He rubbed a bit of the thick, numbing ointment on and gave Cormac a look. Cormac had already seen the ropy, red scars on his leg, mangled by a lance during the Battle of Verneuil in France, but Law still didn't like showing them. However, Cormac had taken out the deadly sharp sgian-achlais he had taken to carrying in an armpit sheath and was cleaning his fingernails.

Law breathed out a soft snort-you could take off a finger with that knife-but shook his head and quickly wrapped the steaming cloth around his thigh, sucking in his breath at the heat on the sensitive scars. He had trained the day before with wardens of the burgh to keep himself in fighting shape, and now his bad leg felt like it was being ripped with a lance all over again. Even after these months, he missed his life before. It had been good, but in the end the battle had cost him his lord, his rank, and his dearest friend. Now he had nothing but his armor in a bag, some worn clothes, and a limp. That and a faint bruise that on his forehead from when he was attacked not long ago by a mad friar.

Cormac held out his hand, examining his nails closely. They were longer than most men's because the clarsach that he favored was plucked with the fingernails. "She's sweet on you, you ken." He seemed satisfied with the state of his nails and slid the blade away.

Law lived in a small room above a shabby tavern run by the girl's mother and father, although she was now old enough to do some of the serving. "She's still a bairn," Law said. "What is she? Twelve?" Law grimaced at the heat from the cloth wrapped tightly around his leg. It hurt so that he could barely keep still, but it was beginning to ease the deep pain in his leg. He could feel the muscles unknotting as the heat seeped in. Though still a bit tight-lipped, he said, "She'll soon find someone else to make doe eyes at. You, mayhap."

Cormac threw up his hands. "Not if I can help it. Her mam would have my hide and hers if she looked at a Hielander. Any road, soon enough they'll look for a sturdy burgher for her. Neither of us are such a prize."

Law grunted. Cormac was right that he was no prize. A landless knight was never sought after, and he even less than most. He might have been born into the small nobility from a family with ties to the great Douglas clan, but he had fallen as low as a knight could. He still had his gold spurs and his arms, but what good did that do him with a lame leg? He wasn't so bad looking, or so some had told him-even if it was at night in a hot embrace. He was taller than most men and lean and muscular with a full head of light brown hair, but a lord didn't take a knight into his service for his fighting ability, but not on his looks. He might hold his own in a street brawl, but he would never be fit for battle again.

Cormac smoothed his red and white striped doublet and retied one of the green ribbons on his sleeve as Law unwrapped the cooled cloth from his leg and pulled his stocking up. He turned to look for his boots to find Cormac holding one and shaking his head over its worn state. "That's pathetic. Dinnae you ever buy new ones?"

"Give it here," Law said.

Cormac tossed the boot to him and turned to open the door. "I'd better find someone to pay for my songs," he called back. "Bidh mi 'gad fhaicinn." He ran down the rickety stairs.

"Aye, see you later, Cormac."

Law drew on the boot, found the other, and followed Cormac down the stairs. The minstrel had disappeared although he'd be back later to play for the inn's customers. For now, the only people there were Anny sweeping the bare wood floor, Mall stirring a big pot that had a scent of thyme that must be for dinner, and Wulle talking to the only customer, a tall red-haired man named Andrew Bouquhen, a candle maker with a shop not far away.

There was barley bread and a big round of cheese on the long table that separated the room from the barrel of ale, so Law helped himself. Mall nodded, and he knew she'd add a chit to his tab, for his room did not include meals. Then he carried them to sit at the back of the inn. He put a sliver of cheese on a bit of the barley bread and chewed them. Simple but hearty and he was not going to complain. Besides, he was glad not to have any reason to go out. Here inside, the taste of rich cheese and the soft crackle of the peat fire in the open hearth were as warm as a grandmother’s embrace. He chuckled at the thought. He must be getting soft.

Mall brought over a cup of ale. He was about to take a swallow when he noticed a small, bow-legged man standing in the doorway, picking bits of straw off his blue knit cap.

"You're letting in the damp," Mall scolded.

The man closed the door, raised his cap to Law, and clapped it back on his head. “You’re Sir Law Kintour, are you?”

Law contemplated his half-finished piece of cheese, the fire, and the cup of malty ale. He sighed. “Aye. What is it you need?”

“Mistress Elspeth Wrycht, wife to Neill Blacader, said to fetch you, sir,” he said. “The maister has gone missing, and she wants you to come right away. She’s that upset about it.”

“Missing?” He swung around to examine the man up and down. “And what does she think I can do about it?”

“Save us, I dinnae ken. She said to bring you. The maister owns a cartage yard. It's outside South Tower Port.”

“And you are?”

The man gaped at him as though at a loss being noticed. “Andy. I'm called Andy.”

Law sighed as he pushed back his cup. “Andy, I suppose we may as well go find out.” He had coin in his scrip for a change from hunting down a thief the previous week, but not so much he could turn down work.

Andy set off out for the street and toward the Tower Port. They passed the merkat Cross where vendors were setting up their stalls. Carts trundled creakily past. Blind Con, begging in his usual place near the merkat cross, shouted for a coin as they passed. Law's companion trudged silently through all. Law nodded to the guards at the port but stopped when he heard the jangle of tack and thud of many horses' hooves. He walked to stand beneath the spreading branches of a hoary chestnut covered by clusters of green buds about to burst into bloom. The ground where he stood was scattered with sticky husks it had shed. He leaned against its trunk, and from there, he watched a river of polished steel, knights and men-at-arms-at least two hundred strong-streaming toward the port. Over their heads whipped a banner emblazoned with the red lion of Scotland combined with the blue checky device of the Albany Stewarts.

Law sucked a breath through his teeth. That had to be Murdoch Stewart, Duke of Albany, the king's most hated cousin. There was no parliament called to bring him to the king's favorite city, and the duke's Castle Doune was near enough that coming here was odd. But he shook away the thought. What did the machinations of dukes mean to him now as long as he and his friends were not caught up in them?

"Come," Andy called from before a lattice gate. “Herself is in the barn.”

Law heard raised voices as he stepped through the gate into a long open space. A timber-framed house stood to the right with a neat kailyard behind it, several wooden sheds to the left, and a large barnlike building at the far end. Next to the gate, tall racks sagged beneath the weight of heavy clay pottery. Crates and barrels were stacked hither and yon around the hard-packed yard.

Law crossed the yard into a barn filled with racks of barrels and crates. A gaunt woman, austere in appearance, stood holding a packet of papers. Deep creases ran from her nose to her chin, accentuating the length of her face. She wore a fine woolen gown, and her hair was hidden under an elaborately folded wimple.

“A barrel of dishes with a blue glaze,” she muttered to herself, turning a page. “That is what Gil must see to. Here, the three sacks of wool sent by David Mason. And a barrel of malmsey for James Reidheid with cost of the porter fee and boat hire to be paid.”

“Mistress,” Andy said, “here is that Sir Law that you sent me to bring.”

She turned to look Law up and down with cold gray eyes that seemed sharp and judgmental. “They say that for pay you help people with problems. So I’ve been telt.”

“Aye, if the problem is one I can help with.”

“You’d think you’d have a lord to work for if you’re a knight, but if you can help me, I’ll pay you.” The creases bracketing her mouth deepened. “But dinnae expect pay unless you do the job for me.”

“Fair enow. But what is this work you need me to do for you? I’ll tell you if I can do it.”

She sucked in a deep breath as though what she had to say took huge effort. “My husband, Neill Blacader, is gone. I need you to find him.”

Law frowned and thought about this odd request. A tradesman as prosperous as one with such a large yard did not usually just disappear. “Gone? Since when?”

Mistress Wrycht rolled up the papers in her hands, looking at them as though she wasn’t quite sure how they’d arrived there. “Since he returned from a trip to Glasgow yesterday near time for vespers to ring. He always goes out in the evening to Reidheid’s Inn for just one glass of ale and to talk to men he does business with. Every evening as the lads close up the barn. The walk and ale are for his health, he says, as though it is any such thing.”

“Mayhap he thinks it is.”

“Men are that foolish. But the wagon wasn’t even unloaded when he told the lads to close up the barn. He always supervises them and unloads as soon as he returns, so that was passing strange. He went into the house, saying he would change his clothes. After only a few minutes, he left. And usually he is gone for an hour or mayhap two when he leaves in the evening. But last night he never returned, nor this morning.”

“But surely you already searched for him?”

“I had the lads go to Reidheid’s Inn to see if he was still thon and search on the way to see if the man hurt himself on the way home. There was no sign!” She sounded more indignant than worried. “I dinnae ken what to do. Something must have happened to him. And now I must see to his business.”

“And you want me to find him.”

“Aye, find him. Or find out what befell him. If he lives…” Her lips were a thin line. “If he is dead, I must learn of it. And who is to run the cartage, if he is?”

Law hesitated, torn between his usual need for money and doubt he wanted to work for this woman. Law considered that the man might have fled a marriage he disliked. Fleeing a business that was thriving seemed unlikely, but it might not be as thriving as it appeared. And Neill Blacader might be drunk with a whore or simply be hiding from a sharp-tongued wife, intending to return after a fling, though the yet unloaded and undelivered goods… It was passing strange.

"Did he seem himself besides not having the cart unloaded? Say anything that would give a reason he'd stay away?"

The deep scores beside her mouth deepened as she frowned in thought. "For the past few weeks, I thought he had some worry, but he said nae he did not." She shrugged. "I dinnae kin if it has to do with why he has nae come home."

Glad to think of an excuse not to do the work she was asking, he said, "How can I look for someone I never met? I'd nae ken the man if we were standing nose to nose."

"I can fix that." She turned her head and yelled, "Tam, you come here."

The young man who trotted up was skinny, but his broad shoulders showed he would not always be. He had greasy auburn hair, and a sharp, hooked nose and long arms and legs under his sturdy homespun. Mistress Wrycht grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him toward Law. "He takes after his da, hook nose and all." She snorted. "Acts like him, too."

The youth glowered at her resentfully but made no protest.

Law made another try. "I doubt your man looks like a skinny youth."

"Och, he's full grown enow, but about the face, they look the same. He's near as tall as you and heavy around the shoulders. Not much of a belly in spite of the ale that he swills." She looked Law up and down. "If you have half a brain, you'll recognize him when you see him. But mayhap you have an empty head."

Tam sidled out of reach of his mother and said, "He would nae just go off. I am afeart something happened to him. But where could you look?"

Law stifled a sigh. “I'll try to find him for you then, but I make no promises. And I must be paid whether he be quick or be dead.”

Her lips got even thinner, which Law hadn’t thought possible. “Aye, if you find him, you will be paid.”

“He went of an evening to Reidheid’s Inn, you said.”

She sniffed. “I already sent the lads thon. I telt you so.”

“Aye, but it’s best I check myself. The innkeeper should ken who Blacader’s friends are. It’s a good place to start.”

He stomped out of the carter’s yard, already regretting having taken the job. It was a tedious prospect, tramping all over Perth. Even thinking about it made the twisted scars on his leg ache. Most likely by the time he was done, his feet and temper would be as sore as his leg. And what were the chances he would find Neill Blacader alive? Yes, his wife had said he would be paid either way, but from the look of her, she would begrudge every penny. And it would be beneath even a landless knight to pursue a debt from a widow. The devil take it. Why had he been so foolish as to say yes?

But the late morning sun had warmed the air. The sky was so blue it made his chest ache, and green buds decorated the trees. Reidheid imported good claret, so he shook off his doldrums as he walked. Yes, he would treat himself to a good cup of wine, a luxury he could not often afford.

It was one of the larger inns in Perth where nobles of the king’s court often stayed when King James took his leisure in the royal guest house at Blackfriars Abbey. There was not room at the abbey for even half of the king’s following, especially if there was a parliament. But for those rich guests at the inn, you could count on good fare-at least if you paid for it.

The yard of the inn was cobbled, and on one side was a good-sized stable. On the other stood the large stone inn, smoke rising from three chimneys, a solid and comfortable establishment. When Law entered, he spotted the middle-aged hostel keeper, round of face and tidily dressed beneath a clean apron, and signaled the man.

“Sir Law,” Maister Reidheid exclaimed. “I have nae seen you in a while.”

Law took a seat at a small table in the corner. “Much as I enjoy your claret, I'm nae rich noble.” He grinned. “But I’ll treat myself today. And join me for a cup if you will.”

When Maister Reidheid returned with a flagon and two cups, Law put a merk on the table. The man raised an eyebrow in query.

“I’m seeking Maister Blacader, the carter. Did you see him last evening?”

Reidheid too a seat and leaned back with an amused look on his face. “One of his lads, Andy, was here this morning asking after him, though I’d swear on Saint Andrew’s dog’s toe bone that he kent Blacader had nae been here. Och, he did drop by now and again to talk with me about the goods he delivered, but no one who kent him would believe he was a regular customer.”

Law twitched a smile. “Not even his wife?”

The innkeeper snorted. “Mayhap his wife, though I’ve heard she is a sharp one, not easy to fool. But who kens what a wife or a husband might believe. Any road, he was nae here yesterday nor since I ordered him to pick up some wine from Glasgow.”

Law took a sip of the claret and licked his lips, not wanting to miss a drop of it. He raised the cup. “Braw wine, Maister Reidheid.” Law grinned. “You telt his lad that when he came asking this morning?”

“Pffft. I only said the man had nae been here last eve. That was all he asked, and I had nae reason to tell him more.” Reidheid smiled amiably and took a drink as Law considered what he had just heard.

“Do you ken if any of your other customers are particular friends of his?”

“I cannae say that I do. I’ve seen him speak to a few about his deliveries. He does nae do a great deal of local business. I use him because my da used his da, but…” Reidheid frowned thoughtfully. “He seems busy enow, but I am nae sure with what. He’s always delivered my orders on time, so it’s no porridge of mine.”

“But there were a few he talked business with?”

“Aye, that maister mason, Raymond Gaudin.”

Law recalled he had seen the French maison about town occasionally but he’d had no reason to be acquainted with him. “Anyone else you recall?”

His host chuckled wryly. “You’ll like this. I saw him talking with the lord sheriff a time or two. Probably a few others but those are all that come to mind.”

Law drained his wine cup and smacked his lips. “I swear I’ll be back again soon, Maister Reidheid. I have missed good wine since I’ve returned to Scotland.” He started to rise when there was a commotion at the door.

At the head of a knot of armed men stood Murdoch Stewart, the king's cousin and the Duke of Albany, his marten-lined cloak billowing about his long, thin body. Behind him were two young men who resembled him about the face. The first-a head taller than his father and burly with hands like hams-had to be Seamus Mor. The other, swaggering but much older-at least in his thirties-must be the older son, Walter Stewart, Master of Fife. All three were in velvet and silk beneath their cloaks. Then four men-at-arms trooped in, wearing surcoats with the Albany colors over their armor.

Maister Reidheid leapt to his feet and bowed to the newcomers. He scurried to them, saying, "Welcome. Most welcome, my lords." He turned to one of the servants and shouted, "Put our largest table before the hearth for the duke!"

Seamus looked around the inn with a sneer. "Do you have anything here fit to drink?"

The whole room was abustle as four customers had jumped up from their places at a trestle table and the servants were dragging it into a place of honor before the fire. Two of the serving girls were moving chairs for the duke, eyes darting nervously.

"Sir, I have the best wine you'll find in all Perth. Will claret suit my lords? Or I have braw malmsey as well."

Law leaned back in his chair. He couldn't help having a flash of curiosity about what would bring Albany to Perth. But perhaps-considering that Albany thought that he should be king, or so it was said, and the king hated him with a passion-when the king was not in the burgh was when they would come.

The Duke of Albany smiled. His sharp pointed nose and thin, striding legs made Law think of a curlew running down a sandy beach. He looked smug and self-satisfied as he swept to take the chair closest to the hearth. Law remembered well the duke's elder brother having much the same look when they were in France. Much good that self-satisfied look had done him in battle when the English hacked him down with their pikes.

Law sat still. It was never wise for the powerless to draw the attention of the powerful. And the reason the king hated Murdoch-or one reason-was that Murdoch was even more powerful than the king.

"Claret," Seamus said, and thumped himself into a chair that groaned under his heft.

"Hurry!" Reidheid yelled and slapped one of the servants on the back of the head who was not scurrying fast enough.

"It is a waste of time remaining here," Seamus said to his father as he took a seat.

"Ah, indeed." The duke folded his claw-like hands, which were decorated with several heavy gold rings, and looked from one son to another. "You may tell me of your progress later."

"'Tis a sorry state," Seamus continued as though his father hadn't spoken. "We would be ready if Walter-"

"Shut up," Walter Stewart snarled at his younger brother.

"Shut up," the duke said. "I did nae tell you to blather our business before the world." He snatched the cup of wine that Reidheid was extending to him, giving his sons a glare that made his prominent eyes bulge.

Law pondered the depths of his empty cup as the duke's men were handed cups of the claret. They were oddly dour-faced and angry. Once they were busy drinking, Law rose and quietly slipped to the door.

Whatever the earl's sons were incensed about, what interested Law was that Blacader had lied about where he spent a few hours every evening that he was in town. He pulled a face at the thought of trying to question the lord sheriff about his dealings with the man. Besides, it seemed unlikely the sheriff would know where the carter actually spent his time, so he would put the sheriff and Gaudin off until later.

First, he would ask in some obvious places even though it meant more tramping through the town than he wanted to do. There were not many inns in Perth besides Reidheid's, although some of the alewives and taverns rented their spare space as Wulle Cullen did him. He thought of trying Horseman's Inn near the South Port, but that was where much of the king's court stayed when he was in Perth. No, taverns were more likely; the inn was too rich a place for a merchant. He'd try Blindman’s Tavern first. There also was the little tavern that was really more of a whorehouse, not far from Cullen's tavern.

He was still mulling over the most likely place for Blacader to have spent his evenings when he reached the leather work on the corner of South Street and Meal Vennel, where he turned toward Blindman's Tavern. Seamus Og Flimeaan, who made the finest gloves in all of Perth and for whom Law had caught a thief, waved at him through the window and called out, "Madainn mhath."

His friendship with Cormac had vastly improved Law's Gaelic from the rough soldiers' speech he'd had before, and he called back, "Ciamar a tha sibh?"

"Well enow, thank you." The man smiled at him amiably, obviously guessing he had reached Law's limit of courtesies in that language. "And you?"

As unlikely as it was, it never hurt to ask, so Law said, "I am seeking someone, as a matter of fact. You wouldn't have happened to have seen Blacader, the carter, in the last few days, have you?"

"Nae in the past few days, although of an early evening he has been kent to pass by here. But when I think of it, he has nae lately. I gave it nae thought because he is often gone with his cartage." Seamus Og frowned. "Has something happened to him?"

"I hope not. When he passed here, which way was he usually going?"

"That way when he was going." He pointed east toward High Street Port. "And in a hurry to reach where he was off to. Never a word out of him. Not really a friendly sort. And then back from there a few hours later, his feet dragging a bit. You'd think he was going to hard labor, but you'd think his men would do all the heavy lifting."

A customer in a good woolen doublet stopped to inquire about the price of new gloves, so Seamus told Law a hurried goodbye. Law stopped in the street and looked toward the Tower Port. He wondered whether one or more of the men at the cartage might know more about Blacader's roamings than they had let on, but what he had heard from Seamus was probably better to go on. And besides, North Port was closer.

Now the boring part was stopping at every draper's, tavern, and chandler’s in the direction Seamus had directed. None of them had spoken to Blacader, who they said kept to himself, but they’d seen him pass that way many times. Andrew Bouquhen squinted thoughtfully from the window of his shop and said he was fairly certain he had seen the man pass the night before about time for the ringing of the bells for vespers.

When he reached the North Port, he put his hands on his hips to puzzle out what to do now. Beyond the gate was the deep town ditch and beyond that the suburbs so spread out it would be hard to know what direction to even search. Of course, if you followed the main road out of the gate far enough, you would come to Whitefriars' Monastery, but Law was willing to bet a king's merk that Blacader hadn't been going to pray of an evening.

He had just decided that there was nothing for it but to start asking at every building he came to when a deep voice said, "Alms. For the love of God, alms, sir." Law looked down, for the cry-the usual of beggars-came from practically under his feet.

This was a beggar Law hadn't seen before, and the sheriff made sure that the burgh was not overrun with them. Most were run out of the burgh, though a few who could pay were granted a license to beg. Such a license to beg was not easy to pry out of him, but the little man under his feet shook his cup at Law and the squint-eyed guard at the gate sat on his stool, ignoring him, so Law knew he must be licensed.

He was a dwarf, so small he didn't even come up to Law's waist. His big head looked strange atop his misshapen body. He had a hunched back, and his face was squashed in below a bulbous forehead. He waddled a step closer to Law on stunted legs and held out his cup, looking up at him with crazed blue eyes beneath a wild tangle of dirty blond hair.

"I've never seen you about before." Law certainly would have remembered the beggar if he'd seen him before.

The man shrugged. "I used to be at the Tower Gate." He spit. "The lord sheriff said I disgust the fine ladies and lords who use it."

Law nodded. The gate was one he seldom had cause to use since the houses there were where some of the richest men in Perth lived.

"This shouldn't be a bad place, though," Law observed. "There is a good deal of traffic. How long have you begged here?"

"A week, and this blather won't feed me tonight." He held his cup up as high as he could reach and rattled it at Law. "You look like you can afford alms for one of God's poor monsters."

Law reached into his scrip and felt for a groat. He pulled it out and held it a foot or so above the beggar's cup. "Mayhap I can, but I am looking for something."

The dwarf rattled his cup and squinted one eye at Law. "You were poking your nose into everyone's business as you came up the street. What's to-do?"

"I'm looking for someone who's gone missing. A carter by the name of Neill Blacader."

"Blacader? Aye, I ken them, him and that shrew of a wife of his. He probably ran away to escape her. For certain, she'd never drop a coin in my cup nor even a crust of dry bread." Money being scarce, that was often what a beggar received.

"You were here yesterday, aye? Did you see him pass by?"

"You expect my poor addled pate to remember that far back?" He rattled his cup even harder. "But if I ken that I will nae go hungry tonight, it might help me to think on it."

Law sighed. Over on his stool, the guard snickered as Law dropped the groat into the cup. The dwarf pulled it out and examined it closely for clipping before he dropped it back in. "All right then." He cocked his immense head to one side and looked at Law with eyes that now seemed more wily than crazed. "I saw him that night."

"At this port?"

"Aye, this would be the one."

"And he went out?"

The dwarf shrugged. "What else would he do?"

"Which way did he go?"

Grinning, the beggar rattled his cup again.

"Nae a chance," Law said. "Not unless you ken more than which way he walked. I can ask around and find that out for no cost."

The beggar crossed his arms and drew his squashed-in face into a scowl.

"All right then, if what you tell me leads me somewhere and I find him, I'll see that there is something extra in it for you." The promise might save him a lot of tiresome walking, a small price.

He scratched his hairy chest through a tear in his tunic. "How do I ken I can trust you? I'll never see another bit of pay."

"I keep my word. Besides, I might need more information sometime, so I'd be a fool to cheat you."

"That makes sense, I suppose." He scratched his chest and snagged a louse in between his thumb and forefinger that he crushed without bothering to glance down. "He went to the left on New Row Road."

"You're sure it was left?"

He glowered at Law. "Only way you can go from here on that road."

"Tapadh leat," Law said and got a scowl for his courtesy.

Law turned toward the gate and took a couple of steps toward it when the beggar said, "Next time you want to ken what has happened at North Port, you'll want to ask poor Gilleasp before you waste your time with those Sassenach." He spit. "But be sure you bring more than one groat."

"Aye, I'll keep that in mind." He turned and considered Gilleasp. "You wouldn't have a guess where he was going, would you?"

The dwarf was settling on the ground, his stunted legs stretched out in front of him. He shrugged. "I cannae see past the gate from here, but you might want to ask at the tavern that's about halfway to Saint Leonard's in that direction." He leered. "I hear a lot of men stop yon."

It might be a long walk, and Law considered going to rent a horse at the stable but decided to do a little checking first. It was a humiliation not to have his own mount any more. He missed his two mounts from his days with the Douglas, but stabling and feed would be a waste of money he could little afford. Besides he would have to dismount every few minutes to ask questions anyway.

Law chuckled and gave the beggar a last wave as he headed out the arched gate. The suburbs outside of Perth formed busy communities largely made up of craftsmen that required more room than could be found within the burgh proper and narrow runrigs where crops or goats and pigs were raised.

The sun was pleasantly bright. The trees were dressed in the soft green of early spring, and the road was dry. But the stench of the tanner's yard made his eyes water when he stopped to question a man stirring a steaming cauldron. A blacksmith sweating over his forge glared at his work being interrupted. They all shook their heads when he asked whether they had seen the carter. A goose girl in a fenced runrig smacked with her crook at the dozens of screeching fowl and shook her head when he asked whether she had seen his quarry.

In front of a large barn, a dozen women were seated at a long table, pounding lengths of cloth back and forth as they sang a waulking song. The woman leading the singing turned and watched him as he walked up the rutted road. Law called to her since she looked like she probably noticed anyone passing by. They continued their rhythmic back-and-forth pounding, but the square-faced grannie smiled, so he pushed the gate open and strolled over. The singing slowed and stopped.

The air was reeking with the stink of the urine they pounded the wool into in order to bleach it. His eyes watered, and he tried not to breathe too deeply. He described Blacader, and the woman shrugged. "Many a man passes by. And may look so. Why are you seeking him?"

"He's a reliable carter, not a man to just wander off, and he has nae returned home since last eve."

The women all laughed when a sharp-faced goodwife on the other side of the table retorted, "There's nae such thing as a man you can rely on."

Law grinned at her. "Mayhap you can rely on us being at the nearest tavern?"

That provoked a few chuckles.

The grannie waved farther up the street and said, "There is a tavern after the next runrig. You cannae miss it. No man hereabouts does." That caused a loud outburst of laughter. She lifted the bunch of wool in front of her and began their interrupted chant. Obviously, he was going to learn no more from them as the others responded.

He didn't see anyone in the raw field of the next runrig, which looked ready for planting, but beyond it rose the peaked. thatched roof of what must be the tavern. It would be easier to stop there first and was as likely as anywhere for Blacader to have headed.

He pushed through the gate into the hard-packed yard. There was a weathered trestle table where customers could drink on a fine day. The front door was open to a long, low room that made Law feel as though he should duck when he stepped inside.

Near the door, a barrel of ale stood behind a trestle. Two gaffers sat on stools, talking in loud voices. Beyond them a man bent over a bowl, eating at a small table. At the far end of the room, a peat fire glowed in a brazier, and a girl was stirring something in a cooking pot hung by a crane. Across the noise, one of the gaffers yelled, "Your tavern is coming up in the world, Una. Yon's gentry at the door."

As he looked around, a woman straightened from behind the trestle that protected the barrel of ale. She smiled at him and leaned over the counter, so that it pushed her breasts up high under her bodice.

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asked. He judged her to be only a few years older than himself. Her nose was big, and her mouth was wide. Beneath her wimple, a few strands of gray mixed in with the bright red hair. Round, blue eyes took him in with sharp appraisal. The combination was attractive, if not pretty. Her mouth twitched, and she shook her head. "You'll be wanting a drink then."

"Aye." He dropped a few farthings on the counter and nodded. "I've had a long walk."

"Just tapped today," Una said and filled a wooden tankard.

Law took a sip. It was indeed fresh with a strong barley flavor. "It's good."

"Some seem to like it." She gave him a speculative look. "You're nae from around here. I'd ken you if you were."

He nodded in the direction of the gate. "I live in the burgh. I'm trying to find someone that was seen in these parts, though, a man who's gone missing."

"Friend of yours, is he? Relative?"

"Trying to find him for his family. It's a man by the name of Neill Blacader."

The corners of Una's eyes and mouth twitched. It was so slight Law would have missed it if he hadn't been watching so closely. "I thought if he came this way, he'd stop for a drink of your ale." He motioned with the cup.

"Never heard the name afore."

"A man about my size. Brownish red hair and a hooked nose. It would have been two eves ago."

She shrugged. "That was a busy night, and a lot of men have hair with a mite of red in it. He might have been here. Might not." She forced a smile. "Do you want another cup of ale? If not, I have work to do. Don't have time to stand here blathering."

"I'll nae keep you then," Law said. He stood and sipped his ale. With a huff, she sashayed, hips swinging, out from behind the counter, grabbed a broom and began furiously sweeping the floor.

He swirled the dregs of his ale. He was certain that the name had meant something to her, though it was impossible to tell what. But there was nothing to gain by standing with an empty cup, so he put it down and strolled out to the yard. If nothing else, her reaction made him sure that Blacader had reached this far, so the question was, where did he go from here?

Not quite sure why, he wandered around to the back of the tavern where a boy was raking barley malt in a shed. Una must be an alewife as well as running a tavern. Behind the shed was the fenced field of another runrig where several goats were grazing. Beyond the fence and a stand of tall pines that marked the boundary with the runrig, he saw the ground was trampled, and the grass bent and broken. He put a hand on the top and vaulted over, biting back a yelp when he landed hard on his bad leg. Sometimes he forgot he couldn't move as well as he used to.

He squatted for a closer look and poked at the hoof prints in the bent grass. The horseshoes had scored the ground, and the grass was bent and broken but not yet browned or dried out. They had to be recent. This was an odd place for riders-three, it looked like, as he counted the prints. He stood and was looking around when the odor hit him, sickly sweet and pungent. It was a smell a man never forgot.

Pausing, he sniffed reluctantly to pick out the direction of the smell. There was little wind so it had to be near, and after a moment he nodded to himself. He strode to the pines and scanned the ground within their shade. It was thickly covered with a pad of brown needles. The smell was stronger, but there was no sign of a body, so he walked a little way into the shade beyond the first trees.

The man was sprawled on his back. In the shadows, he might have been sleeping, but no sleeping man had ever given off that sickening smell. Law had smelled worse in his days at war, though, so he knelt to see exactly what he had found.

The wife would have to identify the body, but he had little doubt it was the man he'd been seeking. The resemblance to Tam was as great as she had said: the same color hair and the same thin, hawkish nose. No need to look for a cause of death. The head lolled to the side, almost severed by a slash to the neck. The blood that had soaked into the pine carpet had already turned black. Flies crawled in it in a living mat. Next to the body lay a leather scrip with coins spilled onto the ground.

It had taken an immensely strong man to give such a blow.

Law blew out a breath. This was no longer his business. He had not been hired to discover who did the killing, but curiosity overcame his reluctance, and he lifted the arm. The wrist moved, but the shoulder was still locked in place, so Neill Blacader had been dead long enough for the rigor mortis to begin to pass-at least a day and a half most likely. The night was still chill and which slowed the process. So he had been dead the whole time they'd sought him.

It was a strange thief who would leave coins behind, but perhaps he'd been scared off. Yet if that was the case, why had no one reported the murder? And why were there hoof prints nearby? That was off the road where riders would not normally be. And that horrendous wound had to be the work of a sword, or even a battleaxe. In fact, Law would bet on a horseman's two-handed battleae for that work. He didn't know many swordsmen who'd be able to nearly sever a man's head with one blow. That was harder to do than you'd think. He'd once seen a headsman take three blows to behead a traitor in France.

He stood and scratched the stubble on his cheek. If he'd known how this day would turn out, he would have shaved because it was always best to look respectable when you had to deal with the lord sheriff. He pondered that scrip lying on the ground, coins half-buried in brown pine needles. He would have liked to go for the town guard himself, but he couldn't trust anyone else to stay with the body and not interfere with it. Someone else would have to go while he stayed behind.

Why was it always he who ended up involved in these muddles? He'd had enough of blood and death in France.

Law retraced his steps over the fence and across the yard to the tavern. It took some convincing and yet another groat, but the man who had finished his pottage at last agreed to go to the North Port and notify the guard. With a sigh, Law went back to stand with the body, as far from it as he could and still have it in sight, and wait, carefully refusing to track the hoof prints to see which way they went. It was none of his business. Let the lord sheriff deal with it.

2

A commotion from the direction of the tavern announced the arrival of Sergeant Meldrum. His voice carried across the yard and into the little stand of trees. "Aye, Una, Johnne here said you had need of me." Una mumbled something. "What? In the trees? Show me then."

There was more commotion before he said, "The rest of you bide here. Una, you too. You'll be no good climbing over fences." He appeared between the trees, large and red-faced, his white moustache bristling, and thumbs tucked into the wide leather belt of his official blue gown. When he came within sight of the body, he came to an abrupt halt. Johnne slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, his face turning a pale green. He stared and then turned and scrambled toward the tavern.

"Och. If it is nae Sir Law Kintour himself. And what trouble have you gotten yourself into now?"

A town guard behind Meldrum caught sight of the body and crossed himself.

"Mistress Wrycht out at the carterage past Tower Port hired me to look for her husband. He'd gone missing," Law said. "And it looks like I found him."

Meldrum squatted next to the body. "Aye, 'tis the man." He looked up at Law. "When was this she hired you to look for him?"

"This morning. I talked to a few people…" Law described his search for the dead man. "At the tavern, Una said she did nae ken the man, but most likely she did. I'd wager that was where he came of an evening."

Sergeant Meldrum tilted the head, frowning over the horrible slash, and then he stood and went to the scrip. He picked it up and the scattered coins. He scratched his chin. "Matt," he said to the guard, "go to the tavern. I saw a hand cart in the back we can use. We'd best get this body out of here."

The guard scrambled back over the fence toward the tavern. Meldrum crossed his arms and studied the body. "It might have been a thief after his siller," he said doubtfully. "Though why they left it…"

"You might talk to everyone in the tavern and see who was here night before last. Someone must have heard something. I doubt this was done silent. And there are hoof prints over there fresh enough that they may have been made by whoever kilt him."

"Aye, he probably got in a fight with the wrong man. That is more likely. It had to be someone good with a weapon, though, and not a dagger, that's plain. But I cannae be running about hither and yon asking questions. I have a whole burgh to watch and to ward. And one of the priests from Saint John's will have to go give Widow Blacader the news."

That was a task Law was glad to be relieved of, but then he would have to go see whether she would indeed still pay him. He breathed a skeptical huff through his nose that made Meldrum glance at him.

Before the sergeant could say anything, the guard called from the fence that he had borrowed the hand cart and it was waiting in front of the tavern. Meldrum grimaced and said, "You found it, so you can help me carry it thon." Of course the sergeant grabbed the feet, which left Law to the head. He loosened Blacader's cloak and used it to wrap his lolling head. Between them, they heaved it over the fence and across the yard.

"No doubt the sheriff will call an inquest in the morn. I expect he will ask if anyone heard anything then. He will find out if anyone in the burgh kens how he got here. Then his goodwife can have him buried decent."

Meldrum told the guard to pull the cart, and they set off, nodding to Una as he passed where she stood watching in the doorway. Law watched and caught the words made by a sword stroke and Sergeant Meldrum's Aye, that is what it looks like.

Una was tight-lipped, with her arms clasped tight across her chest. Law opened his mouth to ask her again about the dead man, but then he changed his mind. Another murder was the last thing he needed to be involved in, and the lord sheriff wouldn't be likely to take well to his interfering anyway. So with a last glance at her, he strode, head down in thought, back through the port into the burgh.

3

Sir William Ruthven of Balkernoch, lord high sheriff of the royal burgh of Perth, past forty, balding but still with shoulders like a bull, in good purple velvet furred with marten, stood on the dais at the far end of the main vaulted chamber of the tolhouse, surveyed the gathering, and scowled.

"Sergeant, there is too much riffraff here for my liking. We shall need to clear the hall before this assize is over." He turned to his clerk, who was laying out parchment on the nearby table. "Bring four or five more men in just in case we need them."

"You did nae tell me to keep out the riffraff," Meldrum said indignantly. He turned and strode away, grumbling under his breath. After a word from him, one of the two guards standing by the trestle table in the center of the hall where the body was laid out beneath a linen drape scurried out.

The lord sheriff glowered at the loudest comments that were coming from a group standing around the foot of the table. Law recognized the voluptuous Una in the midst of one group, wimple wagging as she talked to a man he hadn't seen before. What is that about? he wondered. Well away from that group, Mistress Wrycht, or Widow Blacader as she was now, was dressed in a dark gown and wearing a black mourning cap and veil. She stood with her son, Tam, silently looking on, her face drawn as tight as a bow; with them was a girl in a loose checked gown-the usual dress of a Highland woman-whom Law expected was a maid and Andy. Packed into the room but standing separate from the others were the merchants such as Seamus Og Flimeaan, who stood waiting to see whether he was called to serve on the assize. Crowding in were dozens of idlers, apprentices, and laborers escaping their work for free entertainment.

Sergeant Meldrum mounted the dais, lifted the silver-gilt burgh mace, and bellowed for the gathering to be silent. The guard returned, half a dozen armed men following, and the assize began. Law had long since learned that these proceedings were never fast, the longest part often being selecting fifteen assizers to whom there was no objection. As they squabbled over who was fit to serve, Wulle elbowed Law and thrust his chin to near the door where Cormac slouched against the wall. In order not to raise the sheriff's ire, they quietly eased their way through the crowd.

"They'll argue for another half hour yet," Wulle said and rounded on Cormac. "Now what were you about this morning? I heard you were out at the duke's camp. That's a dangerous place to be wandering."

Cormac huffed. "They're Highlanders. I offered them a song and listened whilst they talked. They're no danger to me."

Law glanced around to be sure no one was listening to their conversation, but the loud arguing over whether the next possible assizer had cheated his customers held everyone's attention, so he said quietly, "I want to ken what they talked about. What the devil is Albany doing in Perth? Did they say if he's biding?"

"None of them said what he was about. I doubt they kent, but they said their sergeants have given orders to be prepared to ride for Castle Doune on at a moment's notice."

"And good riddance," Wulle muttered. "They'e nae but Highlander ruffians and troublemakers, the duke's men or nae."

Cormac cast his eyes at the ceiling, but Law knew he was too accustomed to casual insults to Highlanders to bother with arguing.

"Strange his stopping here when-" Law began, but Wulle interrupted him.

"Wheesht, they're finally starting."

Sir William banged the base of the burgh mace on the table and began to explain that they were there for the assize to determine who the dead man was, how he died, and who was responsible, but that if they could not determine any one of those matters, they were to say so with no equivocation. As he spoke, some sidelong glances between Una and two of the men made Law frown.

Sir William began by calling Law to come stand before him. He glowered and said, "You find too many bodies for my liking. No honest man should find so many."

"More than I like, lord sheriff, but I am sometimes hired to find someone who's gone missing, and who is more likely to be done to death?"

"And you were hired to find Neill Blacader?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "Exactly when did this happen?"

"Yester morn." Law nodded toward Wulle. "I was at Cullen's tavern, and Andy, standing yon with Widow Blacader, came and bade me go speak with her. She said her man had been gone missing more than a day before, and they'd sought him to no avail. So I telt her I'd try to find him for her."

"There was nae reason for someone to go poking about past that fence if he did nae already ken there was a body yon," a woman's voice shouted from the crowd, and Law suppressed a groan.

Sir William scanned the crowd, frowning. "Who said that?"

"Me," Una said. "I am alewife and tavern owner on New Row Road outside the walls."

"I ken where New Row Road is," Sir William snapped. "But what do you ken about finding the body?"

She pointed accusingly at Law. "He came in asking if I had seen Neill Blacader, pretending he did nae ken where he was. Then he left my tavern and walked right up to it past the fence, well away from the road. How could he have kent it was there if he had naught to do with it?" Her voice rose higher and more excited as she spoke.

Law shook his head. "I'd never seen nor met the man, no way nor reason I'd harm him. I wandered behind the tavern where she does her brewing trying to make out which way Blacader might have gone, because several people telt me they saw him going onto that road. When I saw there had been horses back there from the trampled grass, I went to look. When you got close, you could nae miss…" He glanced apologetically at the widow. "Och, I've smelt too much death in my days in battle to mistake it, so I went searching."

Sir William turned his gaze to the widow. "You are Widow Blacader then?" he asked.

"Aye." She was dry-eyed, but her face looked gaunter than the day before, whether from grief or not Law couldn't decide.

"Do you confirm his story?" Sir William thrust his chin toward him, to Law's irritation. He'd never earned the man's ire but always seemed to have it.

"Aye, 'tis true enow."

"Had you met him before? Was he acquainted with your man? Do business with him?"

She shook her head. "Not that I ever kent. He was never at the cartage, or I would have seen him."

"Well, I watched him when he left the tavern," one of the men with Una said. He was a big, flat-featured man even taller than Law. Law did not recall having seen him in the tavern or anywhere else. "He went around back as though he had business there, and there was nae reason for it." At the sheriff's silence, he continued. "He looked around like, and then he kept going straight back toward the fence, not hesitating at all, and then came right back to say he had found a body. It was back hidden in some trees is why no one had seen it. He had to have kent it was there. And that must mean he did the killing!"

Sir William, scowling, persevered with the account of Meldrum being summoned, and the identification of the body finally obtained corroboration by the straightforward method of asking, "And you, Mistress Una, agree with that? And you, Sergeant, ken the man and can identify him?"

"Aye," Una said and opened her mouth to continue, but Sir William had already turned to Meldrum.

"Aye, 'tis him right enow," the sergeant concurred.

"Aye, but that is nae to the matter of who did the killing," one of the assizers, a lanky man whom Law thought they'd said was a chandler, put in. "I think that what yon said makes a good deal of sense."

With a sinking feeling, Law stepped forward and said, "And I tell you, I did nae ken the man nor have any reason to harm him."

"You dinnae have to ken someone to steal from them," said the flat-faced man. Several of the assizers looked at each other and nodded.

Law looked the man in the face. "I'm nae thief, but if I were, I'd nae go off and leave the siller on the ground."

"Have the assizers any more questions they wish to put? Does anyone have any more evidence they wish to bring forward?"

"I still say-" Flat-Face shouted.

Sir William cut him off with a glare and a bang of the burgh mace on the table. "We've heard what you have to say, so unless it is something more, it will take us no further in the matter."

"Aye," said the chandler, "I want to ask the sergeant if the grass was trampled by horses as this Sir Law said." He cast a suspicious look toward Law.

"It was," Meldrum confirmed. "It was trampled enow that the riders must have been there a time. There were droppings as well. Probably three horses."

"Could you tell if all three had riders? Mayhap one person-" He gave Law another glance. "-leading two horses."

Meldrum drew his face up into a wrinkled frown. "Hard to say, but none of the hoof prints looked lighter than the other. Still after a day or so it would nae swear one way or the other."

A man in a plain burgher's gown asked, "I am still nae clear-was he robbed?"

At that, Meldrum sounded more confident. "His purse was yon. No way to tell if he dropped it or the killer. But there were coins strewn that a killer could have taken."

"Unless he fled because he was afraid someone had heard," put in Flat-Face.

The room was suddenly full of noise as everyone in it spoke up with an opinion whether a thief would have fled without taking money readily at hand. Over the hubbub, Sir William shouted for silence and pounded with the mace on the table. When he restored quiet, there were no more questions, so the assizers were led grandly out of the rope enclosure and through the door behind the dais to make a decision on what they had heard.

Cormac sighed. "They'll feed that lot, and we'll wait with empty bellies."

"What did you do to that man to give him such a scunner of you?" Wulle asked in an undertone.

Law stared at the man over the heads of the excitedly talking knots of onlookers. Flat-Face was watching the door where the assizers had disappeared, his face thoughtful. Suddenly, as though he had felt Law staring at him, he jerked around and laughed. Law ground his teeth. "He was nae in the tavern when I was yon. He was lying, but damn me if I ken why."

"Mayhap he's the killer," Cormac said.

"Mayhap." Law rubbed the tuft of his beard. "I'd think that the killer would nae want to call so much attention to himself. But mayhap."

Wulle grunted. "As long as they dinnae accuse you of it, best you leave the whole matter alone."

"I dinnae think they will accuse me. The widow stated that she hired me, and Medrum agreed that there were hoof prints, so…" Law clicked his tongue against his teeth. "It is a curious matter. He was nae robbed."

Cormac lounged a little more comfortably against the wall. "It will be a time. After they're fed, they'll talk and talk. You see if it isn't." He had the right of it, and the onlookers were muttering restlessly after an hour when the assizers finally filed out the door and down the steps to their roped enclosure.

Meldrum went back for Sir William, who strode in and hammered on the table and shouted for silence. He then asked who would speak for the assize.

"Me, Sir William." The chandler who had asked most of the questions stepped forward. "It's me, Patrik Donaldsone, maker of fine candles and soaps-"

"Enow of that, Patrik," the lord sheriff barked. "You are supposed to tell us the assize’s decision, nae sell your goods. So get on with it."

Donaldsone shuffled in embarrassment and stammered, "Aye. As you say, Sir William. We agreed that we ken who the dead man is: Neill Blacader."

"And the manner of his death?"

"Och, now we were nae quite in agreement about that, maister. He was murdered right enow, though I'm nae sure you'd call it slitting his throat when it near took his head right off. We argued one way and the other. Three said it was beheading, but the rest of us said that since it was still on by even a mite of skin, it was by his throat being slit."

Sir William exchanged a glance with Meldrum, who ducked his head and blew a snort through his nose. "Very well, I shall accept the verdict of murder by having his throat slit. Now do you ken who did the murder?"

The chandler frowned like a man not expecting to receive thanks for what he was about to say. "That we could nae agree on, Sir William. We reckon that one man who testified may know more than he's telt, but we were nae sure that it means he did the killing. Sir Law there found the body in a suspicious sort of way, but other facts, that the widow said she hired him and the money left behind, telt against it being him." The man gave Law a considering look. "I dinnae think he is the sort who, if he kilt for money, would take a fright and run off and leave it, and no one can say he even met Blacader to have cause to kill him. So we argued on it with some saying it was him but most of us saying that we did nae think so. The other matters, horses and so forth, just telt against it."

"What?" Flat-Face shouted. "I'm telling you it had to be him." Several of the men with him and the tavern keeper added in their voices, yelling the assize had been paid off.

"You're glaikit," Seamus Og Flimean rounded on them. "Shut your mouth in front of your betters."

"Who do you think you're calling glaikit?" One of Flat-Face's friends shoved the merchant. Pandemonium broke out. Flimean shoved back. Una was shouting, as one of her companions threw a blow, knocking a youth to the ground. Cormac uncurled from slumping against the wall with an appraising look and fists clenched. Law grabbed his arm and hauled him back as he and Wulle pressed their backs against the wall.

Widow Blacader grabbed her son's arm and tugged him with her as she backed up. The maid was shaking her hands in front of her in distress, but Andy shooed her to join their mistress.

Meldrum drew his club and stamped onto the dais to stand beside Sir William. The lord sheriff was banging the burgh mace and bellowing for the guards to clear the chamber. The guards waded in, using their clubs to shove people before them. Law looked about, but Flat-Face had already ducked away into the crowd and disappeared. When the crowd didn't move fast enough, the guards began to lay about them with their clubs. Someone ducked and then ran through the door. Then it was a stampede, everyone shouting, pushing, and shoving.

One of the guards gave Cormac a shove and motioned to the door with his club, but the sheriff yelled, "Not Law. I want to have words with that man."

Law pulled his mouth into a grimace. He yelled over the chaos to Cormac and Wulle, "You two go ahead. I'll be along in a bit." He gave Cormac a push in the direction of the door and a warning scowl.

The minstrel grinned and followed Wulle to push their way out through the fleeing crowd. Law shook his head and worked his way to the dais. "Shall we withdraw?" he yelled when he was close enough. "Talk about this privily?"

"Aye," Sir William shouted as his men stormed toward the door. "Follow me."

As Law followed, Meldrum jumped from the dais, club raised to join his men. There would be many a sore, bloodied head on the night.

Once in the quiet of his chamber, Sir William crossed his arms and paced about the room, face drawn up like a fist. "I dinnae like this," he muttered.

Law was tempted to ask whether he usually liked murder but decided silence was a wise choice. The lord sheriff was no man to poke, as he knew all too well. Finally, Law said, "I still think it had to be an ax that did the killing. That was no sword stroke."

The sheriff grunted in what might have been agreement. "I shall nae have unrest in this burgh. The king would nae like it, and I will nae have it."

Law raised his eyebrows at him, unsure exactly what that meant. "I've done nae unrest, sir."

"Not yet." The sheriff went behind his writing table and sank into his high-backed chair. He waved Law to a stool.

Law sank onto the seat and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"The king will nae be pleased with the peace of the burgh broken, but at least it was outwith the walls." He slammed his fist down on the desk so hard his inkwell jumped. "And that demon-spawn Murdoch Stewart riding with his men into Perth. The country would have been better if the first litter of that ilk had been drowned when they were whelped."

"He's at peace with the king for now, though."

"Aye, and he should thank the king's grace for it because it's more than he deserves."

Law started to shrug and then thought better of it. Instead he rose. "If you have nae further need of me then, my lord-"

"I gave you no leave to go. Sit down."

With a sigh, Law sat.

"That troublemaker was determined to say that you did the killing. I dinnae believe it, but he was resolved to cause trouble. I'll set Meldrum to search for him and give him a warning, but he is a man looking for a fight if I ever saw one. Now tell me what you ken about this man who was so eager to see you hang. Who was he? And what did he see at that tavern that made him so suspicious of you?"

"Naught. He saw naught. As far as I ken, he was nae yon. I never saw him, and had he been yon, I would have." Law frowned and considered it. "I suppose he might have come in after I was out of sight of the front of the tavern. And mayhap my finding the body looked suspicious, but you ken that the stink of a dead body cannae be mistaken once ever you've smelt it."

The lord sheriff winced at the thought. "He must have some grudge against you."

"I dinnae ken why he was so determined. It was a lie that he was in the tavern when I was searching for Blacader. If Una put him up to it, I cannae understand why."

"If I hear of violence with the man or that you ken more of the matter than you've said, you shall regret it. I tell you that." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Law. "I'm nae sure that I should nae make sure of it and put you to the question."

"It could tell you nae more than I already have. And I have nae reason for brawling with him." Law shook his head, wondering whether the lord sheriff knew any expression except for a glare or any solution except threats. "I am done with the matter. Widow Blacader, Mistress Wrycht that was, hired me to find her man, and I did, nae that I've been paid for my time."

"And you expect her to pay you now with her husband dead?"

Law couldn't stop a bitter laugh. "Nae. Though I suppose I may hope."

"Then begone. But the next time you cause trouble, you'll see the inside of the dungeon. You've brought too much trouble to the burgh already."

When Law left the tolhouse, he was facing across the River Tay. Past the stone bridge on the east side of the river, the tangled masts and spars of sea-going ships jostled for anchor room at the quays. There must have been fifteen or twenty ships moored even so early in the sailing season. One tall-masted ship was just lifting its sails, setting out toward the Firth of Tay and the open sea. Would it be making for France and the fighting that still raged there? No, more likely it make for the peaceful Low Country where there was trade to be had.

On the west side of the river, crowded fishing boats were unloading their catch to be carried to the fish market. Against the brilliant sky, hordes of voracious gulls drove toward the boats, their wings catching the sunlight with a steely shimmer, and while soaring across the sun were turned into lances, reddened with the sunlight as if dripping blood. Law refused to believe in omens.

He turned toward onto Watergate Street. As he passed Saint John's Kirk, a boy who was obviously supposed to be at his studies darted along the high wall of the church gardens and through the song school gate. Brother Nevan, the porter, opened the door and then gave him a clout on the ear as he entered.

Law strode resolutely toward Watergate Port, debating whether he should even bother to ask for payment from the widow. It went against his teachings to do so. Then he huffed. Those teachings had never kept the widows and orphans that knights were supposed to protect from starving when those knights burnt their fields and homes. He was still trying to decide what he should do when he came to the latticework gate into Blacader’s yard and heard someone shrieking.

"Murder! Holy Mary, Mother of God, murder!" a woman cried from inside the yard.

For a brief second, Law actually considered leaving. He had had more than enough death and grief in his life for a dozen men. He loathed the prospect of another dead body and of explaining that it was not himself being a troublemaker to the lord sheriff. Then he flushed with shame at his momentary cowardice and pushed the gate open.

The door of the house within the confines of the yard flew open, and young Tam Blacader scrambled out of the house, stumbling on the doorstep in his haste. His mother threw the shutters of the window open and stood there, clutching the sill, babbling, "Murder. Someone has done murder."

Law lengthened his stride. "What has happened?"

"Damn them," Tam yelled, almost dancing in his distress. "Someone broke into the house while we were at the inquest, and they've kilt old Syme. He's lying with his head all bloody in yon. Dead!"

Law noticed Andy peeking out from the barn at the end of the yard, afraid to come out. He could hardly blame him.

"Who kilt him?"

The youth stared at him, wide-eyed. "I dinnae ken who, but someone."

"Holy St Andrew, help us," moaned the widow. "I have to see if they robbed us. We will be ruined."

"Widow Blacader!" Law called. "May I come in? Who is it who was kilt?"

She clutched her hands to her breast and said to her son, "Tam, bring Sir Law in. He must take care of this for us."

By that time, Andy had come out of the barn and had apparently decided it was safe to join them. When Tam motioned for Law to go inside, the man followed them, curiosity overcoming any remaining alarm, but Tam threw his arm up and barred the way. He shut the door behind himself and Law.

At the far side of the hall before a wide fireplace, a man rolled onto his back and moaned. Widow Blacader gasped and smacked her hand on her chest so hard, Law heard the thump. "Och, he is nae dead!" she exclaimed.

Law bit his lip to keep from laughing, but housebreaking and assault was no laughing matter. He went to crouch next to Syme and examined the gash on his head that had the man's ear dangling by a thread of skin. "From the looks of this, he's lucky to be alive." He looked at the two of them standing there like lumps. "Bring some cloth to stanch the bleeding." He looked around the hall, well-appointed with a cushioned chair next to the hearth, a smaller one on the opposite side, a long polished table with a pewter candle stand, and several stools. The rushes were thin underfoot, but fresh and sweetened with heather.

The maid, whom Law hadn't noticed, pressed into the corner as though she could hide there, moaning, "Christ save us."

"Marioun, stop your moaning!" Widow Blacader told the maid. "Go fetch clean cloths. I must look to see what was stolen."

The hall took up most of the ground floor, and there would be a pantry and buttery behind. Sleeping chambers would be up the stairs. Widow Blacader hurried up the stairs to the rear chamber followed by her son. As Law waited for Tam to return, Syme was still moaning, but he opened his glazed eyes and tried to look around.

Law put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Be still until we have you bandaged."

Above his head, the widow gave a scream of distress. Law jumped to his feet, cursing that he hadn't searched the house for an intruder. "The devils," she screeched. "Look what they've done."

Marioun peeked in, her arms full of linen cloths.

"You try to stanch the bleeding," he told her as he turned to go up to the widow who was now screeching wordlessly. "I'll see what has happened." He ran up the stairs and into the rear chamber. Widow Blacader stood in the center of the chamber, which was barren except for a writing table with a large, heavy pricket candlestick on it, a cushioned chair, a stool, and a small kist beneath the shuttered window. She pointed to the kist. "How did the they open it? It was locked. The outlaws! I shall be ruined!"

Law kicked a bag that had spilled a few coins on top of papers dumped everywhere on the floor as though they'd been thrown about in a fury. "Whoever it was did nae take your money, or at least not all of it."

She gasped and dropped onto her knees and started gathering up the coins.

He went and crouched before the kist. The lock was still whole, with no sign of tampering. The dark iron had no scratches and was unbroken. "Did your husband generally carry the key with him?"

She pressed her hand to her mouth and nodded.

The devil take it, there was no choice but to send for Meldrum, and certainly the lord sheriff was going to blame Law for this, though how it was his fault was beyond his ken. He stood up with a sigh. "We had best leave this alone and send for the sergeant and for a barber to tend to Syme." He shook his head. "That ear will have to come off."

"I'll nae leave the money lying about for him or another to steal," she said indignantly. She continued stuffing the coins back into the leather bag.

"I dinnae suppose it matters, but Sergeant Meldrum will need to know that no money was stolen." He paused. "Or was it? Do you ken if it is all there?"

"I…I think it must be, but I cannae be sure." She picked up the last coin, used the drawstring to close the scrip, and clutched it to her breast. "I shall have to find someone to run the yard for me. They'd never listen to Tam." Her mouth gave a bitter twist.

The business would have a hard time until Tam was older, although it occurred to Law that she might think just a bit more about her husband, who wasn't even buried yet. Still, she was a widow, and he would try to remember his oaths. "Let us go down to the hall. I suppose you had best send Andy for the sergeant. Mayhap you should sit by the fire and have a cup of wine to calm you whilst we wait for him."

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. "You think I'm a hard woman, nae grieving my man. But I have a family to care for, and they cannae eat grief."

"Och, life is hard, mistress. Who am I to judge?" He offered her a hand to help her rise; she stared at it suspiciously for a moment before she accepted.

Downstairs, Syme still lay on the floor, but his head was now thickly wrapped in bandages that were reddening as blood soaked through. Tam began pacing, hands flexing in distress.

Widow Blacader still clutched the leather scrip as she curled her lip at the sight of her blood-splattered floor. "Tam, go send Andy for Sergeant Meldrum. Marioun, clean that blood before it soaks through the rushes and stains my floor."

"Wait. The sergeant will want to see it. You'd best leave it until he comes." The poor maid was wringing her hands, not knowing whom to obey, so he smiled at her and said, "Bring your mistress a cup of wine. She is much distressed."

The widow sank into the cushioned chair that sat next to the fireplace. "As though I dinnae have enow to distress me!" She gave Syme a baleful look. "And now the rushes will have to be changed as well, as though I can afford more expense. And my husband nae yet buried." She wiped an eye that had not a trace of a tear in it.

"I'm sorry, mistress," Syme said in a weak voice. "I saw a man go into the house with you nae here, so I came to see what he was about." His eyes closed as though he had worn out his strength.

Law crouched beside him. "Did you recognize him? Was it someone you had seen before?"

Syme shook his head no, moaning as though the motion pained him.

The door slammed open so hard it bounced against the wall, and the lord sheriff stalked in, followed closely by Sergeant Meldrum and two of his guards, both tall and burly with faces scarred from a history of fights. Sir William stripped off his leather gloves and dropped them onto the table with a huff. He marched across the room to stare down at Syme.

Law watched him as a fox watches a hound on the hunt. He hadn't long to wait for the hound to turn on him.

"What have you done now?"

Law shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Naught. I called upon Widow Blacader as I said that I might and found this."

"And it was just happenstance that you appeared at yet another attack."

"I dinnae ken anything about it."

"Law, Law." Sir William shook his head and sauntered around the table. "It is nae wise to lie to me, for if I dinnae find the truth, the thumbscrew shall."

Sir William backhanded him across the face. Law hadn't seen it coming and stumbled back a step. He pulled back his fist before he realized whom he was about to punch.

Sir William snorted a laugh. "Any such thought you have, you had best abandon."

Gritting his teeth, Law forced his face to relax and dropped his hand, unclenching it, but he was shaking all over.

"I ask you again-what were you after here?"

"My lord," Widow Blacader said. "We arrived-" But she might have been a mouse squeaking for all the attention the lord sheriff paid to her.

Law clenched his jaw and glared into the sheriff's eyes. "Naught. I had nothing to do with it."

Sir William shook his head. "Guards." The two men stepped past Meldrum, their hands curled into fists. The lord sheriff moved to the window that the widow had thrown open and looked out for a moment, as though savoring the afternoon sun. He nodded to his men.

Law crouched. He might not dare strike back at the king's appointed sheriff of the royal burgh, but he was damned if he would let the man's lackeys beat him without defending himself. He blocked the first blow with his arm and punched hard into the man's gut. The guard grunted and stumbled back.

The second guard was already swinging up at Law's face. The blow hit his chin like a hammer. Law's sight went black, and he stumbled into the table. The candlestick crashed over and Widow Blacader shrieked her distress. He shook his head as his vision cleared.

The first guard grabbed Law's arm and twisted it, and Law gave him a savage kick on the shin. The man yelped, but with a vicious twist, he got Law's right arm up behind his back and up to his shoulder blade. Law saw the blow coming from the second guard. He writhed, but it caught him on the temple, and he saw black again. His ears were ringing so that he couldn’t make out what Sir William said, but a shove laid him face down on the floor.

"Devil take you, Law. Answer my question."

Law raised his head and squinted up, the room wobbling. "I did."

The sheriff put his hand on his sword hilt and tapped it with his fingertips. "You give me no choice." He motioned to Meldrum. "Have him taken to the tolhouse dungeon."

4

Law stumbled between the guards, each gripping an arm to drag him down the passage. That whoreson. The sheriff did not care who was really guilty he only cared about staying on the good side of the king. But Law had thought he had more intelligence than this.

The guards hauled Law to the end of the passage and shoved him into an empty cell. He caught himself on his hands and knees before he straightened. The door slammed shut. A key grated in the lock, and then footsteps receded on the stone floor.

Law leaned back against the cold stone wall and slid down to sit. He cautiously fingered his chin and temple. His head pounded, and his stomach churned. The chill from the wall soaked through his cloak. He pulled it close and shut his eyes, hoping it would ease the thudding of his headache.

"Why does he always blame me?" he muttered.

The air was thick with the stench of piss and shit and the sweat of fear. Law tried to breathe through his mouth. There was no telling how long it would be before the sheriff sent for him. Or would he come with the thumbscrews he was so fond of?

There was a clatter of footsteps, and the key rasped in the lock. Bracing his hand against the wall, he pushed himself to his feet. The door creaked open, and one of the guards, the one Law had knocked down, stood in the doorway silhouetted by the shifting light of a torch.

"So," the guard said, "you thought to get away with knocking me about."

Law snorted a small laugh. "What is a bit of knocking about between friends?"

"You think because some lord knighted you that you're better than the rest of us. But they kicked you out soon enow, did they nae? And what are you now? Naught more than a beggar." He pulled loose the club that hung from his belt. "I'll show you how much better you are."

The guard raised the club and swung from his shoulder. Law stepped close, grabbed both of the guard's arms and twisted hard enough to throw him to the floor. Standing over the man, he kicked the club across the cell and then kicked the downed man in the ribs. The guard crawled onto his hands and knees. Law raised his fist, about to slam it down on the back of the guard's neck-until the jab of the point of a sword stopped him cold.

He raised his hands and backed slowly away, eyeing a hard-eyed guard who snarled down at the first guard, "You useless piece of dung. I should beat you myself." He waited until the beaten man stumbled out. "If he has a chance, he'll pay you back for that."

"He can try."

The door slammed shut, and the tramp of their footfalls faded down the hall. In another cell, a man sobbed and moaned for someone to help him. Through the high window, only a hand span in width, came the patter of rain. It had been a very long time since Law had felt so alone.

The sobbing went on for a long time, but at last the only sound was the rain. It was an empty sound, as though the whole world was desolate. How much time had passed, he wondered. The window let in a little pewter colored light, but the rain cut off any sun, so that gave no hint.

He slid down the wall and let his head sink into his hands for a long time. He frowned while thinking of Neill Blacader's dead body and frowned more when he thought of the house that had been searched and old Syme left bleeding on the floor. Then he realized he had been gone long enough that Cormac might have gone out searching for him. Surely he would have enough sense to stay well away from the lord sheriff, knowing that the man despised Highlanders with a passion.

He hoped Cormac stayed safe, but for now there was nothing he could do about it. Damnation-for now there was nothing he could do for himself. There had been a time when he could have. He muzzily recalled days when his life had had purpose, if a poor one. What use had been the blood he'd shed for his master? But what use was he now? He limped through life at the mercy of his betters, no more able to protect his friends than that poor beggar at the gate.

There had been days in the priory where he'd hidden after he'd taken the wound in his leg when he'd thought of falling on his sword. Pride had kept him from it. Empty pride, perhaps, but he still would struggle on.

"Devil take them, I will not give up."

Footsteps. The clank of keys. The rasp of the lock.

The door squeaked open, and a figure blocked the light from the hall.

"Och, Law." The harsh voice of power.

Sir William Ruthven of Balkernoch planted his fists on his hips. Law scanned behind him, but he was alone.

"You worthless git. If you did nae drive me to anger, this would nae happen."

Law opened his mouth but couldn't think of any response to such a charge. He shook his head. "Would nae happen?"

"You raised your hand to me. Defied me. What was I to do but have you beaten?"

For a moment, Law wondered whether he was dreaming. But he ached all over, his head throbbing, so he must be awake. He started to point out that the lord sheriff had struck him first, but this was an argument he could not win.

Sir William strode to stand before Law, almost nose to nose. "You ken that I want to be just with you."

He knew no such thing, but he shrugged. He wondered what game the sheriff was playing. With Law bloodied, his doublet ripped, and no doubt his face a bruised mess, he could hardly be an impressive sight. Was this a mere taunt before he brought in the thumbscrews-or worse? Or did he want something?

The sheriff's eyes narrowed threateningly. "I can make use of you, even a cripple as you are. And you'll serve me, or you'll stay here until you rot." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "The Black Douglas tossed you out in the midden like a dog, but even dogs have their uses."

Law lifted his chin. The sheriff wanted something, and groveling would win Law nothing. "Dogs have been known to bite when they're kicked."

Sir William grabbed Law by the front of his doublet and jerked him within an inch of his face. "What was in Blacader's kist?" He tossed Law back hard enough that his head bounced against the wall.

His stomach pitched at the blow, and the room tilted. He blinked his vision clear and said, "You ken I was at the assize when it was broken into." He blinked again. It hadn't been broken into, though, had it? "I dinnae ken what was in it, but I admit I am mightily curious what a carter would have had that someone wanted that badly. It was nae his siller."

"Whatever it was, you'll find it for me. There is trouble coming, and if it is something so valuable, then it may be worth turning you loose."

"There is always trouble. Of some sort."

Sir William snorted through his nose like a bull sighting an enemy. "Aye. Troubles come and go, but I mean to see that they dinnae take me with them. I shall stay in the king's favor. So you find me what they did murder and theft for."

Cocking his head, Law considered the sheriff. "You have some idea what it was."

The sheriff opened his mouth but then closed it. He paced around the small cell, head down, arms crossed. Finally, he turned to Law. "A carter travels freely. Blacader had just been to Glasgow, conveniently near the border. Did someone steal across the border with it? Or was it from Dumbarton where goods and people are always on the move. What did he bring back? It was something a thief would search his papers for. That had to have been a message. From whom? For whom?" Sir William squinted as he considered possible answers to his own questions. "Whatever it is, if it is worth murdering for, it is worth finding."

Law pinched the bridge of his nose hard. The last blow to his head had been one too many, and he feared he would spew any moment. And as much as he did not want to admit it, the sheriff was right. That the lock on the kist had been not broken but opened meant the key what the thief had taken from Blacader after he was killed. Why it had been taken was something he would consider when he wasn't about to lose what little was in his stomach.

He opened his eyes and managed a small nod that made his vision spin. "What is it worth to you for me to find this message, whatever it is?"

Sir William laughed, a hearty booming sound that rolled through the cell and filled the whole dungeon. "Och, if you were nae such a useless cripple, I might admire your gall. What good is siller to you if I let you rot in here?"

"None. But who finds that message for you if you do let me rot here?"

"I could set Meldrum to it. I could set all of the guard to it."

Law chuckled, even though it hurt his face. "Aye. You do that then." He leaned a shoulder against the wall to wait. Leaning his head against it as well felt even better.

The laughter drained from the sheriff's face. He huffed out a heavy breath and looked past the window for a few moments. "Aye, well. If you find what was stolen, I shall pay you-a small amount, mind. But I must be certain it is worth the price. Dinnae think you can fool me with something you fake."

"Whatever I bring you, it will be the truth."

When Law stepped out the door of the tolhouse, the rain had turned to a soft mist. The sun was a golden smudge in the clouds just a hand's breadth above the tops of the houses. Law took a deep breath. The sweet, earthy scent overlay an undercurrent of fish from the river and peat smoke from hearth fires. It smelled of freedom.

"A mhic Ifrinn!" a familiar voice said. "What did they do to you?" Cormac grasped him by the shoulder and peered into his face.

"Only beat me a bit. I've had worse."

"Are you all right to walk to the tavern?"

Law gave a pained chuckle. "And if I am not, what would be the choice? But nae, I think I shall go to the bath house instead. This day has earned me a hot soak."

"Och, aye, you will nae go alone. You look as though you might topple halfway thon, if you make it even half way."

Letting out a weary sigh, Law said, "I would be right glad of the company. But I think I can walk so far. Still, let us go before vespers rings and they close their doors for curfew."

They walked north toward the bath house, passing a few children splashing in puddles. A well-dressed knight with a sword at his belt slipped on a slick cobble and fell on his ass with a splash. He rose, cursing the rain and shaking mud from his cloak. Cormac snorted. "He thinks because he's a knight the rain should nae fall on him." Then he glanced sideways at Law. "I was worried that they might…"

Law shrugged. "It was mere spite. There were more than enough witnesses where I was when Blacader's house was robbed. He could nae hold me long."

"Aye, I suppose." Cormac sounded none too sure, for good reason. The sheriff had taken his spite out on the minstrel in the past.

They reached the well-made timber building with its sign of a huge steaming kettle. They entered, shook the water from their cloaks, and looked around the warm, comfortable hall. At a small table, three men were throwing dice, and a small fire burned in the central hearth. Law motioned to a serving girl to bring them cups of ale, and he drank his down in one long draft. If his head still hammered and every muscle still ached, it helped him not mind so much.

With his cup refilled, he followed a servant through a rear door and to the back room of the house where the baths were: ten round tubs, five on each side. They were separated by unbleached wool curtains that hung from the low ceiling. The servant led them past the drawn curtains to two tubs at the very end and drew the curtains closed.

Law heard a splash and a yelp: "That's hot!" Steam was rising from the surface, so Law was sure that it was, but it looked better than anything he had seen for a while. He put his cup of ale next to a knob of soap and a cloth on the board fastened to one side of the barrel-shaped tub. He eased himself in, wincing as the heat hit scrapes and bruises, and sank, knees drawn up, until the water came up to his chin.

"So someone kilt the carter and then robbed his house," Cormac said from beyond the curtain.

"Aye." Law frowned. "Well, not exactly."

"That makes nae sense. They did, or they did nae."

Law huffed through his nose. "Let me think on it, Cormac. My head aches too much to talk." He took a sip of the ale, feeling his aches dissolve into the hot water. With his head lolling against the edge of the tub, he tried to remember something he knew had struck a chord when the sheriff had been talking, something about the key. Three horsemen had been waiting there. That meant Blacader had been expected. Meeting them? Or had they ambushed him? That the were meeting was more likely. Perhaps he'd been lured there? They were meeting for someone to receive that message the kist had been searched for-if the sheriff was right, and it was a message. Why kill him then? He couldn't have had it on him, or they wouldn't have had to go looking. Perhaps he hadn't had what they were searching for and told them as much. And was killed for his trouble?

Law grunted softly to himself. That made a certain sense. And they tossed the purse aside when they found the key. But it was a strange killer that balked at thievery.

The water was cooling, so he sat up and used the cloth to scrub all over as hard as he could bear on his bruises. To start, he would have to question Tam, who had accompanied his father to Glasgow on that last trip. But that would wait until tomorrow. Any moment vespers would ring, and the gates of the burgh would be closed as curfew fell.

There was a tremendous splashing as Cormac emerged from his tub. "I'm through," he called, "but I can scrub your shoulders for you if you want."

5

Terce was ringing when Law halted in the gateway of Blacader's yard, startled at the silence. It seemed deserted.

"Is there even anyone here to question?" he muttered. As he spoke, the door of the barn at the far end swung open, and a scrawny lad stepped out and started toward one of the sheds. When he spotted Law, he stopped and stared and then turned to hurry back the way he had come.

"There is someone down yon," he called.

Tam Blacader appeared in the doorway of the barn. "Why did you nae say it was Sir Law?" He aimed a cuff at the lad, who dodged the mild blow. He strode toward the gate, and Law noticed he was wearing an unusually fine doublet of blue silk and what looked like new ankle-high boots. "How are you, sir? The lord sheriff handled you right roughly."

Law shrugged. "I've taken worse in the practice yard." He touched the purple bruise on his cheek under the stubble he'd decided not to shave off this morning. "How is your mother doing? And yourself?"

"We're all overset as you would guess. Mother is with the priest, for we'll have the funeral this afternoon and the wake after. But Da left business all awry and…" He threw his hands up. "Nothing has been delivered, and if I dinnae take care of it, how will my mam and Hew and I survive?" Then he colored and shuffled his feet. "Sorry, that is nae your concern."

Law sighed. He felt sorry for the young man, but there was nothing he could do to help. "I ken it is a bad time, but I need to have a word with the men who went to Glasgow with your father."

"Cannae it wait?" He put a hand that shook slightly to his forehead.

"I wish it could, but you saw what the lord sheriff was like. Better than I deal with it than that he does."

"The three of us went with him-Andy, Syme and me-for my da will nae travel the roads with less." He frowned. "He would nae have."

"Then is there somewhere we can talk? And then I'll talk to the other two, and I need to take another look at your father's office."

"Talk to us one at a time, you mean?" He scratched the back of his neck. "Aye, well, we may as well talk in the house. Only thing is, with my mam at the kirk and Marioun preparing for the wake, things are all tapsalteerie in the house."

"That doesn't matter," Law said. "We'll talk in there."

Law established himself in the larger chair, with a grateful sigh for the thick cushion, next to the hearth where a small peat fire burned. In spite of Tam's protest that the house was all to pieces, there was no sign in the room of yesterday's violence. Even the bloodstain from Syme's injury had been scrubbed up. The room had a scent of lavender and beeswax, and the large table had been polished until it sparkled. A pewter tray held a dozen cups that Law assumed would be used at the wake.

Tam took the smaller chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands. "I dinnae what I can tell you that will help. I dinnae ken why anyone would have kilt my da. Or broken into his kist."

"Tell me about the trip to Glasgow. You had deliveries there? Or were you only bringing some barrels back?"

Tam looked up, his forehead wrinkled. "That was an odd thing. Usually we would have had a full load to take there or otherwise there is nae profit, but he was in a hurry to go, so we had only a crate of leather to deliver."

"Anything happen on the way?" When Tam shook his head in denial, Law asked, "Where did you bide? Is it somewhere you have before?"

"Aye, at the Broun foundry. You ken our trips are nae often to Glasgow because ships dinnae land there, but when they are, we bide there. Da has an agreement to pay them once a quarter. They have room for our cart and a shed we can overnight in. He has…" His lips trembled, and he rubbed roughly at his eyes. "Usually he took me with him to call on our customers, but that day he said it was nae worth my time with only one crate. He said I could have the morning to look about the town, and he and Syme made the delivery and picked up the barrels and sacks of wool we were to bring back."

"How many was that?"

"There was a barrel of dishes for the song school. I suppose the lads there break a great many. Some sacks of wool for David Mason, and a barrel of wine for Maister Reidheid that had come to Glasgow through Dumbarton."

Law rubbed his forehead, still aching from yesterday's beating. "The wine and the dishes were from a ship from France? Or the Lowlands?"

"I'm nae sure, but the Lowlands I expect. You ken that nae many ships slip past the English from France, and of course the water at Glasgow is too shallow for them to dock there. But there are always fish, especially cod, so we brought back a barrel.”

"Do you know who brought the shipment from Dumbarton? Or if he called on anyone else?"

Tam shook his head. "You'll have to ask Syme. I had nae reason to ask that. We left at first daylight the next morn."

"Where did you go next?"

"We overnighted at Stirling, and Da was in a hurry to get back, so we left before prime had even rung and came straight home. But then he went out again without even unloading the wagon." Tam's Adam's apple bobbed as he made a strangled sound in his throat. "And that was the last we saw him alive."

"Where did you bide in Stirling?"

"There's a cooper there by the name of Maister Strachan. Like the foundry in Glasgow, my da had an agreement to stay there, and they totaled up the sum at the end of the quarter."

Marioun peeked in from the doorway. "Should I bring you refreshments, Tam?" She blinked rapidly, and her cheeks reddened. "I mean, Maister Blacader."

"It's all right, Marioun." He cast Law a questioning glance.

"She has much to do for the wake, so let's nae take her time. Is Syme fit to speak with me? How is his injury?"

"He's bandaged and woozy from strong ale to ease the pain, but he's in his right mind. I gave him permission to rest in his pallet for a few days." Tam looked doubtful. "You want me to bring him to answer your questions?"

"Mayhap I should go talk to him there, but I'll look at your father's office first. Is it still as it was?"

"Aye. We were so overset, none of us even thought of it although my mam hid the money under…" A hint of a grin curved his lips when he realized he'd almost let slip their hiding place. "She's like that."

Law stood, looking up the stairs. "It was a strange thing that someone would open his kist and nae steal the coins. Do you have any thought on what they might have been seeking?"

Even the hint of a smile faded as Tam shook his head no. "He kept dockets of deliveries and tallies. Why would anyone else care?"

"I had better look, and then we'll go speak to Syme."

The only sounds in the house were Marioun humming as she worked in the kitchen and the thump of their feet on the stairs. As Tam had said, the room was as they had left it the day before. The light from the one window was not bright enough to read by, so Law took the striker, flint, and steel in a tiny box with some tinder from the desk and lit the candle. He knelt and sifted through the wreckage of Neill Blacader's life, picking up the scattered parchments, searching for clues about the intruders.

What had been so special about a carter that led someone to murder him and ransack his papers? What was he involved in?

As he looked at the score or so of bills of lading and lists, he recalled a question he had meant to ask Tam when his mother was not about. He looked up at the young man standing in the doorway, his face wrinkled into a look of distress. "You kent where your father went of an evening, did you not? It was nae to Reidheid's Inn."

"Aye." He sighed. "He went to that tavern on the New Road. The woman there was…willing. You ken? There is nae reason for my ma to learn about it."

Law grunted. He had thought as much and wondered at Una's lie. Had she simply not wanted to admit to trysting with a married man, or was there more to it? Law had most of the papers in hand, for there were no more than a score of them, when what he picked up was not merely a bill of lading. It was a list of tasks to be done, but one that was written on the back of a short note:

If you show your loyalty, you will be rewarded. I will be in the copse behind the tavern you ken after nightfall to give you your orders. Keep your lips sealed and burn this. P

Even poor-quality parchment was costly, so apparently Blacader had reused it instead of burning it. Law stood. He put the docket of papers on the desk and read the note again. He folded it and put it in the breast of his doublet.

"What is that?" Tam exclaimed.

"I suspect has to do with what got your father murdered, so it is safer if you dinnae see it." He thoughtfully dropped his hand on the hilt of his dirk in his belt. He didn't usually wear a sword in the burgh, as that was against custom. But perhaps it was time to belt it back on before he went to the tavern.

Tam was looking at him with his eyes stretched wide. "I'm nae fighter. Whatever it was, I dinnae want to know."

"So…was your father ever a part of any dispute that you ken? Mayhap supporting a lord he owed allegiance?"

"Only that we've done cartage to Doune Castle for the duke, but we are nae Stewarts." He gave a wry shake of his head. "We're nae that important."

Law glanced around the room, lifted the lid to the kist to be sure nothing remained in it, and then said, "I had better talk to Syme. I need to hear what your father did when he was in Glasgow."

"Aye." In a daze, Tam led him out of the house and to one of the sheds. Inside there was a space in the back where the workers could lay out their straw-stuffed pallets at night and a couple of crude stools. Syme lay on a pallet covered with a blanket. He pushed himself up onto his elbows as they entered. His head was thickly bandaged, with a bloody spot over where his ear had been.

Tam cleared his throat. "Syme, Sir Law has some questions, and I want you to answer them."

Law pulled over one of the stools and sat down. He twitched a smile at the woozy-looking man. "You look a mite better than you did yesterday, any road."

Syme pulled a grimace and rubbed his face. "I expect a man can manage wi' just one ear. Won't keep me from lifting barrels into the cart or driving the horses."

Propping his elbows on his thighs, Law leaned forward and said, "I think something that Maister Blacader did whilst he was in Glasgow is what got him kilt, so I need to hear about it. You went with him when he was picking up the cartage, aye?"

"Aye. Usually Tam here went with him, but that day I did. We went to pick up the bags of wool first and then to the pierss for the barrels of wine and dishes that were waiting there. And we bought a barrel of fish from one of the fishing captains. But after that…" He frowned and licked his lips. Law noticed a cup of ale next to the pallet and handed it to him. Syme took a drink and went on. "He said we had time, and aye, it was early, so we stopped at a tavern near the Clyde, the Spilled Flagon he called it for the sign above the door. Odd to nae call it by the name of the tavern keeper, I thought. But we went in, and he paid for two cups of ale. He was usually nae so free with his groats, so even though it was a watery brew, I was nae going to complain."

"And?"

Syme shrugged. "He talked to someone for a few minutes. I thought mayhap it was about, well, it must have been about business. Though it was a fisherman, but what business would the maister have with a fisherman? I thought probably the man sent by a captain with a message, because he handed the maister a paper and left. Then the maister downed his drink as fast as could be, and we went back to meet Tam. The next morn, at first light, we were on the road for home."

"You're sure it was a fisherman?"

He frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I think so. Like most of that ilk, he was wearing baggy trousers and a rough coat with slits in the back." He squinted as he tried to remember. "And a knit cap."

"Did you hear him speak? Was he a Glaswegian, do you think?"

"They were standing close to each other, and with the talking and laughing in the tavern and so on, nae, I could nae hear what he said or how he sounded."

"Besides his clothes, what did he look like?"

"Blond haired, that I noticed. Not tanned as dark as most fishermen that I've seen, but he was young so mayhap he'd nae been at the fishing for long. Medium tall, about like the maister, but not as broad." He sighed, as though he'd used the last of his strength, and leaned back against the wall. "I'm sorry, but that's all I remember."

"Only one other question, Syme. Did you notice anyone following you or anything different from your usual trips?"

Syme managed a slight smile. "I think that is two. But my answer to both is nae. Not that I remember at all."

Law patted the man's shoulder and stood. "Thank you. You have been a help."

The man slid down on his pallet and pulled his coverlet up to the bandage around his head.

"I doubt there's much that Andy can tell me that I haven't heard, but I'd better ask."

Andy was sweeping in the large barn, which looked pretty well-swept already. He shook his head no. He'd noticed nothing. He'd seen no one follow them. The master had not said why he wasn't unloading the wagon. Law saw no indication that he wasn't telling the truth, so he didn't press him further.

Law walked with Tam to the gate and stopped with his hand on it. "Nothing else comes to you? Nothing your father said about the trip? Nothing to say he had some matter on his mind?"

Tam brushed his hand down the close-spaced buttons on the front of his doublet. "My da was close with his coin, aye? Well, except with the woman at the tavern mayhap. And he did nae expect us to dress like lords, aye? Keep to your station, he said. But two weeks past he had these made for me. Said nae to tell my mam yet because she would nae like it." He smiled a little. "She is aye the same. Does nae believe in wasting coin on fripperies."

"Did you ask him why?"

Tam blew out a soft puff of a laugh. "He gave me a cuff on the ear for asking."

"Was there anything particular that happened right before that? Had you had deliveries out of Perth?"

"Aye, the first ships of the season came in with goods. We made a trip from Edinburgh to Stirling to deliver wine and dishes and treacle. And a ship landed with barrels of copper for Doune Castle that we delivered."

Especially in Stirling, there might have been any number of people Blacader could have met with, and Law had to wonder whether this all hadn't started then. "Was there anyone you noticed him doing business out of the ordinary?"

But Tam shook his head, and Law couldn't think of any more questions, so his next step would have to be talking with Una, who had to know more than she had been willing to admit.

The sun was at its midday highest by the time Law finished at the carter's yard, and he went back through Spey Tower Port and turned onto Canal Street. He was several paces toward South Port when he heard Cormac calling to him. He paused for the minstrel to catch up to him and cocked his head in curiosity at why Cormac was looking for him. Cormac unfolded a bundle he was carrying and held out half an oaten bannock and a wedge of crumbly cheese.

"You need to keep your strength up for marching all over Perth," Cormac said.

"Thank you." His mouth was watering, and he hadn't realized how hungry all the walking had made him. He broke off a large chunk of cheese and put it in his mouth. A well-dressed woman being followed by a maidservant sniffed at him for eating on the street. "Had yours already?"

"I'll eat when we return." He patted his flat belly. "It does nae take much to keep me going."

"We?"

"You do nae think you are looking into this business by yourself, do you? You've already taken a beating because I was nae there to keep you out of trouble."

Law snorted. "Aye, I am sure Sir William would have been impressed by you being there."

"You might be surprised. Any road, I am going with you."

Since they were unlikely to have any problems at the tavern, Law popped a piece of the bannock in his mouth and turned back the way he was going. Cormac strode happily alongside him. "What did you learn at the carter's yard? Did they have any idea why someone would have kilt their maister?"

Law glanced around. The street was busy with laborers stopping their work for a midday meal, folks shopping for goods at the lowered windows of the shops. A troop of mounted men clattered past going toward Spey Tower Port, the red lion gleaming on their yellow surcoats. Law watched them from the corner of his eye. "I thought the duke was supposed to leave for Castle Doune."

"Aye." He frowned thoughtfully. "With the king nae here and nae parliament in session, it is odd for him to remain."

"Mayhap he's waiting to meet someone before he leaves. Doune is hardly a far distance." Law lifted his palm in a gesture of indifference.

Soon they were through the South Port. A fresh spring breeze rustled Law's hair and cleared the smells of horse manure, smoke, and privies that were common in every city that he had ever been in. They passed women taking advantage of the change in seasons to work in their gardens or hanging their laundry. They passed a wagon full of bags of fleece, and he could hear bleating from a nearby field. A smith's hammer rang sporadically. A troop of lads kicked a ball made from a sheep's bladder stuffed with dried peas down the road, shouting cheerful insults at each other.

When they reached it, the front door of the tavern was open. Law walked in, followed by Cormac. Una was wiping a table. She straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and came to meet him. She crossed her arms and regarded him warily. "What do you want? You've nae come for my ale."

"A tankard for my friend and me, any road."

She spoke to a half-grown lad sweeping the floor. "Fetch the duniwassal a tankard and his friend."

Cormac snorted a soft chuckle. "He's nae duniwassal."

She gave Cormac a pointed look. "Aye, but you be." She turned her gaze to Law. "I dinnae ken anything about the body and how it came to be there."

"But you lied and said you did nae ken Neill Blacader. Why was that?"

"I had nae reason to answer questions about him. What he did was nobody's business. If he came here of a night for a drink, why should I tell tales about it?"

"And a drink was all he came for?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "Half the men who come here to drink come for more, or so they think. That does nae mean they get it. I smile at them is all. And let them look down my bosom."

A grin twitched Law's lips. It was true that an alewife did not have to prostitute herself to make a living. "But he did come here of a night."

"Aye, he did often when he was in Perth, but whatever anyone may have telt you, all his coin bought him was ale." She grinned. "I'm nae saying I didn't give him hopes that there might be more, for it kept him coming back."

"So that night he was kilt, he came in, he had a drink, and he left," Law said.

She rubbed her lips with a forefinger, looking thoughtful. "That's what happened, though that night he did nae try to give me a buss, and I dinnae think he even finished his ale. And that was nae like him. He was hardly a man to waste a drink."

"You didn't have an argument with him?"

"Are you accusing me of killing him?"

"No. There is nae way you struck that blow, so I'm sure you are innocent of that. But I need to ken everything that happened that night."

"I was busy. He was here, and then he was gone."

"There were horses in the back. Did you hear them or the men who were riding them?"

She shook her head. "Not a thing, not even a bird call."

He wasn't sure he believed that but decided to let it go for the moment. "What about the lad?" Law pointed his chin toward the lad who was carrying over the tankards.

"He has nothing to add."

"In only a three-minute walk across the field, someone slit his throat. There must have been a reason for that."

Una said, "Most likely he met a thief on the road. There are always a few thieves near a city, waiting to attack travelers. It must have been that."

"But he wasn't on the road."

"Mayhap he needed to relieve himself. A man oft times needs to piss after drinking ale."

The lad handed Cormac a wooden tankard. "It's our best brew," he said. He was a handsome boy, no more than fifteen, wiry but with broad shoulders that probably appealed to all the girls.

Cormac smiled at him. "My thanks." Una glared at the boy, and he hurried back to his sweeping.

Law chuckled and took a sip of the ale. It was fresh and flavored with apple. "It's good." He swirled the ale in his cup. He had no particular reason to doubt that Blacader had not been her lover, but Flat-Face who had been with her at the assize had been eager to see Law blamed for the death.

"Who was the man with you at the assize? The one with the bashed-in nose."

She shrugged. "I never heard his name. You're going to say he was nae here that day, and you're right. Calling him a liar just would have caused more trouble, so I kept my mouth shut. He came in before the assize and said he kent Neill. He offered to walk with me to the assize as I was called in case the lord sheriff wanted me to testify. And he kept saying that since you found the body, you must have kilt Blacader."

A gaffer shambled in and sat at a table near the window. Una said, "Is there aught else? I have work to do. I cannae stand here blathering all day."

"Dinnae let me stop you," Law said. She gave him an unhappy look when he didn't go, but pulled a tankard of ale and went to serve it. When he finished, he put down the tankard and tilted his head toward the door. "I want to take a look out back again." He grinned at Cormac. "Duniwassal, is it?"

Cormac lifted his hands and let them fall. "If I ever was, I am nae one now." He hurried ahead of Law out the door.

Law raised an eyebrow but decided he should let the matter rest. After all, he could understand that losing your status hurt, but it was strange that not once had Cormac ever mentioned it to him. Instead he strolled around the tavern into the backyard. Besides the brewing equipment, the yard held a few apple trees, which explained the hint of apple in the ale. A girl he recognized from the night before last was scattering feed for some hens.

He gazed across the field to the spot where he had found Blacader's body. He imagined the man coming out of the tavern and coming out here… Why?

"The horsemen were there." He pointed to where the grasses were trampled. "Even in the dark, I think you would see them, and though it is a waning moon, it was nae a completely black night."

"Let's look," Cormac said, seemingly having forgotten his distress at Law's joke, and strode in that direction. "We might should come out at night to be sure. I doubt you were thinking of that after you found his body."

"No, I was thinking of sending for the watch."

Cormac deftly hopped over the fence, and Law followed a bit less gracefully. They both hunkered down to look at the horse tracks.

Law pointed to the piles of horse shit. "They waited at least a while here."

"Where was the body?"

"Under the trees." He rose and walked slowly in that direction, scanning the ground as he hadn't been able to do in the dark. Near the trees, he saw marks in the ground amongst the weeds. He knelt and used his fingers to push back strands of heather.

There were foot tracks, those of a man, that had hardened in the mud deeply enough that yesterday's rain had not quite washed them out. He pushed back more of the heather, searching. They were the footprints of one man, barely remaining now, and partly covered by the spring green heather and gorse. He had walked toward the trees. Cormac pointed to another track farther ahead just under the first overhanging branches. The rest had been washed away.

In the copse, Law pointed to about where Blacader's body had lain, but the rain had cleaned away any blood or sign. "About here." He made a spreading motion. "And his scrip open with the coins scattered."

"Ah." Cormac stooped and picked up a silver groat that had been missed to hold up. "Even if it wasn't what they were seeking, it is odd they did nae take the siller."

"Rushed, mayhap, but no one at the tavern admits having heard anything, and no one raised the hue and cry."

Cormac walked in a wide circle around the trees, kicking at the thick pad of needles. "I dinnae see anything else."

"There was no sign he tried to run. It was a clean blow from the front. Is that likely if it was a thief? And not many thieves in these parts ride horses." Law put his hands on his hips and looked around in disgust. "We'll nae find anything else here."

"So where do we look next?"

"Where I look next, I think, is in Glasgow. I believe Wulle expects you to be looking to your harp though, not traipsing about with me."

Cormac laughed. "Wulle expects many things he does nae get. Besides if you are asking around in taverns where they went, it may be that I can learn more than you can. People talk and dinnae think the minstrel is listening."

"And the minstrel may be caught listening and have his throat cut." He blew out a huff in exasperation. "Cormac, that was a vicious blow that killed Blacader. And Syme is lucky to be alive. I dinnae…" Law shook his head. "Whoever I'm seeking is a dangerous man. I dinnae want to put someone else in his way."

"I'll be careful, you may be sure of that. And who saved whom from that friar?" Cormac raised his eyebrow. "You need me to keep you alive."

Law pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "Very well, but this time, you will mind what I tell you." He walked with Cormac back through the South Port and to the corner of Watergate Street to Horseman's Inn to bespeak two horses for early the next morning. He hadn't often had a chance to go far from Perth since his return to Scotland, and it seemed almost like a holiday. The spring air was fine; he had missed riding; and Cormac was good company. He smiled at being able to escape threats from the bedamned lord sheriff. Altogether, he was pleased with the necessity.

6

In order to ride all the way to Stirling in the day, Law decided they would need to make an early start, so he told Cormac to meet him before daylight. With only a few fingers of dawn reaching into the night sky, he splashed cold water in his face from the basin, donned his hauberk, buckled on his sword, put his dirk in his belt, and stumbled down the stairs, yawning and carrying his saddlebag. Mall and Anny were already bent over the hearth baking bannocks on an iron griddle, filling the air with the comforting scent.

"This is nae ready yet," Mall said, "but if you take what is left from yesterday, I'll nae put it on your chit. And there is a slice of cheese and an apple that is nae too wrinkled."

Anny hopped up. "I'll wrap it up for you."

Cormac strolled through the door, his lute case slung across his back, and asked, "Are you ready yet? It will soon be ringing prime."

Anny bustled over with a wrapped bundle that looked as though it held more than her mother had approved. Law smiled his thanks. "Aye. And thank you, Mall. That will save me time."

Mall sniffed. "No telling what kind of food you'll find in that Glasgow. This way you will nae starve."

Law managed not to smile. "Not with one of your bannocks to fill my belly. Now I must be away." He picked up his saddlebag with a change of clothes so that he could change out of his hauberk once he reached Glasgow, for only a fool traveled the roads of Scotland without preparing for trouble.

Sunrise was only a splash of gold across the horizon, and they passed only a sole cart carrying firewood as they walked up Watergate Street to the Horseman's Inn. They found the horses already saddled, as he had ordered the day before. The auburn roan named Aifric had nice black points and looked as though it would have stamina enough. The one Cormac had chosen was younger and frisky, but Law had some doubts about it for a long day's riding.

By the road through the port, vespers was ringing, and the sky lightened to pewter. Perth ended at the Tower Port, but houses and runrigs and workshops ran along the west side of the road, behind each a shed for a cow or pig and a kailyard for growing vegetables. Some had an orchard with trees showing their bright spring-green dresses. On the east side, at a large mill, the huge wheel was already turning, powered by the flow of the River Tay.

It was nearly forty miles to Stirling, so Law took it steadily, keeping to a brisk walk after his first rush. When he reckoned they were about halfway and the sun was at its zenith, he called for a rest under a spreading ash that was just coming into leaf. Then he led the horses to the edge of a nearby stream to drink and broke the oat bannock in two to share with Cormac.

The normally talkative minstrel had been thoughtful and unusually quiet, but as he munched the oat bannock, he said, "How many men do you suppose there are in Glasgow?"

Law thought about it for a while as he chewed the bannock. "Not as large as Perth, but with the cathedral and the port, it has a good few men in it. Why?"

"I was wondering how you would go about finding one man when you dinnae even ken his name."

"After asking around at the tavern where Blacader met him, to tell you the truth, I have no idea. I am just hoping that we find some hint of where to look when we talk to people there. And for that matter, he may have nothing to do with the matter, so I want to talk to people at the inn where they stayed. And even the yard they stopped for the night at Stirling. But somewhere, someone must have seen something to point me in the right direction."

Cormac raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure of that?"

Law snorted a wry laugh. "I am hoping it, any road."

When the horses were rested, they mounted and headed for Stirling. The road was busy in spite of the ankle-deep mud from the spring rains-mostly farmers and freeholders about their daily business, for it was not market day in Stirling or Perth. The villages they rode through were busy, but people still looked at them warily. The king had promised them peace, but no one had any confidence in it yet. And it was a pleasant ride in spite of the suspicious looks and men clutching their pitchforks as they passed. The burgeoning heather and gorse were alive with bird song, newly foaled lambs gamboled in the pastures, and a spring-scented wind ruffled the ripples of the shallow streams they crossed on their way.

The sun was still a hand span above the western horizon when they reached Stirling town. The enormous gray castle sat like a surly giant on the top of the high gray crag above the town, and the king's lion banner fluttered above its ramparts. He found an inn where they could stable the horses, then went in search of the cooper Strachan.

The first man Law asked pointed them down a vennel toward what was apparently a well-known cooper's yard. When Law opened the gate, he could see a wide cobbled yard. On one side was a solid stone house backed with a kailyard and orchard. Finished barrels were stacked high along the opposite fence, and half a dozen men were shaving slats of woods while two younger ones shoveled up the shavings. There were a couple of closed sheds and a large barn, so Law could see there would be ample room for Blacader to overnight there with his men and wagon, although much of the room was taken up with stacks of wood yet to be worked. A cart stacked high with lashed-down barrels was being turned to leave.

"Where might I find Maister Strachan?" Law asked one of the men.

He thrust his chin toward the house. "He does nae deliver the barrels, if that is what you are wanting."

"It's not." He turned toward the house as Cormac complained that his arse was sore and this could have waited until the morn.

"If we finish this tonight, we can be off for Glasgow first thing by prime."

Cormac groaned as Law knocked on the door. It was opened so quickly that the man who answered must have seen them approaching. The tall man with a thick black beard wore leggings and a good leather jerkin. "What can I do for you, maisters?" he asked although he looked askance at Cormac.

"It is a serious matter that might best be discussed-" Law looked over his shoulder at the bustling yard. "-out of people's hearing, if you dinnae mind."

"And just who might you be?"

"Sir Law Kintour of Perth."

The man's beard seemed to bristle as he stuck out his chin, but after looking Law over, he invited them in with a motion and closed the door behind them. "Now what is this serious business?"

"Ill news, I'm afraid, and bad business. Maister Blacader, you ken who I mean, aye?"

"Aye."

"He was murdered in Perth the same night he left here."

Strachan stared at him for a moment. "You're sure it was murder?"

"His throat was slit, so there was no doubt of it. What they dinnae ken is who did it, and the lord sheriff tasked me with looking into the matter. I'll find the culprit if I can."

Strachan was shaking his head slowly. "But it must have been a thief."

Law sighed. "Since nothing seemed to have been stolen, not even his siller, it would seem not. So I am tracking his steps from that last day. I think mayhap someone was following him, looking for something he had."

Strachan invited them to seat themselves by the fire. His wife, a tall handsome woman modestly dressed, brought them ale, and then her husband told her to leave them to talk. "I'd nae have her hear this from a stranger. Mind, he was only an acquaintance, but still… It is oversetting."

Law and Cormac accepted a cup of ale, and Law said, "He bided here often then?"

"Aye, when he had to overnight in Stirling. We'd had an agreement for five or six years, and he always paid promptly. And he kept a firm eye on his men, so there was only two or three times they stumbled in drunk."

"So he bided here on his way to Glasgow and then when he was on his way home."

"Aye."

Cormac leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Do you have any watch in the yard of a night? Or a dog loose?"

"Aye, I loose the hound at night." His mouth twitched. "He'd nae kill anything fiercer than a rabbit, but he'd bay his head off if anyone tried to enter the yard."

Law nodded and continued, "Did anything happen out of the ordinary? Anything you noted at all? Someone around that you couldn't explain?"

"The only thing was Maister Blacader leaving so early in the morn. He even made them take the bread for breaking their fast to eat on the way. He'd never done that before, but I did nae think anything of it."

Law stood and nodded civilly to the cooper. "I thank you for the answers. And thank your goodwife for the excellent ale."

Strachan smiled. "It is her sister's brewing." He showed them out, and they strolled wearily to the inn. It had been a long day with nothing learned.

The road from Stirling to Glasgow was well made, and it was busy enough that the two of them often had to wind their way past carts of goods and laborers carrying bundles of tools to the fields. They clattered through villages, hens running squawking out of their way while dogs barked after them.

7

Law turned east at the Mercat Cross. A short way ahead, a board with a painting of a man with a halo holding a sword swung from an ale-stake: the Saint Julian Inn. The patron saint of innkeepers had a look of open-mouthed idiocy, but the inn was large, prosperous, and conveniently located near the fishing piers of Glasgow. The inn's blue painted timbers and whitewashed plaster made a cheerful appearance after the thirty-mile ride from Stirling to Glasgow. They had started after the ringing of prime when daylight lit the sky. Now it was sunset as they climbed from the saddles and tossed the reins to a stable lad. A tradesman in a leather apron stood at the counter waiting for a mug of ale to carry away with him, and behind him an apprentice squirmed impatiently.

Law ducked to go through the low door. Inside the long, low-ceilinged room was a wooden worktop on one side; behind that, barrels of ale and wine; and opposite that, trestle tables and benches. At the far end of the room was a wide stone fireplace. Supper was being served, so a dozen or so travelers were eating at the tables-but no locals, who had no doubt gone home for the light evening meal.

The pudgy, round-faced innkeeper raised his eyebrows when Law said they would have a private room. Law winced at the cost, but he would not risk his armor and weapons in a cheaper common room. At least, judging by the innkeeper's girth, the food would be good.

A grumbling of his stomach reminded Law that they had not eaten since a bit of cheese and bread halfway from Stirling. It was fish day, so the smiling serving girl carried over a tray of herring. Her eyes flashed a bold smile at Law. "And some pickled onions." She laid the ale jug, fresh-smelling bread, the pot of herring, and a smaller pot of onions before them. It cost more than Law liked to spend, but after two days in the saddle, he decided, they deserved it.

When they got their spoons and knives out of their scrips, Cormac asked, "We'll bide here?"

"Aye. We have to see if anyone can tell us who gave Blacader a note. And I want to find the yard where they stayed and see if anyone noted they were followed. Or if anyone spoke to them we have nae heard about."

"What is the name of the tavern he they went to?"

"The Spilled Flagon. Somewhere near the piers."

Cormac patted his lute case, which he'd set carefully beside him on the bench. "I'll take my little lady here and stroll down to find it. A question or two should point me to it. Most like they'll let a minstrel play for whatever coins the customers toss."

"If they already have a minstrel?"

"Then I'll have a cup of ale and see if he'll be there tomorrow."

Law thought about it for a moment and really had no better idea. "Not a bad plan." Law raised his head as the bells of Saint Mungo's Cathedral rang for vespers. "It is late to go today, and many of their customers would come in at midday for dinner. We could go tomorrow after we call at the Broun Foundry to see what they say."

"I should go on my own. If we go in together, it would look strange. I can go there and see if they could use a minstrel to play while you talk to the owner of the foundry."

Law sawed a wedge off the loaf of bread and spread it with a generous portion of the herring.

"This is good," Cormac said and washed his down with a swallow of ale.

Nodding, Law chewed a large bite. "But if you spot someone who looks like our man?" Law shook his head. "You'd try to follow him. I know what you're like. No, we should work together."

"But how would I even ken it was him? And I could hardly run out to follow someone in the middle of playing a tune, carrying my harp." Cormac tried out his wide-eyed innocent look. "I'll just get a feel for the place and listen to what is going on. I might hear something that will help. No one pays any mind to talking in front of a minstrel. I'll ask what songs they want to hear, and they'll want to tell me all about themselves. People always do."

Pointing at Cormac with his spoon, Law said, "You said you would mind what I told you. You are nae to go off on your own."

8

Bells were clanging for prime, and the bright morning sun made Law throw his arm over his eyes to shut it out. But it was time to rise, so with a groan, Law sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The wide poster bed with curtains and a feather mattress was the most comfortable bed he had slept in for many a month. He was sorry to rise from it. No doubt this was the most expensive room in the inn, with its cupboard where Law had stored his hauberk and sword, and even a table and two chairs in front of a large window-which was thrown open to let in the morning light. No doubt that was Cormac's doing.

And that thought woke Law up enough to realize the minstrel was nowhere in sight. Grumbling under his breath, Law used water in the ewer that was still slightly warm to wash his face and quickly sluice his body, then he pulled a shirt, doublet, and hose from the leather satchel he'd dropped in the middle of the floor. If the minstrel was not downstairs breaking his fast, he would receive a good skelping when Law caught up with him. Do as he was told, indeed.

He slammed out of the room and thumped down the stairs, scowling in irritation. In the hall, there were platters of bread for breaking your fast. At home it would have gone on his chit, but as a traveler you paid in advance, so he tossed a groat to the girl serving ale, took a mug, and grabbed a wedge of the fresh barley bread. He dropped onto a bench. Two guests were finishing their bread and ale at a table next to a window. A boy knelt before glowing embers in the hearth, feeding it sticks of wood. The serving girl sighed and began to wipe the counter with a cloth. Otherwise the hall was empty.

He returned his empty cup to her and asked, "Do you ken where I'd find a tavern with a sign of a spilled flagon?"

She gave him a startled look. "Their ale is nae gey good. You'd do better to drink here."

He smiled. "Aye, but I'm looking for a friend who has gone there." Her directions assumed more knowledge of Glasgow than he had, but at least they started him in the right direction.

Law shook his head. It was early for Cormac to find work at a tavern, but it would take time to find it. And this early surely nothing could happen, although if anyone could find trouble, it would be Cormac. He considered for a moment that it was Cormac who'd kept the mad friar from killing him, but dismissed the thought. No one was more stubborn or prone to finding trouble than the red-headed Highlander.

Law went into the yard and saw that the stable doors were open. He thought of riding, but it would be easier to question people if he walked. The towers of Saint Mungo's Cathedral and the Bishop's Castle rose high above Glasgow, the Cathedral's high arched windows glittering in the early morning light although much of it was surrounded by scaffolding. Law thought it would probably be decades at least before it was finished, but it was a magnificent sight. Well, one that was in the wrong direction, for the River Clyde was in a completely different part of Glasgow, so he continued through the gate and into the vennel that led a short distance down to High Street.

The tavern he was seeking was said to be past the tolbooth and the Mercat Cross near Fishgate, so he strode in that direction. It was early enough that he had to make his way through streams of laborers on their way to their jobs and merchants throwing open their shutters to begin the day's business. There was a pleasant scent of spring in the air underlaid with the ever-present smell of fish and seaweed.

9

Cormac smirked when he stepped out of the inn, carrying a slice of bannock and some cheese. When he had closed the door of their chamber, Law had still been snoring like a bear, and Cormac knew he would do better talking to the tavern keeper on his own without Law glowering over his shoulder.

He gazed briefly up the hill at the High Town with its towering cathedral and Bishop's Castle where the bishop and such high-and-mighty stayed. No doubt if the king came to Glasgow he would stay there as well, but such as Cormac were not welcome. He snorted, thankful that Law was beginning to get over his love of following lords around like a lovesick swain, not that some in his Highlands weren't just as bad.

Someone shouted a curse at him, and he dodged the horses of a baggage train making its way toward Saint Tenew's Gate. Then he crammed some of the bannock and a pinch of cheese in his mouth and set off in the same direction. It was an unusually clear morning for early March, and the sky was a glassy blue with no clouds in sight, but the air was cold enough to cut like a knife.

As he walked, windows were being flung open and planks lowered in the first floors that served as shops. A laborer paused long enough to point him to the turn that went toward Fishergate. It was a rough street with ruts rimed with frost. Cormac picked his path past children screeching as they played atop a midden. One of the older boys turned to stare at him from under a mop of uncombed hair.

"Where is the tavern with the sign of a spilled flagon?" Cormac asked.

He got a withering look. "Why should I tell you?"

Cormac scratched his cheek thoughtfully. He couldn't afford to be bribing even a child, so he held out the hunk of bannock he hadn't yet finished. "I'll give you this."

The boy snatched it from his hand and gestured with it further down the street. "It's two vennels down and through the arch."

When Cormac started in that direction, a thin, wiry man with a terrier at his heels hurried around the corner and out of sight. Cormac frowned after him. He didn't know anyone in Glasgow, but the figure had seemed very familiar. He shook his head and hurried after, but when he passed through the ramshackle archway, the only beings in sight were a dog barking at a squawking hen and a sturdy journeyman in leather jerkin, worn at the elbows, who took a filled leather cup of ale and strode away.

Over the door, an ale-stake was thrust into the thatch, and hanging from it was a board with a crude likeness of a tipped-over flagon painted on it. Cormac ducked to go inside. A lit brazier warmed the air that smelled of sweat, onions, and spilled ale. Two girls were scurrying about with trays of wooden beakers, jugs, bannocks, and cheese for people breaking their fasts. The long trestle tables were crowded. A couple of apprentices in leather aprons stood near the door. A tall, gray-haired woman with heavy brows-her sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms-stood next to a barrel of ale in the corner, pouring the ale and taking the money from her girls as they collected it. She constantly scowled at the customers as though daring them to cause a problem.

It was too busy to speak to the mistress, but he knew it would clear out soon as the men left for their day's work.

One of the girls bustled up to him, smiling to show a gap in her teeth. She wore a canvas apron splashed with ale stains. "What will you have, minstrel?"

"A mug of ale," Cormac said. She held out her hand for the money, gave a saucy wink, managed to brush his arm with her breast, and hurried away between the tables.

When she returned, Cormac said, "What might your mistress's name be?"

"Why? She would squash you flat." She stuck her tongue in her cheek. "I'd suit you better."

Cormac chuckled. "You ken there's no profit in minstrels, hen. We're always poor."

"Aye, but a lass can try. She is Widow Gray. But she'll nae thank you for bothering her."

"Och, I'll wait until it's nae so busy." He dropped a groat's tip between the breasts being thrust at him. "My thanks." He received a gap-toothed smile, and she hurried away.

The church bells began to ring prime, and most of the customers gulped down their drinks and left. One of the journeymen shouted at the idling apprentices. In a few minutes, only a bald gaffer was left bending over his cup.

Mistress Gray eyed him suspiciously as he strolled across the room towards her. He stood to the side so he was not in the way of her view of the room and said, "Mistress, as you can see, I'm a minstrel."

"Aye. Well, dinnae think I'm going to pay you to play."

"I never thought it. But your customers would toss a few coins in my hat, I expect. And I need to be in Glasgow for a few days, so if you'd allow me to take up a corner…" He twitched a smile. "It would bring more than enow business to pay for my little space."

"Are you good?" she asked with a sniff. "If you aren't, you'll just drive away business."

Cormac laughed. "If I'm nae good, you'll just send me on my way, aye? But my music is braw, I promise."

"That I will. You can put a stool in yon corner and play there, but there will nae be much business until dinner." She pointed and then shouted, "Annie. Libby. Why are the tables not wiped? The beakers need clearing."

Cormac winced, his ears ringing, and hurried over to drag a stool into the far corner. He sat his lute case safely between the stool and the wall and watched the girls swabbing the tables and gathering empty cups. He wondered how he might ask about the blond-haired man who had given Blacader a paper. But blond men were not that unusual. There had not been any fishermen he'd noticed, so that might help pick the man out, if he had indeed been a such. But he had not decided how to bring the question up when the door was flung open and Law stomped in, wrapped in his gray plaid and looking annoyed.

Cormac retrieved his case and took out his lute, pretending he hadn't noticed the new customer, as the gap-toothed girl-he wasn't sure whether it was Annie or Libby-sashayed over to ask whether he wanted a drink. She faltered at Law's scowl, but he nodded and went to sit next to the window. Cormac got out his key and set about tuning his lute.

"You're nae far from the piers," Law said when the girl set a wooden beaker of ale before him and took his coin.

She shrugged. "Nae so far, but other taverns are closer. Why?"

Cormac softly strummed a few notes of Ettrick Banks as he listened.

"Many sailors or fishermen come to drink here?"

She cocked her head and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Only interested in sailors, are you?"

Law smiled. "Looking for a particular fisherman is business, nae pleasure, lassie."

The girl threw a quick glance over her shoulder, before she leaned closer. "Widow Gray can toss any man out who is rowdy, so she can. The fishermen tend to be a rough lot who like rowdier taverns than here."

"Libby," her mistress barked, "enow blathering. There are tables to be wiped." Her glare at Law could have flayed the skin from him.

He rose and strolled in toward the mistress. "My apologies. I was nae seeking to keep your lass from her work. I'm seeking a fisherman who a friend in Perth had some business with and asked me to find. He telt me the man drank here on occasion."

Widow Gray plunked her hands on her ample hips and gave him a scornful look. "Many men drink here."

"This one is a fisherman, blond-haired and young. Probably not long at that calling."

"Aye." She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "There might be one and an odd one at that."

"Odd how?"

"Not many come to this tavern and those who do are local. There is one who has come in for a drink every eve or so for the last two weeks. This one is nae Glaswegian, that I can tell you. He's caused nae trouble though, so it's nae business of mine."

Law nodded. "He owed my friend siller, so if you'd nae mention I'm seeking him, I'd appreciate it."

"Well, you'd best cause nae trouble here. I run a decent tavern."

"I'll make sure there's no trouble." Law strolled back to retrieve his cup of ale and wandered toward Cormac. "That's a nice tune you're playing. What is it?"

Cormac ducked his head to let his hair flop over his eyes, and smiled slyly. "You've never heard it before? 'Tis common enow.” He softly sang:

On Ettrick banks, in a summer night,

At gloaming when the sheep drave hame,

I met my lassie braw and tight,

While wading, barefoot, a' her lane:

My heart grew light, I ran, I flang

My arms about her lily-neck…

Law flashed him a stern look. "I'll come later and hear the rest of it then. You will nae be leaving, I suppose."

Cormac grinned and winked. "I'll be here, Sir Knight." He chuckled at Law's thunderous look as he turned on his heel and stomped out the door. He strummed a few notes, watching through the window as Law headed through the archway.

"You're wasting your music with only old Iain here," Widow Gray said. Cormac didn’t respond as he watched a figure-thin, wiry, and dressed all in hodden-gray with a brown terrier at his heels-heading the same way as Law. Now where was he all this time, Cormac wondered, and what is he up to?

10

Law huffed out a breath of annoyance. Cormac always had a mind and will of his own, even when he should not. But if the fisherman usually came in the evening, as the alewife had said, then he wouldn't be getting into trouble while Law checked the yard where Blacader had bided that short time in Glasgow. He had to ask several people for directions since the first weren't acquainted with the foundry yard, but after a long walk that had his bad leg aching, he finally found the yard just past the eastern Gallowgate. It was a noisy place that stank of hot metal and burning coal. The pounding of hammers was deafening, but he managed to summon the master outside the gate where it was possible to shout loudly enough to be heard.

"Aye," Maister Broun said, crossing his thick arms across his chest, "Blacader does bide in my yard. What business is it of yours?"

When Law told him about Blacader's murder, his face darkened, and he looked indignant. "You think my yard had something to do with that?"

"I thought mayhap he was followed from here. He was kilt almost the moment he was returned to Perth. I think it must have had something to do with his having been in Glasgow."

"Well, it had nothing to do with me. But he owed me money from staying here, and who kens if I will ever see it."

"I suppose his widow and his son will see to his debts," Law said. "They seem honest folk. But I just wondered if you saw anyone around the day he left. Mayhap someone followed him?"

The man frowned and shook his head. "It was an ordinary workday. He left earlier than usual, before prime rang even, but I was already breaking my fast." He thought it over. "I walked to the gate and closed it after them. It was a quiet morn with no one about."

Law strolled, deep in thought, back toward the inn. He might as well stop there for dinner and perhaps take a walk by the piers before he returned to the Spilled Flagon. When a hard grasp jerked him into an alley, Law had his dirk in his hand before the next breath. Shoving the point up under the Rat Catcher's chin, he growled, "You have a death wish?"

Dave Taylor raised both hands, a corner of his mouth curling in that sardonic half-smile. "Wheesht. I just dinnae want us to be seen together." His face was streaked with dirt and his hodden-gray tunic tattered.

It was a narrow passage between two buildings, stinking of piss and what smelled like a rotting carcass somewhere in the shadows. Law lowered his dirk a few inches and snarled, "What do you want?"

Taylor tilted his head toward deeper in the alley. "Back here. Now what are you doing in Glasgow-you and the minstrel?"

"A better question is, what are you doing here? Why grab me?"

The man sidled farther from the opening to where they were safe from being spied. "What do you think I'm doing? I am working for…" His eyes darted all around before he continued. "I'm working for my usual employer. He believes there are intelligencers working for someone and that someone is certainly nae the king. So he wants me to learn who."

Law slowly lowered his dirk and sheathed it. He chewed his lip for a few moments. "There was a secret murder in Perth a few days ago."

"Who?"

"I doubt you would ken who he was. No one special. He had a carter's yard, a man by the name of Neill Blacader."

Taylor's dark eyes glistened, catching the faint light. "And he had been in Glasgow?"

"One of his men saw him receive a message when they stopped at a tavern. Then, a few hours after he was back in Perth, he was dead."

"It could have been a robbery, aye?"

Law considered just telling Taylor to go to Perth to find out if he had so many questions, but it could be that he had answers Law was seeking. He wouldn't mind taking advantage of Taylor instead of the other way around-for a change. So he said, "Nothing was stolen as far as I could tell. And the blow to his neck nearly took his head off."

Taylor whistled softly. "That is unexpected. But the message?"

"Maybe the killer took it, but if so, it is passing strange that someone broke into his home and ransacked it, searching for something just the next day."

"They could have found the message then."

"Mayhap. But the chamber was broken up as though the seeker was in a rage." Law crossed his arms and propped a shoulder against the wall. "So the killer might have it, or it may be still hidden somewhere, though I dinnae have any idea where if it is."

"And you came seeking whoever passed the message."

"It came from someone who looked like a fisherman, one of Blacader's men said, but would a message come by fishing boat? Who would pass a message that way?"

Taylor snorted softly. "Dressing as something does nae mean that is what you are."

Law stared at the man who must have been referring to himself. What was he really? He shook his head and said, "Any road, Widow Gray at the Spilled Flagon said the man comes in there of an eve, so Cormac is keeping watch, and I'll return later." He tilted his head. "I dinnae see that it has anything to do with you."

Taylor hawked and spit at Law's feet. "If it is an intelligencer spying in Scotland, it has to do with the…with my employer. Aye, it is my business."

Law just scowled.

"I'll keep watch after dark near the tavern. Then I'll see which way he comes from and find a good place for an ambush. You follow when he leaves-carefully, mind. And we'll have him trapped between the two of us."

Law grunted a reluctant agreement. He did not trust the rat catcher, whether he still worked for Bishop Cameron or not, and that he still did remained to be seen. Still, the plan was not a bad one. Sext was tolling, so Law straightened and returned to the inn for his noontime dinner.

The tavern was crowded with travelers and well-off merchants. He found a place at the end of one of the long tables at the inn, and a girl set a raised pork pie, some roasted onions, a plate of bannocks, and a jug of ale before him. He took out his knife and spoon from his scrip and ate slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle of Blacader's murder. Whom would such a message as he carried have been for? Murder was hardly unknown in Scotland, but theft or a fight over a woman was what you expected to cause it. The friar who'd done murder not so long ago had been killing, so he thought, for God. What, by Saint Mungo's finger bone, was so important about a piece of parchment? And where was it?

A strong wind was whipping dark clouds across the sky when he left and strolled all the way down High Street to the Glasgow Bridge and past the piers. He took his time, stopping to buy a sticky sweet bun from a baker's window, and then strolling past a dozen fishing boats, their masts bobbing as men shouted and repaired nets or unloaded their catch. A fine rain began, so he raised his hood and pulled his cloak close. The sky turned to slate gray, and behind the heavy clouds, the sun must have been setting, so he headed for the Spilled Flagon, hand on his dirk. He kept darting his gaze into every murky corner, but he saw no sign of Dave Taylor.

When he walked through the archway into the muddy yard, light was shining through the slats of the closed shutters, and the sounds of voices, laughter, and Cormac's lute floated into the evening. Law ducked through the low door. There was torchlight and the light from the brazier warming the air. Every bench was crowded with people sitting elbow to elbow, and the girls dashed about with arms full of beakers and platters of steaming pottage. He pushed through a clump of men near the door. "A mug of that good ale, hen," he told Annie loudly to be heard over the clamor, dropping a coin in her hand.

Half a dozen men surrounded Cormac's corner, bobbing their heads and waving their mugs as Cormac loudly played and sang Liza Baillie. One was dressed in baggy trousers and a ragged blue coat stained with streaks of tar, but his face was weathered to a leathery brown, and dark, lank hair hung in his eyes. Law sauntered in that direction and dropped a groat into the hat on the floor that already had a dozen coins in it.

Cormac gave a little shake of his head, so Law straightened and wandered through the crowd. He found a spot where he could prop himself against the wall not far from Widow Gray where she was filling beaker after beaker and taking the coins from the girls to drop into a slot in a locked coffer at her feet. A spot opened at a table, but Law decided he could see who came and went better where he was.

Under one of the windows, a large group of apprentices in grubby tunics and hose began arguing, shouting insults and curses. Widow Gray glared at them and hammered on the top of the barrel with a mallet that lay conveniently to hand. One of the apprentices jumped to his feet and grabbed another by the neck of his tunic. All the others cheered. The widow shouted, "Stop that!"

A couple of the apprentices looked toward her, elbowed each other, and watched her, grinning. But the other two roared on, shoving and shouting curses. Widow Gray slammed down the mallet and stomped across the room that had fallen totally silent. Law hid a grin behind his hand as she bellowed, "No stramash in my tavern!"

The apprentice with his hands full of his fellow's tunic front gaped at her. He hastily pulled his hands back. "Och, 'twas just a wee-"

Widow Gray grabbed him by the nape of his neck and the seat of his hose and jerked him up so that his toes scrabbled for purchase on the floor. She marched him, squawking as he went, to the door. Someone threw it open for her, and she tossed her burden face first into the mud. She turned and shook her fist at the others at the table. "Any more trouble and out the rest of you go."

Law was chuckling at the speed with which the arguing youths hunched, humble-faced, over their cups, but his laughter died as a blond-haired man slipped through the door behind the glowering widow. For a fisherman, his hodden gray coat-with its slits in the back to allow climbing in the rigging-was cleaner than it should have been, but otherwise, he might have been any fisherman taking his ease after a day's labor. Law lifted his beaker and took a long drink. He turned slightly as though looking out one of the windows into the drizzly night as he watched the man out of the corner of his eye.

The fisherman took a beaker of ale from one of the girls and scanned the room, giving each man there a quick look. He pulled a sour face and crowded in to sit near a window where he stared out into the night. His shoulders were hunched, and he had a dejected scowl. Vespers rang, and gradually the crowd began to thin, as in ones and twos the men wandered off to their homes. When the room was down to a dozen men, two or three still watching Cormac play, the man grunted loudly in disgust and got to his feet.

Law nodded amiably to Widow Gray and said, "You have braw ale. I'll be sure and return the next time I bide in Glasgow." By that time, the door had slammed behind his quarry, so he strode out into the night to see the man walk through the arch and turn to the left. That direction was away from the River Clyde, not the way a fisherman on his way home would take. Law loosened his dirk in its leather sheath, raised his hood again to shadow his face, and hurried to reach the corner before his target could get out of sight. He peered around the corner and ducked back as his quarry looked over his shoulder. After giving it a couple of breaths’ space, he looked out again to see the shadowy figure striding away.

Law kept his cloak pulled close around him as he followed through the dark. He matched his stride to the shadow ahead of him. When the man looked over his shoulder again, Law ducked his head to stare at his feet and listed a bit as though he were drunk. When the fisherman paused, continuing to look at him, Law began to sing in a slurred voice.

My booonny Liza Baillie,

I'll roooll you in my plaidie,

If you will gang alang wi' me

And be my Hieland lady.

With a shrug, the fisherman turned and once again strode away, picking up his pace. He was now walking very fast, and Law didn't dare quite keep up, though he dropped his singing and his staggering. Suddenly, the man shouted. In the flickering light of a nearby torch, he saw Dave Taylor jump the man from behind and wrap an arm around his throat. Law drew his dirk and ran. Taylor dragged the struggling, cursing man backwards toward the maw of a dark-filled alley.

The man managed to twist to the side. His leg went behind Taylor's, and he kicked Taylor's feet out from under him. As Taylor went to the ground, Law tackled their target. The man uttered a loud Ooomph as he fell on his back. Law straddled him, his weight on his chest and his dirk at the man's throat. Their quarry opened his mouth to shout, but when Law pressed the point of the blade into his skin, he snapped his mouth shut. A trickle of blood ran down his neck.

Taylor had already bounced to his feet. He kicked the man in the side and then said, "Drag him into the alley."

Law reversed his dirk and gave their quarry a hard thump on the head with the hilt. His eyes rolled up. "Grab his hands. I hope you have some rope somewhere about you."

"In the alley." Taylor grabbed one of the man's hands and waited as Law jumped to his feet and grabbed the other. "You could have just gagged him. Now we have to wait for him to wake up." Their quarry's head lolled back as they dragged him into the narrow opening between two buildings, both with their storefront shuttered and dark for the night.

Law heard Cormac say, "You caught him," and looked over his shoulder to see the minstrel, lute case across his back, standing just inside the alleyway.

"Aye. Keep watch while we question him."

Cormac propped a shoulder against the corner of the building, pulled his sgian-achlais from the sheath under his arm, and pretended to clean his fingernails. By the time Law turned back to Taylor, he already had their quarry's hands tied.

Taylor said very softly, "Feel his palms. He's nae fisherman. That is a certainty, and he's nae expert at faking it. There's not a hint of the smell of fish about him."

Law ran his fingers over the man's palms, not nearly calloused enough for the hard labor of a fisherman, but there was a little callous on his palm and another between his thumb and forefinger that Law knew well from having exactly the same. "I'd wager good siller that is from sword work."

"Did you hear him speak?" Taylor asked.

"I dinnae think he said a word the whole time he was there. But it was noisy, so-" He broke off when the man groaned.

"Good." Taylor slapped the man's cheek. "Wake up, you sleekit weasel."

Law stifled a laugh at the slippery Dave Taylor calling someone else sleekit, but the pretend fisherman gave a loud groan, so he pressed a hand over the man's mouth. The last thing they needed was attention. "Wheesht. If you dinnae want your throat slit, you'll keep quiet."

The man's eyes gleamed in the dark as he rolled them, darting his glance from Law to Taylor and back again. Law removed his hand. "Now you'll tell us who you are. What the message was you passed along, and who it was from?"

The man thrashed, kicking his legs and arching his back. Law straddled him, sitting hard on his chest and put his foot-long dirk in front of the man's eyes. "Yours would nae be the first blood on my blade. Keep still." And it would not be, of course, but he'd never killed a man helpless and bound. Damn Taylor anyway. "Now who are you? The truth."

The man darted his gaze around again, but when Law pressed the dirk just under his eye, he gasped out, "Edmund… Edmund Langholme." Law frowned at the man's accent.

Now Taylor drew his dirk as well and stood, glaring down at their captive. "You're nae Scot."

"I'm looking for work," the man gabbled. "That's all. My mother. She is a Scot, but my da, he's from Northumberland. So…I thought I could pass for a Scot, and there is work to be found on boats on the River Clyde. I mean no harm."

Taylor kicked Langholme, if that was really his name, hard in the ribs. "Dinnae lie to me. You carried a message. What was it?"

"How… How do you…" He rolled his head around and tried to writhe, but Law had him firmly pinned.

Law put his dirk closer to Langholme's eye.

"All right. A man gave me money to deliver a message. I handed it to some man, and that's all."

Law grabbed the man's bound hand and twisted it back. "That's nae fisherman's hand. You're…what? A man-at-arms? Surely you’re nae knight, sneaking like a thief into Scotland."

Taylor hunkered down and grabbed Langholme by the hair. He jerked his head back. "I'd as soon slit your throat as look at you, so tell us the truth. What was in the message?"

"I don't know! I cannot read, man. How would I know what was in it?"

"Then who sent it?"

"I can't tell you that. I'm sworn to-"

Law pressed his dirk into soft flesh just below the man's eye just hard enough that a drop of blood welled around the point. "And I'm sworn to find out."

The man made babbling noises that were almost sobs. "If I tell you, it's treason."

Law slid the dirk, making a small cut that wept a few drops of blood. He really didn't want to have to kill the dammed man. What would that benefit them? "And if you don't, then I'll kill you. And I am the closer."

The man made a piteous whimpering sound. "I'm in the duke's service. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester."

Law leaned back on his heels and let out a breath. Gloucester was the regent of England-one of their infant king's uncles. He looked at Taylor, who was, for once, speechless. "What the devil…?"

Taylor gave the man's hair another jerk. "It was a letter then."

"I told you I couldn't read it. I was supposed to wait for an answer. That's why I'm still here."

Taylor grunted. "Aye, that makes sense, well enow. He is probably telling the truth. Though…"

"Though what?" Law asked.

"Who was Blacader to deliver the message to?"

"I don't know," Langholme wailed. "Let me go now. I told you what you wanted to know-all that I know. I've done you no harm. Let me go."

Law stood, looking down at the man who was no more than a dark shape on the ground. "I dinnae see how he could have anything to do with what happened in Perth. I have nae more business with him."

"Well, we cannae let him go," Taylor said. "He'd pass word that we've learned his task here."

Langholme twisted, struggling to fight free. "No! Help! Mur-" A slash of Taylor's dirk cut off the cry.

"Damn you to the devil!" Law jumped back from the gush of blood. "There was nae reason to do that."

"He was an intelligencer working for the English. That was a death sentence by the king's own law. And I was right that he would have never have kept quiet that we learnt about the message he carried. He would have gone running back to his master. No, silencing him needed doing."

Law looked over his shoulder to see Cormac, holding onto the wall and bending over to retch. "Watch to be sure the noise did nae rouse anyone," Law told him, and then he turned to Taylor. "Curse you to hell and back. I'm nae murderer."

Taylor shrugged. "He sneaked into Scotland to spy for the English. His life was forfeit."

Law thrust his hands through his hair. "Aye… Well, it is done now. And I must return to Perth. Somewhere there is a letter gone missing from the Duke of Gloucester. And a murderer…" He glared at Taylor. "A different murderer still to be found."

"I must go to Stirling to take word of this, so I'll ride so far with you."

Law glared at the man again, not that Taylor would see it in the dark. "What about that?" he growled, nudging the dead man's leg with his foot.

"Someone will find him, but we need nae to be here when they do. Take your friend and hie back to the tavern."

"I intend to." He wanted to hit the murdering scoundrel, beat the smirk from his face. He certainly had no right to give Law commands. Who did he think he was? He turned and stomped to give Cormac a pat on the shoulder. "You all right?"

"I'll meet you at the tavern at first light," Taylor said as he slipped away into the night.

11

The attack was sudden.

They were making good time toward Stirling, the town a hazy blur in the distance, the castle at one end atop the high cliff. In the fields below them, the fields were still being harrowed with lines of laborers using large rakes to work seeds into the soil. Here and there was a field with sheep and gamboling spring lambs. There was a long stand of trees to their right.

Law ruminated on what they had learned and how they had learned it. At his side, Cormac rode again silent and thoughtful. Dave Taylor brought up the rear, his hand on the dirk that hung from his belt, dressed in a journeyman's sturdy woolen jerkin and leggings. But he carried a well-made sword. The only reminder of his guise as a rat catcher was the terrier, draped across his saddlebow, that occasionally lifted his head to give a doggy grin.

"Someday I should play for the king's court," Cormac said in a distant tone. "I should like that."

Law smiled. "I thought you did nae like lords and kings and such."

"I dinnae mind them as long-"

"'Ware!" Dave Taylor shouted as he dropped his terrier to the ground

Law turned in his saddle to see a crossbow's quarrel sticking up from the dirt and Taylor kneeing his horse in a circle as he searched for the source of the bolt. He drew his sword with one hand and wrapped his reins around his saddlebow to free the other.

"Yonder," said Cormac, pointing at the trees where three horsemen burst into view, urging their horses to a gallop. A big man in the lead swung a battle-ax as he rode. The two others had longswords that gleamed in the sunlight.

Law drew his dirk and wheeled his horse with his knees to face the onrushing men. "Cormac, ride for Stirling," he shouted.

His steed-no trained warhorse-danced sideways, snorting, as the first of the men reached them. He ducked under a swing and returned it. His attacker dodged, leaning sideways, shouting. His horse flattened its ears and plunged away from the fight. It took a struggle of legs and heels for him to turn it in time to parry a blow that would have gutted him. Standing in his stirrups, he blocked the swordsman's downward slash.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taylor's sword beat the swing of the ax aside. The small dog was dancing about, dodging horses' hooves and barking furiously. A horse's scream and cursing from behind him told him that Cormac had not fled, but the blade he carried was no match for a sword.

His opponent's horse reared, its rider fighting to control it. Law saw his chance. He lunged, using his sword like a lance, booting his horse hard so that it was driven through the man's belly. The swordsman swung as he went down off his horse, swinging as he fell, but he only fanned air.

Law kneed his horse in a turn to join Cormac, who was bleeding from a cut on his head and slashing wildly with his blade to try to keep the swordsman back. Cormac leaned far sideways, dodging a fierce two-handed swing. His horse reared, and he fell.

Law hacked at the man who was trying to circle Cormac's horse to reach the minstrel who was struggling to his knees. Suddenly a horn blew further up the hill.

"Yonder's aid for them," his opponent said yelled to his fellows. "Save yourself."

Six horsemen appeared around the bend in the road, riding fast. As the riders galloped toward them, the two attackers still ahorse broke and careered back toward the trees.

Law dismounted and squatted next to the man he had downed, who was moaning. He knelt, tossed the man's sword toward Cormac, and took a closer look at the man's wound.

"Curse you," the attacker said through gritted teeth, "you've killed me."

A wound was through his side, rather than his belly, Law realized to his chagrin. He had missed. But it meant that the man might live. The terrier stood stiff-legged with teeth bared, growling at him.

Law shrugged. "You may live."

Taylor had kicked his horse to pursue the attackers but turned back, cursing loudly, halfway to the trees. The newcomers slowed to a walk as they neared. They wore surcoats with the royal lion livery over worn but well-maintained armor. One used a hand signal to sign the men to surround the three of them, and rode up to Law. He had a small, bright red beard, and his blue eyes darted as he took in the scene of the fight.

Law stood and sheathed both of his weapons.

"Good day," the man said. "Sir Archibald Stralothe. Stay where you are."

Law looked around at Stralothe's men, who all held drawn swords. He exchanged a glance with Dave Taylor, who was sheathing his own weapons. He said, "Stay still, Cormac, until we can see to your head." He turned to Stralothe and continued, "We're travelling to Perth and were attacked by men I must assume are outlaws. We've done nothing wrong."

"You must be carrying valuables to attract such an attack."

"Not at all. Nothing beyond our weapons and no more siller than any man might carry. Though in these times, that is enough for some desperate men, I suppose." He thrust his chin toward the injured attacker. "And he is one of the attackers. If his wounds are bound, it may be he can reach Stirling and be questioned. I doubt the king wants outlaws robbing within sight of the burgh."

Sir Archibald raised a skeptical eyebrow but said, "You may look to your minstrel if you want."

Law bent over Cormac but the minstrel pushed him away and stood, swaying a little, and glared at the newcomer. "I'm my own minstrel, thank you."

Sir Archibald nodded to one of his men. "Sandy, bind his wound." He nodded thoughtfully as his man worked over the prisoner. "You'll accompany me to the castle and give a full account of what happened here."

"I assure you that we've done nothing wrong," Law said. "But if I tell you why we were on the road, I hope you will let us go on our way. Though you may want to have one of your men see to him. He may live to reach a dungeon."

"Very well," said Sir Archibald. He ordered one of his men to see to the prisoner. "Though I'll ask that you make it brief."

"I'll try." Law recounted, with the omission of Taylor's slaying of the intelligencer in Glasgow, how he had come to be tasked with discovering Neill Blacader’s murderer and their attempts to track down what the murderer may have been seeking.

"So you are acting under the instructions of the lord sheriff of Perth," said the knight when Law had finished. "Is there any reason I should believe this tale?"

"I had no reason to ask the lord sheriff to give me instructions in writing," Law said. "To confirm my story, you'd need to send to Perth, Sir Archibald, but I think the flight of our attackers at the sight of you is good evidence that they were the wrongdoers in this fight."

The prisoner now had cloth stuffed against his wound and more wrapped around him to hold it in place. Law tilted his head and nudged the man's leg with his foot. "I suppose you might put this miscreant to the question. I'd like to hear the answer to why they attacked us."

When questioned, the man admitted his name was Giles and that he was from a croft near Edinburgh. He moaned and wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm dying. You cannae do worse to me than you've already done."

Sir Archibald bent to gaze down at him. "We can make your dying gey painful, man."

"Och, I need a priest. I'm dying, I tell you."

"I expect we'll call one eventually. Mayhap while you still live." Sir Archibald straightened.

"Mercy! Let me be shriven or I'll burn in Hell." He moaned and rolled back and forth on the ground. "I was only hired to help. He went to meet some man that night near the little tavern outside Perth. They argued because the man did nae have what he was supposed to bring, wanted more money. So Matt cut him down like it was nothing, one swing of his battle-ax."

"Aye, that was how it looked when I found the body," Law confirmed. "Then they searched Neill Blacader's home."

"He had us wait at a tavern in Perth, the Blindman's Tavern it was. Then today he said we had to stop you from finding the letter before he did, because he'd had no luck in finding it."

"Who else was in your little band? Was it only the three of you?" Law asked.

"The other's name was Jemmie. I never kent his surname. Matt found us at the Rearing Unicorn in Edinburgh. He was looking to get a delivery for his maister, he said, and he hired the two of us in the tavern. It was nae even supposed to be any fighting as far as we were told." He whimpered as Law turned to check that Cormac was still on his feet. The minstrel, pale as whey, was holding onto his saddlebow.

"What was in the letter?" Law turned back and glared down at the man.

"He never said. I dinnae if he kent what it was, but he was desperate to find it."

"And who was his maister?" Sir Archibald asked.

"He never said, maister. He did nae even tell us his whole name, just Matt. Neither of us kent nothing more."

"Matt…" Law looked up at Sir Archibald. "A big man who prefers to wield a battleax. Is anyone like that familiar to you?"

Sir Archibald rubbed his chin as he considered this. "No."

"Did this Matt say anything else? Where he was from? Did he mention anyone else?"

Giles stared at him and shook his head.

"How did he sound? Like he was from around here?"

"No." Giles shook his head again. "He sounded like a Highlander to me. I thought mayhap he was from Aberdeen or thereabouts." He frowned. "He had that soft roll to his talk the way Highlanders do."

"What did he look like?"

Giles's voice rose to a plaintive wail. "You saw him. A big man. With a battleax." Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

Law bent and touched Giles's throat and felt his pulse still beating, but the bandage over his wound was now blood-soaked. He looked up at Sir Archibald. "If you're going to take him to the castle, now would be the time. We'll learn nae more from him, I expect." He looked up at the sky. "It's late, and my friend needs to rest. So we'll overnight in Stirling town. If you have more questions for us, you'll find us yon."

Sir Archibald had the unconscious attacker slung over the saddlebow of one of his men, and they moved off toward Stirling. The man groaned occasionally, showing he was still alive, but Law still doubted he would last long, and certainly not in a dungeon. At least he'd have a priest before he died.

Sir Archibald left them to climb the winding road to the castle while the three of them stopped at a tavern in the town. Law was still musing on what to make of the story Giles had told.

"What the devil do you think this is all about?" Cormac asked as Law pushed him down on a bench. "Could it be the duke-?"

"Wheesht. Not here, though that is a damned good question," Law responded. "And I wonder where our ax-bearing friend was searching in Perth before he decided to come after us."

Cormac whispered, "The queen is English and related to the duke of Gloucester, aye?"

Dave Taylor, who had been unusually silent ever since the attack, narrowed his eyes to slits at Cormac. "That kind of talk could get you killed."

Cormac froze and stared at Taylor. He opened his mouth and closed it.

Taylor smiled. Law felt Cormac shudder, but Taylor slapped Law on the shoulder as though they were friends. At Law's glare, he said mildly, "I'm off to find my employer and tell him of this. It is even more serious than I thought. In the meantime, it's best if you find that letter."

12

Law had heard nothing further from Sir Archibald when he and Cormac left for Perth the next morning. Cormac's head was bound in a linen bandage. He scowled as though it ached, but he said as long as his lute had survived, he didn’t care. Law decided they should take their time leaving, so they broke their fast with barley bread and soft cheese before Law donned his hauberk and sword. He looked about as they rode out of Stirling but saw no sign of the elusive sometimes rat catcher and sometimes spy.

After an hour or two, Cormac said, "What could be in a letter from England? Do you think it might be for Murdoch Stewart?"

Law looked up at the sky where fleecy clouds chased the light wind and sighed. "It may be. His father wanted the crown and would have gotten it, if he could have laid hands on King James when he was a lad. Or so I've heard. But…" He shook his head. "Murdoch is an old man now. What kind of scheme would he concoct? One so secret that men must be murdered to hide it."

"I dinnae ken, but I'll be glad to reach home. And I'll drink enough ale to cure the ache in my head."

"So next time I say to ride for town, you should do it."

Cormac glared at him, and they rode in silence until the walls of Perth rose before them. They had barely passed through the gates when the bells of the churches tolled vespers. The setting sun was casting long shadows as they left their horses at the stables where they had rented them and trudged wearily up Watergate Street and then took Mill Street. Cormac's chamber lay one stair up, down a vennel off Mill Street. Cormac gave Law an odd look when Law turned to go with him to the stairs to his chamber he shared with a constantly changing group of other minstrels. Law stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful. Watch your back."

For once Cormac did not brush off Law's warning. His mouth drawn into a thin line, he said, "I'm nae sure who is the more dangerous, our friends or our enemies."

"Both are dangerous, but for the nonce, our 'friend' with a battle-ax is who we must watch for."

Cormac scowled. "I dinnae like any of it." He turned and stomped up the stairs as Law continued to Cullen's tavern and home.

When he opened the door, Wulle was saying in an irritated tone, "I telt you he has not returned."

Anny pointed toward him where he stood in the doorway.

"Och, I have but just now." Wulle and Meldrum turned to gawk.

Mall lifted a long spoon from the steaming pot she was stirring over the hearth to wave at the sergeant and said, "That one has been worrying at us like a terrier at a foxhole. There was ill news whilst you were gone."

The tavern had a comfortable smell of stewed beans and bacon and malty ale, but Law was sure that Meldrum was going to interfere in his enjoying them.

"Aye." Meldrum pursed his lips beneath his bristling mustache. "Where have you been?"

"Glasgow. And we stopped in Stirling on our way back. We had an eventful trip, you might say. What happened here?"

"Not here, thank the Virgin," Wulle said. "The place has been peaceful, and it will stay that way."

"He meant in Perth, you numpty," Meldrum said. "That alewife, Una-someone attacked her."

Law groaned. "I'll need a cup of ale for this." He went to a table near the hearth and sank onto the bench, leaning his elbows on the table. "How badly was she hurt?"

Meldrum joined him and waited until Wulle drew two mugs of ale and Anny brought them. He drank deep and then said, "Someone had been at her for a while, knocked out most of her teeth. Her hands were smashed, and it looked like mayhap he gave her a kicking. She was unconscious when Iain found her and never woke up. It was early in the morn before the tavern was open, but Iain the smith was passing on the street heard her scream. He raised the hue and cry, but the attacker escaped."

"Attacker…?"

"Aye, Iain said he could nae put a name to the man. He ran through the field, took to horse, and disappeared."

Taking a drink, Law mulled the story over. "Could the smith describe him?"

"A big man, he said, but from a distance he could nae say exactly how tall. And he was running away, so Iain did nae see his face."

"Morn, you said? This morn?"

Meldrum shook his head. "The day before yester morn."

"And yesterday as we were nearing Stirling, Cormac and I were attacked. The man who led them…" Law squinted as he thought. "It was three men and the leader was a big man, though it's hard to say exactly how tall he was. They were ahorse. He was wielding a battle-ax, too."

Wulle had come over to listen and exclaimed, "The two of you fought off three men?"

"We were hard-pressed, but a troop of the king's guards came within sight. One we took captive, but the other two fled." Law told Meldrum all that their captive had said. "You ken of anyone who goes by that name of Matt and fits that description?"

Meldrum shook his head, his forehead furrowed. "It sounds like mayhap he did nae learn what he wanted from Una, so he sought you. He tore the place apart. Every table was knocked over, the straw in her mattress dumped out."

"She said that Blacader wanted more than ale when he came there but did nae get it. But I had my doubts she was telling the truth. If she lied, then it is just possible he gave her whatever this Matt is seeking."

"But he did nae find it," Wulle said, motioning to Anny to bring them more ale, and took a seat beside Law. "Or he would nae have come after you. Or it seems so to me."

"Would he have had time to search? If this Iain raised the hue and cry, he may have fled before there was time."

"In the tavern?" Meldrum said. "That would be an ill hiding place, any road."

"Or mayhap in her chamber. It's worth taking a look to be sure he did nae miss something."

The sergeant grunted, sounding a bit skeptical. "It cannae hurt. But we still dinnae ken what we're searching for."

"It has to be a paper of some kind, or he would nae have searched the papers in Blacader's kist, aye?" That would have to be explanation enough, since there was no way he'd tell of the encounter in Glasgow. "You did nae search when you found her body?"

Meldrum shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I looked about a bit, but there was nothing to find that I saw."

"That may be, but I have to be sure. So I'll go look on the morrow." He turned to Mall. "Hen, would you put a bowl of your braw bean pottage on my chit? My mouth is watering from the smell."

His stomach grumbled so loudly that Wulle laughed.

13

The bells ringing prime woke Law, and bars of light coming through the shutters cut the murk of the room. He groaned as he rolled out of bed. A few days of riding and wearing armor had left him sore as a whipped pup, but he had no time to lie about. He had to figure out where this mysterious letter had ended up.

He threw open the shutters and let in the morning light. During the night there had been a heavy rain, but now it had stopped, and the sun dyed the clouds rose and gold in the east. He shivered in the damp wind but left the shutters open to blow away the cobwebs from his brain. He took his bath from a bowl of cold water by the window, washing the sweat and grime of the road from his face and body with a soapy rag, He rinsed and toweled off. His body was covered with goose bumps, but after the icy winter, it was nothing. It had taken time after he returned from France to get used to the cold, and he still felt it more than he thought that he should.

He quickly pulled on his linen undershirt and drawers, woolen doublet, and tights. It felt good to be out of the heavy cuirass. He shook his head. He was getting soft.

Decently covered, he sat on the windowsill to think. It was not much of a view. The tavern lay about halfway between the River Tay and the town wall. Perth's houses ran up the hillside two and three stories high, mostly thatched roofs but some of slate, cutting off the view. On the other side of the houses and wall, completely cut off from his sight, lay the suburbs of Perth.

The wet breeze carried the scent of peat smoke but also of green trees and even a hint of flowers from somewhere. It was going to be a lovely spring morning, one too nice to spend thinking of murder and wracking his brain to solve a stubborn puzzle-like where was that letter? If Blacader was supposed to deliver it that night he met his death, would he have wanted it close at hand? He had good reason not to trust the man he was meeting, but he would have wanted to be able to lay hands on it easily.

Below, the tavern had stirred to life. He heard voices calling for mugs of ale, and thumps and clatters of platters as Mall and Anny set out bannocks and rounds of cheese. He wanted to get some while it was still warm from the griddle, so he pulled on his boots and made for the door, pulling his gray woolen cloak from the peg as he went.

The hall was abuzz with low morning chatter. There were fifteen or so people seated at the trestle tables, hurriedly eating the bannocks and cheese that Mall and Anny bustled to set before them, while Wulle filled mugs with ale. Soon the place would empty as the guests made their way to the day's work. Most, like Law, were regulars who ran a chit that they settled every month, for coin was always in short supply. Law was in no mood for morning chatter so he nodded to Wulle to note on his chit and scooped up a piece of a bannock and a thin wedge of cheese. He walked out the door into the usual morning hubbub. Two journeymen in worn leather aprons were waiting at the window to buy mugs of ale. The goodwife next door was sweeping her stoop, and a boy was staggering past on the vennel under a load of faggots.

Law blew out a breath. It was no good letting the fine weather go to waste, so he started for port. The night's rain had left deep puddles, so he trudged along the edge of the cobbled street to keep out of the deepest of it. As he approached the North Port, a cart clattered through, splashing water in every direction. The beggar Gilleasp was drenched. "Contrachd ort!" he shouted, shaking his fist.

Water dripped down his face and dribbled from his beard.

"At least you have no need for a bath this season," Law told him. That earned Law a gob of spit at his feet. Law tilted his head and considered the little man. His sharp eyes did not seem to miss much. "I'm looking for a tall man who carries an ax at his belt instead of a sword. And I'll pay if you can direct me to him."

Gilleasp shook the water off, flapping his hands. Then he scowled up at Law. "An ax? You mean a battle-ax?"

"Aye. That I do."

The dwarf slowly shook his head. "I cannae say that I have. But for a groat, I can keep an eye out for someone like that."

"You think that I'm a rich lord to throw my siller about?" Law returned the glare in kind. "I'll pay if you have news and nae before."

The guard was smirking at the exchange as Law stomped in disgust through the gate and turned onto New Row Road. The road was mire from the spring rain as well as passing carts and other traffic. It sucked at his boots with a smacking sound as he slogged through it past the women preparing to begin their waulking, the smith at his forge, and the runrigs with fields covered with green sprigs of new growth.

The trestle table in the hard-packed yard stood empty, and one of the shutters was hanging askew. Law put his hand on the door to push it open, but a gruff voice behind him said, "What are you about?"

Law turned to see the smith, a heavy hammer in his hand, glowering at him. "You're the first finder?"

"Aye. What is it to you?"

Law propped his shoulder on the doorjamb and crossed his arms. "The lord sheriff tasked me with finding out who killed Blacader, and I think it had to do with what was done to Una."

Iain Smith was almost as tall as Law but had huge arms and shoulders from working the forge. His face crunched up at the mention of the dead woman. "It was an evil thing he did to her. And she was a good woman." He shrugged. "Mayhap nae the way a priest says to be good, but fair in her dealings and never harmed no one."

"Aye. No woman deserves what the sergeant said was done to her." He paused because he suspected the smith wouldn't like saying something ill about the dead. "She seemed fair enow and made a braw ale…though I thought she did nae want to admit she kent Blacader better than his wife would have liked."

The smith looked around uneasily. "That's the worst of it and she dying unshriven." He gave a heavy sigh. "She was a good neighbor, a widow, you see, and if she sometimes was friendly with a customer, well, it was no business of mine."

"And when you saw him fleeing, you could tell no more than he was a large man?"

"It was early. There was mist, and the light was nae good. He was big." The smith looked Law up and down. "About your size, though I think a mite wider through the shoulders. That was all I could tell."

"What about his hair? Dark? Light?"

"Dark. It was flying about as he ran. And I raised the hue and cry, but I heard hoofbeats, and when we reached the trees he was gone."

"I'm going to look about. I dinnae expect to find anything, but…" Law shook his head. "I shall find the man if there is any way on earth that I can."

Iain Smith transferred the heavy hammer to his left hand and held out his right. His palm was horny from hard labor when Law clasped it. He gave Law a respectful half-bow, turned, and strode back to his smith's forge down the road.

Inside every table was turned over, the benches smashed. Even the barrel had been smashed open, and the room stank of the soured ale that covered the floor. Law kicked a few shards of wood out of the way as he paced around the room. Standing ajar was a narrow door to the small chamber where Una had slept. The straw from the mattress was dumped out onto the floor, and there was a small pile of shredded cloth. Law knelt and poked at what had once been Una's clothing. He sucked a breath through his teeth.

Whether he found the letter or not, he had to stop this. Who knew who might be killed next. He thought of Blacader's family, who had already been attacked once. He had to come up with some plan, and then he'd think further on where Blacader might have hidden the damned letter, if it even still existed.

He rose and went through the tavern and circled into the backyard. The destruction extended even there. A barrel of barley had been dumped out and the chicken coop knocked over.

Law rubbed the back of his neck as he turned in a slow circle. He had no way of finding the murderer, but the murderer seemed ready to find him. That might be the solution to one part of the problem. Who was the biggest gossip in Perth? He would need word to spread and the faster, the better.

He waved to the blacksmith as he strode past but stopped at the barn where once more some dozen women were giving bundles of cloth thumps into stinking urine to bleach them. They ceased the waulking song when he reached them. The granny who led the song frowned at him. "Murder of a woman alone, harming no one. Who will be next?" The others murmured in agreement.

He shook his head. "The man was seeking something she had hidden. I found it so anyone else should be safe."

"Seeking? What would she have except a little siller, and little enow of that?" another woman demanded.

"Not siller, but it's best not to ask about something that gets someone murdered. But I have it now, so you need nae worry."

The granny's faded blue eyes gave him an assessing look, wiser than he expected. "Aye, and what will you do with this secret?"

"I have nae decided that. I'll hold onto it and see if I can make myself some profit."

The old woman twisted her mouth in a wry smile. "I dinnae suppose you'd want that news noised about."

Law shrugged a shoulder. "If no one kens that I have it, how will I find a buyer?" He winked and sauntered toward the North Port. The dwarf beggar rattled his cup as Law passed, but not many people would stop with him to gossip, so Law walked along High Street. A little way over, he stopped at a shop that sold buns through the window to passersby. The warm scent of dried fruit and baking wafted out, and the shopkeeper called, "Try my fine buns with almonds and currents! You've never tasted better."

His stomach grumbled. All the walking had worked up an appetite, so he dug in his scrip for a half-penny and bought one of the buns. He took a bite of the warm pastry and hummed his pleasure, but he made steadily for one place he was sure he could find people to spread gossip for him.

It was a busy day with people taking advantage of the spring sunshine, in spite of the wind still having a sharp bite. Shopkeepers were shouting the quality of their wares. Goodwives followed by servants carrying baskets bustled toward the market square. A troop of mounted men clattered past toward the port, the rearing lion of the king gleaming on their cloaks, and for a moment Law watched after them. It was odd that the king's men were in Perth when the king wasn't. He turned off High Street and wended his way to Mill Street and the narrow vennel where Cormac lived.

The shutters were thrown open, and the sound of several musical instruments and someone singing floated into the air. Law followed the sound up the stairs and knocked. The door was opened by a man with a flute under his arm and a mug in his hand.

"Cormac, here is your friend," he called over his shoulder.

"Och, let him in then," Cormac answered from somewhere in the chambers.

The man stood aside, and Law entered a room filled with several men and women in threadbare finery. Near the window, two men with lutes were arguing over the fingering of a piece they had been playing. Beyond a man with a vielle was tuning his instrument, and three singers were bent and tutting over a piece of paper.

"Law, what are you doing here?" Cormac said as he made his way through the crowd. Today he was wearing his second-best doublet: green and orange wool and orange sleeves tied with bunches of blue ribbons. Law suppressed a smile. It wasn't in a minstrel's interest to be easily overlooked.

Law made his way past the lutenists, drummer, and a female singer who launched into a vigorous "Quand Je Bois du Vin Clairet."

"There was another murder. Had you heard?" Law asked. "And I have a favor that these others may be willing to do."

"Aye, the murder…" Cormac shuddered a little. The man who had admitted Law put a cup of wine into Law's hand. "If you want a favor, ask it."

Law hesitated, wondering how to explain. "It is the second murder."

"The third by my count." Cormac crossed himself. "What do you want us to do?"

The players and singer stopped their music to listen.

"I need it to be noised about that I found what the killer was seeking."

"What was it he was seeking?" one of the lutenists asked. He was wearing a red and blue doublet even brighter than Cormac's. "It must be valuable."

"A letter. And since it cost two lives…" Law frowned at Cormac. "…I think you dinnae want to ken more than that. But I have it, and I need the people who are seeking it to ken that no one else does. If there are any who can spread the word, I think it is the lot of you."

"We could do that," said the singer, a woman with golden curls and a full bosom above her worn velvet. She smiled. "People like to talk to me between songs."

The lutenist scowled at her. "Aye, and you like talking to them."

She cocked her head at him. "And what's wrong with that, Billy? They pay better for a smile than your frowns." She poked him lightly in the ribs. "I dinnae leave with any of them, you numpty." One of the men laughed.

The woman wrinkled her nose at Law. "But we can spread that news. The poor woman that was murdered never did me any harm. I saw her the day before she was killed and had a beaker of her ale." She crossed herself.

"Aye." Billy shook his head sadly. "We had just reached Perth from Edinburgh and were athirst. She brewed a braw ale."

"And now she's dead," the blonde woman said. "Will you find who killed her?"

The room was silent, and suddenly everyone was paying attention.

Law scratched his neck. "I just want whoever is seeking the letter to hear where it can be found." Cormac was looking at him with arms crossed and mouth pressed hard into a hard, disapproving line.

"But spreading that kind of story might cause someone to come after us," said the man with the vielle, gripping his instrument so tightly that his knuckles were white. "We're minstrels, nae fighters."

"Dinnae say that you have seen it or ken anything about it. You won't be at risk. Just let on that you heard that I have it. Tell anyone who will listen."

Cormac said through gritted teeth, "There's nae changing your mind about this, I suppose."

"No."

"We can spread the word easily enow. We're playing this eve at the Horseman Inn and can spread it about." The second lutenist turned abruptly to Billy. "I still say you had that note wrong. We need it to sound better before we play for an audience."

Several others said they were playing for nobles and vowed that everyone they spoke to would hear the gossip.

14

Clouds blew in from the west, and the day turned dreich beneath a steady drizzle. At the Reidheid Inn, a cup of hippocras-heated claret scented with cinnamon-took away the damp chill and eased the ache in his leg. Law tempted the innkeeper to join him in a cup and repeated his story of having found the letter Una's killer had been seeking. Law had never met an innkeeper who didn't collect gossip to share with his customers, so he was confident the word was being spread. Drawing his cloak close around him to hide his sword, he left. But he had to wonder how long it would take for the gossip to reach its object. Was he even in Perth? Perhaps he'd given up and left. And who had it been meant to reach? Cormac was right that Queen Joan was English. Her uncle Cardinal Henry de Beaufort was, Merciful Mother help us, the chancellor of England. If she was plotting with her English family, Law would make damned sure he was not the one to tell her royal husband.

Mall and Wulle would not be happy to be told he had something that might bring a killer into their tavern, but Wulle was the biggest gossip of even the tavern and innkeepers. As the bells rang for the hour of none prayers in the midafternoon, Law trudged home. He sank gratefully onto his favorite bench near the hearth and told Wulle to bring a flagon to share with him. After he lied that he had found the letter and refused to show it, Wulle said, "This is a glaikit plan." He leaned on his elbows close to Law. "You're trying to lure the killer to you. You think he won't see through it?"

"He may, but he's desperate to find the letter, so he'll take the chance."

Wulle wagged a finger in Law's face. "You had best nae lure him to my tavern!"

"I'm making sure that I'm seen about the town. He followed me from Glasgow to where there was no one to see and fled. I'll make sure to give him a chance to find me where no one else is in danger. Tomorrow, I'll hire a horse again and pretend that I'm riding for Stirling. I'll wager he'll follow me. But I need to be sure that everyone in Perth hears that I've found the letter."

"Including the lord sheriff? He'll nae be happy if you dinnae bring it to him."

Law huffed a laugh. "I'll deal with that when it happens."

"I still say it's a bad plan."

Law took a drink of the ale and looked at Wulle for a few moments. "It's the only plan I have." Then he stood and went back out into the drizzle. He'd have a few words with Blind Harry at Blindman's Tavern and then wait the night. Tomorrow he'd make sure he was seen leaving for Stirling, and on the way he expected his glaikit plan would work.

15

Law stood in front of the window of his room on the top floor of the tavern. The air was damp and cool and filled with the scent of the peat fires burning on hearths across the burgh. The drizzle made a sputtering sound on the thatch above his head. A dog howled in the darkness. The voices of a woman and a boy came from a neighbor's house, the woman scolding that it was time to go to bed and the child whining that he wanted to stay up a bit longer. The moon made a smudge of light through the overcast, and it was black night past his window.

He pulled the shutters closed against the night air except for a crack. After he hung his sword belt on its peg, he sat on the edge of his cot and toed off his boots. It was a night like any other except for worrying about what would happen when he tried to lure the killer out of Perth on the morrow. He stripped off his clothes, tossed them onto the stool, put his dirk on top of them, and lay down. He pulled the blanket up to his chin but was a long time staring into the dark before drifting to sleep.

Law's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure what sound had awakened him, but he knew he had heard something. After taking several quiet breaths, careful not to stir, he decided it must have been a dream. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again, and then there was a thud. Then there was a scrunching sound above his head. Sometimes animals crawled across the thatch, but that was too loud to be a rat. He glanced toward the window. A beam of moonlight was shining through the narrow crack. The rain must have let up during the night.

Something cut off the moonlight. Then was a bump against the wall, and the shutter was pushed all the way open. The silhouette of a man swung across the moonlight as though hanging from a rope.

Law squinted at his dirk where it lay on the stool. If he reached for it, the hay stuffing in his bed would rustle. He wet his lips and tried to slow his breathing. He mustn't give away that he was awake.

The figure threw a leg over the windowsill, clutched it, and threw the other leg over. For a moment, he sat on the edge, seeming to listen. Then he stood.

Before the intruder could take a step into the room, Law rolled out of the bed and reached for his dirk. As his hand closed on the hilt, the figure lunged. He drove Law into the floor flat on his back. Law's head bounced from the force, and the dirk flew out of his hand. It clattered against the wall.

The man straddled Law's chest with all his weight. He pressed on Law's throat with one hand and reached for a weapon on his belt with the other. Law bucked his whole body, but the man's weight was too much to throw off. A dirk glinted in the moonlight as the intruder raised it.

Law threw a leg around his attacker's leg to trap it. He grabbed the man's elbow and pushed with both legs as hard as he could. The man flipped diagonally. He rolled with his attacker and straddled him. And then he grabbed the wrist with the dirk. Using his weight and both hands, he slammed the hand to the floor. He slammed again, and the dirk flew out of the man's hand.

At least the man didn't have a battle-axe. It flashed through Law's mind that you couldn't climb with such a weapon and was grateful for that as he let go of the man's hand and pulled back his fist. He put all his weight into a blow to the side of his head. The intruder didn't even blink. Law pulled back for another, but the man grabbed Law's head and tried to jab each thumb into Law's eyes.

Law jerked straight up onto his knees. The intruder lost his grip, but he drew back his elbow and slammed an elbow into Law's belly. It knocked Law backward. Damn, the fucker is strong.

The intruder bounded to his feet. In the moonlight, Law saw him looking all around. His back to the window, he grabbed the stool and threw it at Law's head. Law dodged it as he rolled to his feet. The man lunged at Law and grabbed him around the neck with both hands. He squeezed. A black ring formed on the edge of Law's vision.

Law grabbed the man's thumbs and jerked them out, driving his knee into the man's balls. The intruder stumbled a step back, bent from the waist. He gave a strangled shout. Law sucked in a grating breath through his aching throat, and then he threw his hardest punch at the man's face. The man staggered back. Blood gushed from his nose.

Law drew back and threw another punch with all his weight behind it. The intruder went backwards through the window. He topped out backwards, headfirst. He let out a scream that was cut off by a thud. Law leaned against windowsill and clasped his fist to his chest with the other hand, wondering whether he had broken it. Then he leaned to look down into the yard. The intruder was lying still, his head twisted at a terrible angle. Law blew out a breath. It was only two stories down, but the man had gone out headfirst. He must have broken his neck when he landed.

From downstairs, Law heard Wulle's voice: "Is it over?"

He heard crunching above his head as someone moved around. "There may be another one," Law replied.

"Matt!" a voice called from above. "Are you alive?" The man's accomplice was still out there, and Wulle had been right that his plan was a mad one. He desperately scanned the room until he spotted a dirk.

The rope Matt had used to climb down still dangled in front of the window. Law put the dirk between his teeth and grabbed the rope. Normally, it would have been nothing to climb, but the pain in his hand made his stomach roil. He pulled himself up hand over hand. Sweat dripped down his face and bare chest.

His sweat-slick hands slipped, but he held on and, after what seemed like forever, was able to throw an arm over the edge of the thatch. The dark figure of a man was crouched a few feet away. "Damn!" he yelled and jumped to his feet. Law grabbed the dirk in his right hand as he scrambled onto the roof. The man backed away and then dashed to the far edge of the roof. He grabbed the edge with both hands and dropped off. He yelled when he landed. Law followed him to the edge in time to see him limping away as fast as he could go.

Law looked down at his bare chest. He had to laugh. He was standing on the roof in his breeches. He could hardly chase a man through the streets half-naked.

Someone in the street was shouting up at him demanding to know what was going on. Law leaned his hands on his knees and took several deep breaths, but then he had to laugh again. So much for his great plan.

He looked over the edge to see one of the burgh guards scowling up at him, moonlight illuminating his face. Law called down, "I think the lord sheriff will thank you if you catch that thief who just fled. Another fell trying to climb in the window in the back of the tavern." He wasn't going to try to explain for the moment that he'd knocked Matt out of the window. That story could wait.

He limped back to the rope, cursing every step of the way at the necessity of climbing back down. When he did, it hurt even more than he'd thought that it would.

Outside his door Wulle was calling, "Law! Law! What's happening?"

"It's all right. I've taken care of it." He frantically pulled on his tights and shirt. He thrust his feet into his boots and grabbed his sword belt. When he opened his door, Wulle was dancing with distress, his hair standing on end, but Law just pushed past him to dash down the stairs.

Wulle was still gabbling questions at him as Law unbarred the back door of the tavern. "You'd best stay inside. I dinnae ken what I'll find." Surely so short a fall wouldn't have killed the man. There might yet be a fight.

But when Law closed the door behind him, the figure was still. The head lay at a strange, awkward angle. He went to kneel next to it, snicking his tongue against his front teeth. When he looked up, the rope swung gently in the night breeze. The man had gone over backwards and must have landed head first on the hard ground. Well, so much for questioning him.

Law used two fingers to turn the man's flat-featured face so he could see it more clearly in the moonlight. He blinked. That face was familiar. But from whence? He had seen it somewhere before. Of that he was certain.

A whining voice said, "I did nae do anything. Leave me be!"

The guard shoved his prisoner ahead of him. "Shut up!" He gave the man a blow with his truncheon. Then he looked toward Law. "I caught the thief. But what is this?"

Law stood. "This one fell as he was climbing in the window." Law pointed to the rope that was clearly seen in the moonlight. "He went over backwards. Landed head first it seems."

The guard prodded the body with his boot. "Save the trouble of throwing him in the dungeon."

The door banged open and Wulle rushed out. He grabbed Law's arm. "I telt you nae to bring trouble here. Did I nae tell you that? I cannae have outlaws breaking in. You-- You must find another place to live."

Law cocked his head and pondered the dead man. Perhaps while he slept it would come to him where he'd seen that face before. It was somewhere that had to do with Neill Blacader's death. But first he'd best deal with his landlord. He patted the man's shoulder. "Wulle, it is all over. But let us rest and we'll talk tomorrow."

Wulle scowled at him.

Law opened the door. "Come. Neither of us can think straight with nae sleep." And hopefully by the morning, Wulle's fear would be only a dim memory.

16

Morning light was shinging in Law's eyes when he awoke. He rolled away from the light and remembered where he had seen that face before. The man had been standing with Una at the inquest. Going to the inquest of a man you had murdered took nerve that Law could barely imagine, but that had to be what had happened. He groaned and forced himself to rise from his cot.

Every move ached when he made his way down the stairs. He sat at his favorite bench near the hearth and leaned his elbows on the table.

Wulle crossed his arms and said, "I telt you it was a glaikit plan. And then a murderer came in our tavern."

"I give you my oath, it will nae happen again."

Just then Anny appeared in the doorway. "Do you hear the drums? There's a procession coming on High Street!" She was bouncing with excitement.

Cormac appeared behind her, looking dour. "I think it's the king." He gave Law a narrow-eyed look.

Law sighed. He'd killed the murderer, and now everyone looked at him as though it was his fault.

Anny tugged her father's sleeve. "Hurry. I want to see the king."

"You've seen him before, lass."

"But the ladies may be with him. I have to see their clothes." She gave him a beseeching look. "Please, Da."

Mall gave one of the tables a swipe with a cloth. "Och, we'll all go." She made a shooing motion to the sole customer drinking at one of the tables, for the early morning flurry of business was past. "It will nae hurt to close for a few minutes, and I like to look at the ladies myself."

She gave Law a stern look. He decided this was a bad day to argue, so he followed as Anny walked between her mother and father, chattering about what the queen might wear if she was riding in the procession.

By the time they reached High Street, the drummers and trumpeters all clad in the royal livery were passing. A richly dressed cavalcade followed with their silks and velvets glowing in the morning sunshine, jewels on fingers and hats flashing like fire. The people of Perth were accustomed to the royal court's comings and goings, but it still made a good show, so they lined the street. Dogs dashed alongside, barking. The drums and trumpets paused for a moment and then blared an even louder cacophony. From farther down the street, Law heard shouts of "God save the king! God save the king!"

The trumpeters had passed beyond sight when the king reached the opening to the vennel where Cullen's tavern stood. Mall dropped into an awkward curtsy, which her daughter copied. Wulle pulled off his bonnet and waved it in the air, joining in the shouting. They all recognized the still-handsome middle-aged man with his auburn hair and striking eyes in the center of the group. Beside him rode Queen Joan in a shimmering blue silk gown trimmed with pearls that had Mall and Anny gawking.

"There's Bishop Cameron," Cormac muttered.

The bishop glanced their way, and his gaze caught Law's for a moment. "Aye, I see him," Law said. He had a feeling the bishop would not be happy with the news that the mysterious letter was still missing.

Wulle pointed. "There's the earl of Angus."

"Is that the Earl of Douglas?" Mall asked.

"Aye. That is him." Law was not likely to forget the earl who had rejected his service although he had served the late earl faithfully.

Anny was too busy oohing and aahing over the gowns of the queen's ladies-in-waiting and pointing them out to her mother to bother with any of the others.

"Who is that?" Wulle asked about a tall man, dark-haired, blue-jowled, and tonsured.

"I think that's the abbot of Holyrood. He's a Wotherspoon. They're cousins of the Angus, I believe."

The procession clattered on with more blasts of the trumpets and beating of drums. "They'll turn and go to Blackfriars," Wulle said as the last of the cavalcade finally passed. "We're losing business standing about." Now the sound of shouts and blares of the trumpets was distant as the cavalcade turned onto Watergate Street.

"And before the sheriff drags me in to ask why I haven't found that letter, I had better find it."

Cormac tilted his head. "You were lying that you had it. But you have figured out ken where it is, aye?"

Law waved to his landlords as they turned and headed for the tavern. "I have a good idea, and I should have seen it before." He lowered his voice. "Blacader was demanding more money of whoever Matt worked for. He could nae expect for Matt to have the money with him, so there was nae reason he would have taken the letter to Una's tavern. The only place safe enough to hide it was at his own house."

"But you searched there."

"Not well enow." He smiled beguilingly at Cormac. "Come help me search. It must be there somewhere."

The minstrel gave him an unhappy look. "No one will be stabbed?"

"I swear we'll just search, but I could use your help. It will take tapping every board and testing every stone. But there must be a hiding place yon somewhere."

Cormac was pensive as they followed the distant sounds of the king's progress but then turned in the opposite direction on Watergate Street. At last he said, "It has to be somewhere he could reach easily. You said he was home a short time that day."

"True. They said he changed his clothes and was only in the house a few minutes. But no one saw exactly what he did."

When they walked through the gate of Blacader's yard, young Tam scurried across the yard to greet them. "Have you news?"

Law patted his shoulder. "The man who killed your father is dead."

The young man stood stock-still, his mouth hanging slightly open. His face paled and then flushed with color. "Then it is all over."

"Only partly. We have nae found what it was they killed him for, and I fear…" He motioned toward the house. "Is your mother here as well?"

"Aye, come in. Both of you." He led the way into the house.

Law thought that Widow Blacader had aged in the short time since her husband was murdered. The lines around her mouth were deeper and her expression even bleaker than before.

"What have you found?" she asked, her voice harsh.

"What we have nae found is the letter that Maister Blacader carried from Glasgow, though we found the man who gave it to him to carry. And last night, the killer attacked me and died."

"You killed him?" she asked.

Law shrugged a shoulder. "It was more an accident of his own doing. He fell trying to break into the tavern, thinking I had the letter he sought."

"You said you did nae, though." Tam gave him a puzzled look.

"It has to be in the house somewhere. And if we dinnae find it, I fear whoever sent Matt for it will send someone else. You will only be safe if we find it."

The widow threw up her hands. "I have searched all his clothes and everywhere I could think of. It cannae be here."

"It has to be. I want to sound every board and stone in the house," Law said. "This is the only place he could have hidden it. You said he came in to change his clothes. Were you in the house?"

"I stayed in the barn, expecting to unload the cart," Tam put in.

"I came in and went into the kitchen to unload some spices and supervise Marioun cooking a mite of supper for the men and all." She dropped her face into her hands. "How could he go out and get himself killed? How could he do this to us?"

Tam put his arm around his mother's shoulder and patted her. "Come help me talk to Andy about our trip to Edinburgh. It will be the first time I've gone, and I need your help."

"But I dinnae want them searching the house without me watching," she wailed.

"They'll be fine, Mam. I need you to help me."

"And whatever it is he hid, it's best you dinnae see it. You dinnae want to ken anything about it."

She looked at her son and then studied Law for a long moment. "Aye. Take it away with you, whatever it is." They left, Tam talking in a low voice about making a trip, and closed the door behind them.

Cormac turned slowly, examining the room. "Where do we even start looking?"

"It's not in the open. Everywhere obvious has been searched, so it must be in some hiding place."

Cormac shrugged a shoulder and wandered over to the hearth and hunkered down to examine the stones, then went to one side of the room and walked slowly, stepping on each floorboard and testing for any that was loose. Finished with the hearth, Cormac did the same with the stair steps, bouncing on each to test for give.

"Check the table," Law said. "Might there be some hidden drawer, do you suppose?"

There wasn't. They exchanged frustrated glances and went upstairs to the room Blacader used for his office. It was much smaller than the downstairs hall. They checked the floorboards, which were all solid. "Let's move the desk to check under it," Law said. He picked up the large pricket candlestick, noticing that it held no candle, and laid it on its side on the floor. Cormac picked up some papers, but Law said, "That's odd."

He squatted and picked up the candlestick, holding it upside down. Stuck in the bottom, which looked hollow, was a gob of wax.

"Why is it hollow?" Cormac asked.

"To make it lighter, I suppose. Pewter is heavy stuff." He unsheathed his dirk and pried out the wax. There was parchment inside.

Cormac squatted beside him as Law pulled it out. He saw that it was what he had been searching for-the letter from the duke of Gloucester. He dropped the candlestick and stood to smooth it on the desk. The seal of the duke of Gloucester was unbroken. On the front, the name of the intended recipient was written in a cleric's clear script: Walter Stewart of Lennox, master of Fife.

Law sucked in a breath.

"Should we open it?" Cormac whispered.

Law shook his head. "I want nothing to do with this. It is a death sentence." He glanced at Cormac. "You saw that in Glasgow."

As they left, Law heard Widow Blacader's voice coming from the large barn, lecturing her son on the best plans for a trip to Edinburgh. He and Cormac made their exit quietly and closed the gate behind them. When they reached Blackfriars, Dave Taylor was waiting at the gate, and they went in through a side passage to find Bishop Cameron. Law was glad to hand over the parchment.

Bishop Cameron looked at the letter, his face drawn into hard, grim lines. Then he turned and strode from the room with a sign for Law to follow. He shrugged at Cormac, who was apparently not included.

The bishop spent an hour closeted with the king, the Earl of Atholl, the earl of Douglas, and several other advisors, while Law paced in the corridor outside the chamber. They strode out with forbidding looks on their faces. The king commanded that a force be sent to Fife to arrest Walter Stewart, eldest son of the Duke of Albany, and Law was given permission to go home. He had never been so glad to do so.

He spent several anxious days until word reached Perth that Walter Stewart had been arrested and taken to Stirling Castle where he was put to the question. Law never heard what was done to him before he confessed to conspiring with the English to overthrow his liege lord, King James, the first of that name. He named his father and brothers as having conspired with him to put his father on the throne but Walter to rule in his name.

Within the week, the duke of Atholl was arrested as well. But Seamus Mor, the youngest son, escaped.

17

Five days later, Law received a summons from the king to the royal apartments in Blackfriars Abbey. The messenger in royal livery who summoned him led him through the same side gate that Taylor had used, on gravel walks between dripping evergreens, and beyond them along the marble facade of the royal guesthouse. From somewhere came loud voices, curses, and a laughing argument. As they rounded a corner, Law heard the thud of a ball and the sound of cheers.

The doorway was guarded by two men-at-arms in royal livery who admitted them at a word from the messenger. He stepped into a gallery crowded with nobles. Law bowed to the Earl of Douglas, who was speaking to someone Law did not recognize, but from the gold chain and belt, obviously another earl. Douglas gave him one glance and resumed his conversation.

Law went to the window to watch the game. The king, facing them, grunted and returned a serve with a fierce spin on it. Sweat was dripping down his face and from his hair. His opponent, a younger man Law did not recognize, raced to return it. The ball was hurled back and forth. It ended with a point for the king. There were cheers and applause as the two shook hands.

"It is still a grave situation," Douglas said loudly.

"Seamus will fight," the other man said. "And we'll be in a-"

"Wheesht." Douglas glanced toward Law. "We'll speak of it later."

After waving to recognize the applause, King James stripped off his doublet. He threw it down and took a wet towel from a liveried servant. A clerk approached and whispered to him. The king looked about. "Sir Law," he called. "Come and join me."

Law stepped into the court and followed the king to the opposite gallery, the king mopping cheerfully at his neck and chest as he walked. More servants carried in a table and goblets of wine.

The king was a man of only middling height, not as tall as Law, who was six feet. His damp auburn hair fell in waves to his shoulders, he wore a small chin beard and moustache but was smooth-shaven otherwise, and had remarkably large, piercing blue eyes. He had begun to spread a bit about the waist but still moved like a man in his prime.

"Sir Law," the king said, "it is a pity about your leg. You look like you'd be a good player otherwise. I'd offer you a game, but I'll nae play a man at a disadvantage."

"It would have been my honor, Your Grace," Law said, relieved that the king wasn't wroth about the news Law had brought about the king's own cousins. "If I can offer any other service, it is yours."

He handed Law the towel and said, "Rub down my back for me whilst we talk."

"Aye, Your Grace," Law said, trying to hide his amazement. He began to wipe the sweat from the broad, freckled royal back.

The king snapped his fingers, and a cleric brought him some documents. The king selected one and waved the man away. "You ken that I am adding certain practices I observed whilst I was in England to our Scottish laws?"

Law cleared his throat. "I… No, sir. I had nae heard that."

The king leaned back slightly as Law rubbed. "There are creatures called coroners in England. They investigate any sudden death and, if there is a fine to be imposed by the crown, see that it is collected. The English are much better at seeing that the royal revenue is not lost. So I am going to name coroners here in Scotland to serve the same purpose."

"But…"

"Speak up, man." He took the towel from Law and tossed it to a servant, who handed him a fresh white linen shirt.

"Is that nae what the sheriff does?"

"The sheriff will still hold the duty of enforcing the law. But you will be my first coroner to investigate deaths and collect any revenue owing the crown. You proved yourself in the matter of the Duke of Albany. So here is your authority." King James handed Law the parchment.

Law took the document. He read the words, forming them with his lips as he read since his Latin was rusty. "Scotland has never had coroners," he said weakly.

"Scotland does now."

Law tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"You will receive a stipend, of course. Nae a great deal for I still owe the damned, greedy English for my ransom, and rebuilding Linlithgow Palace since the fire will take a great deal of gold. But you will receive enow to pay for a roof over your head. And I always thought you deserved more reward for your services than you have received."

"Your Grace, I dinnae ken what to say."

"Say that you'll serve me well, Sir Law. Seamus Mor is gathering an army in Lennox. There are dark times ahead, but with God and good men on my side, we will struggle through."

Content

J. R. Tomlin
The Intelligencer

Preface

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17