by Pat McIntosh
‘Such as?’
‘William’s funeral. Money. Show me the student that can live inside his allowance. Your play.’
Gil laid down the seven of Batons. Montgomery looked at it, then at his cards, and selected one.
‘My trick.’ He set out the King of Batons, its double-ended figure entwined in tendrils of leafy growth from its wand, the crowns barely visible among the arrow-head leaves. Three court cards and three numbers, Gil thought, and I have the Knave. What’s still in his hand?
As if for answer, his opponent played the two. Gil put the Knave down and swept the two slips of card to his end of the bench.
‘Who did you see at the college?’ he asked.
‘My nephew. That snivelling boy, what’s his name?’ Gil recognized Ralph. ‘Couple of other scholars were sent to find Robert when I wanted him. Who should I have seen?’
‘That’s a question?’ Gil played the seven of Coins, and Montgomery slapped the three on top of it.
‘Let’s stop playing here,’ he said, apparently not in reference to the card game. ‘What do you know about how William died?’
‘That’s quite a question.’ The Knight and Knave of Coins. ‘Your trick. We know,’ he said carefully, ‘that William was knocked down and put in the limehouse as a joke. His hands were bound, to make it harder for him to free himself. While he was still dazed, someone else whose hands smelled of cumin came into the limehouse and strangled him with his own belt. After he was dead, he was moved into the coalhouse, where he was found.’
‘By the same person? My trick.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gil, ‘but there are already too many people running in and out of the limehouse for the story to have any credibility. It seems ludicrous to postulate another.’
‘Credibility?’ exploded his opponent. ‘I never in all my days heard such a tale. What has the cumin to do with it? Why the devil move him into the coalhouse? What gain is that? Was he robbed? No, you said there was money on him. His chamber had been searched, but I canny tell whether they got anything of value. Why was he killed, Maister Cunningham? Tell me that? You haveny found that out, with your nonsense about cumin and coalhouses.’
‘When I know why,’ said Gil calmly, watching Montgomery add five pairs of cards to his pile of discards, ‘I’ll know who.’
Montgomery glared at him, and put down the two of Coins. Gil stared at it, thinking, Is that all he has left, or is he bluffing? It hardly mattered; there were no more Coins in his own hand. He selected the picture-card with the image of a naked woman incongruously called L’Estoile. ‘My trick, my lord. If you’re asking me why William was killed, I take it you don’t know, so I’ll ask you a different question. Why was Jaikie killed?’
‘Who the devil’s Jaikie? What’s he got to do with it?’
‘Jaikie was the college porter.’
‘Oh, him. Glumphy impertinent bugger. Tried to buy – tried to make out he knew all about William’s affairs. Gave him the back of my hand for it.’
‘Knocked him down, you mean?’ asked the mason.
Montgomery threw him a glance. ‘I did not. Last I saw him, after Robert went back into the college, he was snoring in that great chair of his, with half a jar of usquebae under his belt. I heard he was dead, but it wasny me that stabbed him,’ said his lordship, sounding very like his nephew. ‘Likely it was whoever I heard arguing with him.’
‘Arguing?’ Gil repeated. ‘When was this?’ Jaikie argued with everyone, he reflected.
‘Is that another question? When I got to the yett, looking for Robert, I heard someone arguing with the porter. Your play, Cunningham.’
‘A moment,’ said Gil. ‘Did you see this person?’
‘I did not. The surly chiel never rose to let me in, and when I stepped into his chamber to tell him off for that there was no other there. And I looked behind the door and all,’ he added. ‘Are you going to play this game or no?’
Gil, setting aside disbelief, surveyed the four pairs of cards aligned beside him, and the row of tricks now neatly herringboned on the bench by Montgomery’s knee. He had weeded out all the small stuff, and had only high-value cards left. Let’s see what’s in his hand, he thought.
The next trick went to his opponent. Gil, avoiding Maistre Pierre’s eye, watched Montgomery arrange his cards while he considered his questions.
‘Who d’ye suspect?’ he demanded bluntly at last.
‘I won’t answer that,’ said Gil with equal bluntness. ‘Never mind the law of slander, my position if I name someone in error and you act on what I say, my lord, would be very precarious.’
‘Lawyers,’ said Montgomery in disgust. ‘Tell me this, then. What else of William’s have ye found?’
‘There was the notebook,’ said Gil.
‘A notebook,’ repeated his opponent. ‘What like notebook?’
‘Just a notebook,’ said Gil. ‘Red leather cover, a lot of writing in it. Mostly notes, by the look of it, and accounts. It’s in Maister Mason’s house,’ he added. Montgomery snorted, but did not interrupt as Gil continued, with all the innocence he could muster, ‘And there was some kind of medallion, or pilgrim badge, or such like. Made of brass, with a figure in the middle and the alphabet round the outside like a criss-cross row. That was in the lining of his doublet, as if it was something he valued.’
‘It was, was it?’ said Montgomery with equal innocence, rearranging his cards again. ‘I’ll send Thomas for that. He can lift the lot off your hands. He’ll come by your door with ye when ye leave here.’
‘As you please,’ said Gil. He watched as Montgomery, tight-lipped, played the four of Coins, and after a moment set the trump called La Lune on top of it.
‘So who did search William’s chamber?’ he asked.
‘Not me,’ said Montgomery.
‘Who do you suspect it was?’
‘Now why should I answer that one, after what you just said?’
Gil half-bowed over the cards in acknowledgement of the point.
‘Today,’ he said, picking up the next trick wrong-handed, ‘there was a bundle of papers in Jaikie’s brazier –’
‘No idea. Your play.’
‘And what was Billy Doig doing up at the college?’
‘Doig?’ said Montgomery sharply. ‘When?’
‘About midday.’
‘Never saw him. Who is he, anyway? Your play.’
Gil looked at the two cards in his hand, and laid down Judgement. The woodcut figure, in angular draperies with sceptre and scales, flickered in the light. One of the dogs raised its head, then sat up, staring across the hall.
‘Uncle?’ said a voice in the shadows.
Gil jumped convulsively, and looked beyond the circle of brightness. He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and Maistre Pierre drew breath sharply. Outlined against the half-lit door to the stair was a gangling figure in a student’s belted gown, a chance beam from the distant lantern glowing redly on its springing, curling hair.
‘Uncle?’ said the voice again. The figure moved, and stepped into the hall. ‘I’m just away back to the college,’ said Robert Montgomery, coming nearer the fire.
‘Aye, right,’ said his uncle, twisting round to look at him. They exchanged a significant look, before the older man added, ‘Can you get in without trouble?’
‘There are ways,’ Gil said. Robert’s glance flicked to him and back to his uncle, before he raised his cap in a general courtesy to all three adults.
‘Good night, sirs. I’ll see you the morn, uncle.’
Hugh Montgomery waved his free hand and muttered a perfunctory blessing, and Robert left. Gil sat staring after him for a long moment.
‘Your play,’ said Montgomery impatiently. Gil, looking down, found Judgement neatly obscured by the Knave of Swords.
‘How well do you know Bernard Stewart?’ he asked, setting that trick with the others he had gained. His opponent stared at him.
‘What in the Fiend’s name has he to
say to the matter? He was chaplain in my house for a good few years, tutored my brother Alexander and – and others, but it was better than sixteen years since. I know that, for he went to the Blackfriars’ Paris house before Alexander was wedded. His mother married my grandsire’s youngest brother as his third wife, but I haveny set eyes on him since, not till he came to Glasgow and they made him chaplain here, just after Robert came to the college. Are ye playing that last card, Cunningham law man, or are ye turning to stone at my hearth?’
‘The card.’ Gil looked down, and set the Fool on the bench beside him. ‘Je m’excuse. The last card out.’
‘Your trick,’ said Montgomery in disgust, throwing down the image of a woman improbably wrenching open the jaw of a complacent lion. ‘Ask your question, while your good-father tots up the scores.’
‘I’ve no more questions for now,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll save them for tomorrow, when I’ll have two, for I think I’ve won the game.’
‘You have,’ agreed Maistre Pierre, counting strokes of chalk on the wall by the hearth. ‘But it was close. You have taken eight tricks, his lordship has twelve, and with the other points from the cards you held I think you win by one point.’
‘Aye,’ said Montgomery sourly, and looked at the windows, where the last of the sunset was faintly red beyond the rooftops of the houses opposite. ‘Well. It’s been an interesting evening.’
‘It has,’ agreed Gil, stretching his long legs. ‘You’re a gratifying opponent, my lord.’
For a moment he thought he had overreached his mark. Hugh Montgomery’s face darkened in the candlelight, and his eyes glittered. Turning his head he roared, ‘Thomas!’ The dogs leapt up, barking, and he cursed at them. ‘Thom-as! Get up here wi’ your boots on, you lazy ablach.’
‘I’m in the lower hall, no’ in Irvine,’ said Thomas on the stair. ‘No need o’ the shouting.’
‘Then why so long to answer me? Be silent, Ajax, you stupid lump! I want ye to convoy these gentry home and bring back the things they’ll gie you. Not the dog, I canny take the dog while these brutes are here, but I’ll want a look at it. It’s a matter of our William’s graith, Thomas, it’s no likely to tax your strength.’
‘We may not be able to put hand on all of it at this hour,’ said Gil, realizing with resignation that Montgomery had not forgotten his threat.
‘Then Thomas can wait till ye do, can’t he no?’
‘No, he can not,’ said the mason unexpectedly. ‘It is after all my house, my lord, and I do not choose to entertain your man.’ He rose and came forward from where he sat. ‘I myself will undertake to return all your kinsman’s goods before noon tomorrow. Agreed?’
‘That’s a fair offer,’ commented Thomas.
‘You keep out of this,’ snarled his master. He glared at Maistre Pierre, showing his teeth, and finally said, ‘Aye. Agreed.’
‘My hand on it.’
They spat and shook hands as if it was a trading agreement.
‘Now get out of here,’ said Montgomery. ‘I’ve a lot to think on, and William’s funeral tomorrow.’
Maistre Pierre set the jug of ale down on his desk and wiped his mouth.
‘The house was like a barn,’ he commented. ‘No hangings, no cushions, no comforts at all, and only that ill-conditioned servant to wait on him.’
‘He planned a brief visit,’ Gil surmised as the wolfhound scrambled on to his lap. ‘His lady has stayed behind in Irvine. She might not wish to leave the children, and bringing them would be a lot of work for a short stay. I’ve no doubt there are cushions in plenty in his other houses.’
‘And I did not understand the play at all.’
‘It was hardly play,’ said Gil.
Alys, rubbing violet-scented oil into the bruising on his wrist, nodded, but her father said, ‘What do you mean? I was keeping score.’
‘They were both more interested in the information than the game, father,’ said Alys. She turned Gil’s hand, and he winced. ‘You should not have used this. You won’t be able to sign your name for days.’
‘You are quite right,’ he said, and smiled wearily at her. ‘I was certainly buying questions, and the ones Montgomery asked were even more interesting than the answers he gave me. I don’t know whether he felt the same way,’ he added. ‘He isn’t a strong player but I should hate to underestimate him.’
‘So what have we learned?’ asked Maistre Pierre. ‘And what have we given away, apart from the cipher disc?’
‘The cipher disc is small loss,’ said Alys. ‘It isn’t a simple substitution, so we would need another the same, so that the message could be deciphered at its destination.’
‘Montgomery seemed eager to get it back,’ said Gil, heaving the wolfhound into a more comfortable position. ‘This creature has grown again. We have promised Montgomery – you have promised,’ he corrected himself, and Maistre Pierre pulled a face and nodded. ‘William’s clothes, the notebook, the papers, and the cipher disc. I must have a look at the notebook, but the rest can go back to his kin without harming anyone.’ He scratched rhythmically behind the pup’s ears, and it groaned in ecstasy. ‘What have we learned? Montgomery knows or suspects who William’s father was, and he knows that William was gathering information. He didn’t search the boy’s chamber, he doesn’t know who killed him, and he probably didn’t kill Jaikie, which leaves us with the dog-breeder for that. I hope he thinks we haven’t read the cipher letter. He would have liked us to believe he didn’t know Billy Doig, and I have brought Bernard Stewart to his attention. Oh, and I think he wants a look at the dog too.’
‘Pretty well, for one game of cards,’ said Alys approvingly.
‘But what don’t we know yet?’ asked her father. ‘And what have we let Montgomery know? I thought you let him win far too many questions, Gil.’
‘His questions were very informative,’ said Gil. ‘As I let him find out, which was a mistake. What don’t we know? We don’t know who killed William, or why, though we know he had cumin on his hands. I think we know who killed Jaikie, and possibly why, but for William’s killer we are still searching in the dark.’
‘I thought that was the object of our search.’
‘So did I. Pierre, I must go up the hill. I am too tired to think. Saints be praised, there is a moon tonight. Alys, where is the notebook?’
‘I will fetch it.’
She slipped away, and Gil sat quietly petting the dog and staring at the painted panelling of the small room.
‘I suspect we don’t have all the pieces,’ he said at length. ‘Did you ever break a plate? One of those majolica ones with a picture?’
‘Frequently.’
‘Some of the pieces may have a hand and a foot, or an elbow and a head, and only when you set all together do you see they belong to different figures. I think it’s like that – too many of the pieces we have refer to more than one figure.’
‘I was never good at metaphor,’ declared the mason, and poured himself more ale. ‘We have till noon tomorrow. What will that man do if we have no answer for him?’
‘I feel he will not challenge the Dean and the Faculty to Tarocco.’ Gil sat up straight as Alys returned, holding the notebook.
‘Kittock has just told me,’ she said, ‘that someone came from the college an hour or two since, to say Maister Coventry would like a word with Maister Cunningham.’
‘Too late now,’ said Gil, glancing at the window. He fumbled one-handed with the buckle of the dog’s collar. ‘I’ll leave this beast with you again, and be off up the road, but first I must loosen this. He has quite definitely grown. It fitted him yesterday.’ He slipped the long tongue of the collar through the keeper, and pushed the animal off his knee. ‘Go with Alys. Good dog.’
The pup looked up at him, then doubtfully at Alys, and wagged its tail.
‘Good dog!’ she exclaimed. ‘Gil, he knows my name!’
‘He is an exceptional dog,’ said Gil, as he had said before, and got to his feet. ‘I must go. I’
ll talk to Patrick Coventry in the morning.’
The stone house in Rottenrow was quiet, but not dark. Picking his way by moonlight from the Girth Cross, Gil could see the glow of candles in several windows. By this hour the great door at the foot of the stair-tower would be barred, so he plodded wearily along the house-wall and in at the little yard by the kitchen door.
He paused there, hand raised to the latch. It seemed like a very long time since he had left the house by this door. Could he remember what was behind it? Was there still a place for him? Would everything have changed? He was assailed by a sudden feeling that he was about to step into the unknown. It was yesterday morning, he told himself irritably, and rattled at the latch.
‘Is that you, Maister Gil?’
‘It’s me,’ he agreed. His uncle’s stout, red-faced housekeeper opened the heavy plank door, closed it behind him and dropped the bar across.
Inside, all was warm and familiar. The kitchen-boy snored in the shadows, and his mother’s maidservant Nan sat by the fire with a cup of spiced ale.
‘Your minnie’s about given you up, I jalouse,’ said Maggie. She returned to the hearth and lifted her own cup of ale. ‘And what have you been doing to yourself?’
‘Fighting, Maggie.’ Gil sat down on the bench opposite Nan. She clicked her tongue.
‘Haven’t I aye warned you about that? I hope you gave better than you got.’
‘I think so. They seemed satisfied. Is all well in Carluke, Nan?’
‘It is,’ she said, beaming at him over her ale. ‘And my lady Gelis is well and all,’ she added, using the Scots form of Lady Egidia’s name. ‘Likely she’ll still be up, Maister Gil.’
‘She said she’d wait for me. Is the old man abed?’
‘He was at his prayers, the last I saw him,’ said Maggie. She sniffed. ‘Is that violets?’
‘To draw out the bruising,’ said Gil. ‘Or so Alys said.’
‘Oh, if she put it on you, that’s another matter. Were ye wanting anything, Maister Gil, or will ye get out of my kitchen and let Nan and me get to our beds? There’s a candle there on the meal-kist.’
He rose obediently, and suddenly put his good arm round her ample waist and kissed her cheek. She bridled with pleasure.