by J. R. Tomlin
He hurried to push through the door for fear they were making for a rear exit if they had spotted him. A crush of travelers and locals in the long, draughty room shouted and laughed over the sound of a bagpiper’s skirling. There was a huge wooden keg at one end and a large fireplace at the other. A serving boy ran back and forth with pitchers of ale and bowls of steaming gruel.
Craning to see through the press, Law spotted them. Marguerite had her hood back. Her black hair gleamed in the smoky light as she pushed back a cup of ale with an expression of disgust. Beside her, Wrycht lifted his cup to take a long swig. Law wended his way through the crowd to a table where he could keep an eye on them. He shook his head. This was too public for them or for anyone they might want to meet. If they didn’t leave soon, he’d go back to the house where Marguerite had met the mysterious youth.
Law signaled the serving boy and buried his face in a mug of ale, but when he looked up, Wrycht was staring straight at him, his face drew up into a scowl like a clenched fist. Apparently, following people without being noticed was harder than he thought, Law decided, so he stood and walked to stand over the man. “Where have you been? I paid you well to protect me, and you’ve done nothing but accuse me and disappear.”
His side gave him an angry twinge at walking and standing so long, so Law sank onto a stool and said nothing.
Marguerite sneered at him. “You think because you wear gold spurs that you can take his coin and do nothing to earn it?”
The throbbing made Law decide he had had enough. “Too much has happened in the last week for your games.” Law looked from one to the other with a hard smile.
Wrycht had his gaze fixed in the depths of his cup as though he saw something fascinating there, but she met Law’s gaze with a fixed one of her own.
“I met up with four men who were distinctly unfriendly last night. Although now they may only be three.”
“What does that have to do with the cross?” she asked.
“That is what I want to know. It has something to do with it. Now if you want me to find the thing for you, it’s time to speak plainly. It could be that the men who attacked me were sent by the buyer you talked about. Mayhap that was who killed Duncan as well.” Law paused. Thom and his friends were not the killers. They would have used their swords, and Duncan certainly would have defended himself, but that didn’t mean the killer hadn’t been hired by the same man—or woman.
Wrycht shoved his cup back and jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of your demands. You work for me, not me for you.”
Law grabbed Wrycht’s forearm and jerked him half over the table, bringing up his dirk. “Sit down.”
Marguerite yelped, leaning back out of the way.
Glaring, Wrycht sat. “The buyer is in England.”
“Someone sent them after me.”
Law slipped his dirk back into its sheath. He poured a cup, drained it in a long pull, and poured another.
“Damn it, man. I cannae protect you unless you cooperate.” Law drained his second cup of ale. It settled warmly in his belly. “Tell me about this buyer in England.”
Marguerite shrugged one shoulder, but she looked thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “Law is right, Johne. The buyer is called Maister Carre. A merchant, of sorts. He finds items that the powerful want and provides them. He would not soil his own hands with blood.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “He would have his men dispose of someone who got in his way, so…that is possible…if your friend was in his way. All the more reason to find the cross and put it into his hands. That will end this whole mess.”
“There will still be two men dead. But I think I have a clue where the cross is hidden.” Law took another drink and licked his lips. “We can retrieve it the morrow night if I am right.” He stood and straightened his doublet. He wouldn’t hand over the cross until he was sure of the killer and that he could hand the man over. At last, he thought he saw his way clear to that.
“Wait!” Marguerite said. “Why not now?”
“It has to be at night, and I have matters to take care of first.” Law turned and headed for the door. That should keep the two of them quiet for a while, but brought him no closer to knowing who the killer was. Still, he felt stronger than before though his side still pained, so he was walking a steady pace with not even any limp. He’d only gone a block down the vennel when he saw three figures barring his way. He stopped, his hand instinctively going to his side. He was in no shape for another fight with the men who’d nearly killed him a few days before.
His blood rushed, pounding in his ears, and his breath came fast. He wanted to glance over his shoulder to be sure they weren’t behind him as well, but he wasn’t going to take his eyes off them. He reached for his sword.
“Sir Law?” the scar-faced man said as he tossed back the edge of his cloak to show a crossbow. It was cocked and ready. The men on each side bared their swords.
There was a sound of the door opening behind him, a gasp, and it slammed. He hadn’t expected aid anyway. “Gentlemen,” Law said. “I fear one of your companions is missing.”
“You’re to come with us.”
“I doubt that would be good for my health.”
Scarface lifted the crossbow. “Do not doubt that you’ll die if you do not.” His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.
Law tipped back his head to gaze for a moment at the pewter-gray sky. Taking a quarrel would not help his health either. Crossbows were slow and not nearly as deadly as the English longbow, but one could make him just as dead. He nodded.
Scarface wordlessly motioned Law to move ahead with the two swordsmen leading the way. He brought up the rear, covering the crossbow with his cloak once more. Law pondered the possibility of grabbing one of the men from behind, but he was sure he would be shot in the back before he could escape. Besides, since they hadn’t already killed him, he was curious exactly who their mysterious employer was.
They snaked through back alleys and small vennels in the general direction of Speygate and Watergate. When Law took too long to turn into a dark, odiferous passage, Scarface grunted a command to move faster. He only hoped he wasn’t headed for another blade in the back, because this time their aim was likely to be better.
Finally, they turned into a decent street not far off Speygate. Narrow, closed-face houses lined either side. Their footfalls echoed in the empty cobbled way. A hand landed on Law’s shoulder to stop him, and he glared at Scarface, shaking him off.
Through a gate, a familiar wooded garden spread before them where he’d followed Marguerite and her youth. One of the men rapped at the door of the stone-built house; it was opened by Dave the Ratcatcher. Law’s mouth twitched at the man’s darting look. Law stepped warily through the door. A tall man past middle age came to meet him, so smoothly bald Law thought he must take a razor to his head. His cheeks were razored as well, but a short, neatly trimmed gray beard and mustache surrounded his lips. From whisky-brown eyes, he gave a long, searching look. He advanced to meet Law with a long stride, footfalls like thudding hammers. He wore a black velvet doublet laced up the front with a gold cord, black hose, and calfskin boots.
“Sir Law,” he said with a nod. “First, I must apologize that my men tried to kill you. It was merely a misunderstanding. They thought you had killed de Carnea and had something belonging to me.”
Law gave a half bow. “Would it be possible to ken to whom I speak?” He had a good guess, but this was no time for guessing.
The corners of the man’s mouth crinkled, although he did not quite smile. “There is no reason you shouldn’t know. I am Edmund Carre, a humble merchant.” Carre motioned to two high-backed wood chairs with a table between them that held a flagon, two goblets, a closed silver casket, and some parchments held down with a dagger.
A wood fire crackled on the hearth with a sweet smell of pine. Law sat down. When he glanced around, Dave had disappeared, but one of the guards took up a position near the door. The door in the far wall was shu
t, and to the side, two high arched windows looked out onto Watergate. Between them on the wall hung a tapestry with a scene of noblemen feasting in a garden, all turned out in their best velvets and furs. Hounds lounged at their feet while servants carried platters piled high with food. In a nearby field, peasants gathered in their lord’s crop of golden grain. It was a world until recently Law had inhabited. He wasn’t sure how one lived otherwise but supposed he would be forced to learn.
“As I say, I thought you had killed de Carnea, but I now believe I was mistaken. You haven’t what was to come to me.”
“I did not kill him,” Law said. “So you believe that he had this mysterious item, and it was stolen?”
“Indeed. But no one steals from me,” Carre said evenly. He took the other chair. “Not and escapes.”
“Who do you think stole it?”
“You know the two of them. Marguerite de Neuillay and Johne Wrycht, not that they always go by those names.” He leaned forward and filled the goblets, although his hard gaze never left Law’s face. “I commissioned them to recover a cross, long lost. No one else knew where it was or had seen the letters.”
“What about de Carnea?”
With a slight curl of his lip, Carre said, “He was a pet of Marguerite’s, but he did have a facility for finding rare documents.”
Law took a slow sip of the wine, better than anything he’d had since he’d returned to Scotland, soft and rich on the tongue. “They thought they could not have retrieved the cross without him. He was able to pass himself off as a priest.”
“How they did their job was no concern of mine, only that it was done.” He shook his head sadly. “Now they claim that whoever killed him stole it.”
“And it is lost. When did you discover that?” How long had Carre been in Scotland? If he asked enough questions, perhaps he could learn more about the man’s movements. But he’d have to take care if he also wanted to get out alive.
Ignoring Law’s question, Carre said, “Or else they have it and plan to flee with it. You have no idea how valuable that cross is to me. Not just the gold and gems, but recovering what the Templars stole when they fled. As a tool, a lever, to gain my ends in Rome, it is invaluable. I paid for it, and I shall have it.”
“I dinnae have it. Whether one of them does…?” Law took a slow sip of wine, his gaze thoughtful on Carre’s face. He wouldn’t mind handing the thing over, but not before he extracted all the information having it would bring him. “That is the question. You have no idea where the thing is.”
Carre’s look was icy. “If I did, I would not waste my time talking to you. If you haven’t it, I believe you can get it.”
“Tell me this, Maister Carre. Have you ever seen this cross? You are certain that de Carnea found it?”
“It exists or did when the Templars hid it, and had it been found in the past, it would be known. That means that it was where de Carnea went to retrieve it. He was murdered for it. There is no other explanation.” He waved a dismissive hand towards the door. “Taylor said that you are in it up to your neck, but a landless knight would never know the right people to sell the thing. I don’t care if you killed him or you come by it otherwise, I will pay generously.”
“I have no desire to acquire such knowledge about selling it. I am no merchant.” He put the goblet down. “How much is this cross worth to you is what interests me.”
Carre put his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I’ll pay a hundred English gold nobles if you put it into my hands.”
Law pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
“I hardly think any loyalty you have to Marguerite or any desire you might have for her…attractions…would outweigh that. A man like you could live well for a long time on such a sum.”
“She and Wrycht have lied to me with every word. I can say my loyalty equals the truth they’ve told me.” How much truth Carre was telling was another question. One look at the man’s face told him it was best not to mention his doubts. Part of it was probably the truth, but all? Law was certain not. “If I can find it, I believe we can do business.” Even more, how much would he learn playing each of them against the other, but he certainly wouldn’t say that.
Perhaps Carre read his thoughts on his face because, for the first time, a smile curled his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t bother lying to such as you, but if you find me what I want, you’ll be well paid.”
“Then have the money ready for me.” Law nodded amiably and left, but the back of his neck tickled. He was sure the ratcatcher was following him, but he’d improved, for Law caught no sight of him on the way through Watergate and High Street. Law took the main roads. He had no more taste for back alleys.
He strode down the vennel and banged at the door, now mended, of the house where he’d found the pair. He needed to bring all of them together, but he’d have to locate them first. When they didn’t answer, another kick opened the door. The hearth was cold, and there was no sign of clothing, food, or the two who had ‘hired’ him.
Without bothering to close the door behind him, he left and headed for the Blindman’s Tavern. When he stepped inside, the bagpiper hadn’t yet begun to play, but the tavern was crowded. Law scanned the tables. He saw no one he recognized.
The serving boy brought him a bowl of bean-and-onion pottage. When he returned with a pitcher of ale, Law slid three groats toward him with his fingertips. He held them down whilst he asked, “I spoke with a man and woman in here earlier the day. You’d notice her.” Law winked. “Bonnie dark-haired thing she is, but the man she’s with keeps her close.”
“You mean the woman with the strange way of speaking?”
No doubt, her French accent sounded strange to most Scots, so Law nodded.
“What about her?”
“Have you seen them?”
The boy wrinkled his brow in a fierce frown, lifting his gaze to look into the distance as though it would help him recall. Finally, he shook his head.
Law released the coins, and the boy snatched them up, clearly thinking Law might change his mind. Law gave him a mild smile, but under his breath, he cursed. The two had chosen a fine time to disappear again. He filled his cup and took his time eating and drinking. When the bowl and the pitcher were empty, there was still no sign of either Marguerite or Wrycht.
He went to the Reidheid Hostel. The innkeeper looked nervous when he saw him, but Law patted his shoulder. “Nothing to alarm you, but I want to be sure my friend is all right. Is he here?”
Reidheid gave Law a considering look. “You move as though you’re not so well yourself. Will you have a cup of ale?”
“Not now, as fine as your ale is.” Keeping his face blank although inside he winced, wondering if unwinding this tangle would cost more than he’d been paid, he palmed several silver pennies from inside his doublet. “It is nothing. Merely a scuffle with a thief I had to fight off. The streets are dangerous at night. Has my friend been here at all?”
“He went out early in yester morn, and I have not seen him since.”
Law slipped him the gold coin. “I must see for myself that he is well, so send me word at Cullen’s tavern when he returns. If you cannae find me, leave word with the minstrel there. You need not say aught to Wrycht about it.”
Reidheid slipped the coin into his purse and grimaced a smile. “You are kind to worry about him. I’ll send you word.” He glanced quickly around to be sure no one was close and stepped near Law to whisper, “What is the truth about this man? Wrycht or whatever name he is using the nonce. Was it he who has you walking so stiff? What is he up to?”
Law puffed a soft laugh. Keeping his voice low, Law said, “It was not him. He paid me to track down someone he said was a thief, but he’s lied so many times I cannae trust him.” He looked thoughtfully at the door to the street and then up the stairs. “Would that coin allow me to check his room—to be sure he is not there and ill, of course.”
Reidh
eid stopped by the storeroom where his rawboned wife was measuring out barley for a new batch of ale and left word to send a boy up to let him know if Wrycht showed his face, and then went up to Wrycht’s room. A pitcher of ale still sat on the window frame. Law sniffed it and made a face at the stale smell. A dry towel hung beneath the brass mirror on the wall. He pried open the lock on the kist, and the clothes were the same as before.
The man put his hands on his hips and screwed up his eyes as he looked at Law. “Did Wrycht have something to do with those murders? I won’t have my hostelry mixed up in outlawry.”
Law closed the lid on the kist and stood. He gave the innkeeper an open look. “He hired me to find someone. My friend, who was murdered, Duncan, was helping me look. And he gave me that false name, so I’m wary of him.”
“You’ve nae idea who killed your friend?”
Law twitched a wry smile. “Well, according to the lord sheriff, it was me that did it.”
There was only one more place to look, so Law made his way back to Carre’s house on the nameless lane and watched from the shadows in a nook between two houses opposite. After a while, Dave Taylor left and then a youth of perhaps eighteen, richly dressed in a velvet cloak over a red doublet, and with brown hair that curled onto his neck and forehead. Law frowned after the two of them. Was that youth the man Marguerite had met? Law had only seen him in the dark and from a poor view through the window.
Two streets down as the sun sank behind the walls, he bought some meat on a stick from a street vendor. For an extra groat, the man talked as Law pulled the tough meat off with his teeth, and he learned that the man and his son had moved into the house a week before.
Law decided he would have no better luck finding them today, so he walked toward home. A few streets down, he spotted a lean figure rubbing his hands to warm them over a brazier whilst keeping his head down so the others around it would not see his face. With a shrug, for Law no longer cared about being followed since he wanted to find his pursuers to bring them together, he turned down High Street toward Meal Vennel.