Of Books and Bagpipes

by Paige Shelton

  I smiled and Elias tipped his cap before Inspector Winters left. He and I might get along so much better if our relationship hadn’t been built around murders.

  I breathed a heavy sigh. “I’m not very good at this.”

  Elias laughed. “On the contrary, lass, I think ye’re verra guid at it. Come along, let’s get home tae Aggie. I’ll tell ye what the bagpipe lass said that I thought was interesting.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear.

  TEN

  We started the morning with a hearty Aggie breakfast. She cooked for the guesthouse visitors and had made sure to whip up a couple extra helpings of beans and eggs, the parts of a Scottish breakfast I liked the best.

  I’d learned that it’s safest to stay away from anything in the UK that includes the word “pudding.” It’s not the same sort Americans are used to. I once tried black pudding, and it was only after I said I didn’t like it that someone mentioned it is made with pork blood.

  As we helped Aggie in the kitchen, we discussed Grizel Sheehy and the thing she said that made her seem suspicious to Elias.

  “Aye,” Elias said, “Ms. Sheehy said that she was oot of sorts because the police officer came tae visit her ‘so soon.’ I asked, trying tae sound casual, if meebe she thought the police officer would stop by later. The look she gave me was as if she ken she’d been caught almost saying something she didnae want tae say, and then she started tae be delightsome and funny.”

  I didn’t find this brief conversation enlightening but Elias was good at reading people. Aggie was even more dubious than me.

  “I dinnae think that means much of anything, Elias,” she said. “Ye might have been looking for something tae find suspicious.”

  Elias shrugged. “It’s guid tae notice everything.”

  “That is true,” I said.

  I also asked Aggie about the sticker on the diploma, SPEC, and her answer only made me more curious to understand it fully.

  “I cannae be sure, lass, but ye ken what a secret society is?”

  “Yes. Well, they’re never something I’ve studied or been a part of, but yes I’ve heard of them, particularly in a university setting.”

  “Aye, SPEC sounds like something I remember from a long time ago, something aboot a university secret society. I cannae remember the details, but if I remember it at all, there must have been some news about it at one time. I’ll try tae think on it.”

  “I’ll try to do more research too,” I said.

  * * *

  The weather had surprised us all. It was still cold, but the sky was surprisingly clear, bright blue with no sign of rain. I was sure it was in the forecast, though; it was always in the forecast.

  The National Museum of Scotland wasn’t far from The Cracked Spine, less than a mile, on Chambers Street right off Candlemaker Row. I’d walked to it a number of times from the bookshop.

  The museum was actually two museums. The older part was built back in the 1800s and a newer part had been completed in 1998.

  The older part was a half-block-long wide brownstone building with a wide and inviting stairway to the front doors and two rows of arched windows. The newer part was made of lighter brown stones as well as a few pastel-toned additions. The two sections somehow worked well together. It was my opinion that everything worked well together in Scotland; modern sat comfortably beside old and weathered. I was one of the few people who even liked the Parliament building; this was not a popular Scottish opinion. I kept those thoughts to myself most of the time.

  Both of the buildings were modern on the inside, vast and full of thousands of items that would take me years to discover. I’d learned that it was best to visit these sorts of places on my own when I was planning to see the exhibits. Not everyone liked to linger as long as I did.

  It was on one of my first visits that I met Joshua, a young university student from Paris who was intelligent beyond his years. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but he was well on his way to his PhD. He’d seen me peering at some old railroad pictures and had spotted a soul mate of sorts. He was a lingerer too.

  “This is a tame adventure,” Elias said as he pulled the cab to a stop in front of the museum. He’d managed to snag an available parking space, which I took as a sign that our parking Karma was already working hard this morning.

  “Not one for museums?” I asked.

  Elias scratched under his nose. “Weel, ye like them.”

  I laughed.

  “I’ve been in this one a number of times,” he said. “Probably more than I ever thought I would.”

  “Aggie likes them?”

  “Aye.”

  “We’re just going to talk to a friend, but he has a secret office.”

  “Ah. That sounds guid.”

  Joshua’s office was away from the other administrative offices in the museum, hidden by the secret door. He’d explained that it was all that was available when he started working there. At first he was bothered to be separated from everyone else, but now he enjoyed the privacy, and the oasis he’d created inside what used to be a storage closet. He was afraid of being discovered by visitors who seemed to immediately tune into the fact that he could answer almost any questions they might have, thus he required a secret three-knock code to enter.

  I led Elias through the first floor and then looked around furtively before I knocked three times on the camouflaged door. Elias took the hint, turned, and made himself a little wider as he sniffed once authoritatively and then kept an eye on our sixes.

  The door cracked open a few seconds later.

  “Delaney! Wonderful! Always good to see you,” Joshua said with a wide smile and a welcome pull of the door.

  “Hi, Joshua. Sorry for just dropping by. Do you have a minute?”

  “Always a minute for you.”

  Joshua had a tiny crush on me. He didn’t hide the fact, and I’d already made it clear that I was too old for him, even if he and I could probably fill every moment together with long museum visits that would never bore either of us. He’d taken it well.

  “Thank you. This is Elias,” I said.

  “Any friend of Delaney’s … come in.”

  Joshua’s French accent was almost nonexistent when he spoke English. He was fluent in six languages, seven if you included his self-education in some Scottish Gaelic, a language that fewer than one hundred thousand Scottish folks still spoke, most of them in the Highlands. He had also mastered the accents that went with each language. One of his coworkers told me he could also play any musical instrument, but I hadn’t witnessed that talent yet.

  “Thank you,” Elias said as he removed his cap once we were ensconced in the small office space.

  The utilitarian furnishings—a steel gray desk, matching chair, two sparse visitors’ chairs, and one long file cabinet—were overwhelmed by a giant computer screen that always seemed to display something with more numbers than anything else. I’d inquired about the numbers once. Joshua had said that spreadsheets were important to his research but he never explained the details of that research, even when I asked him to.

  One yellow notebook and an array of different-colored ink pens were always in the general vicinity too, but the notebook was always turned facedown when I was in the room.

  Elias and I wedged our knees into the sliver of space between two chairs and the desk as we sat down and Joshua sat on his side. He slid the notebook and pens to the far edge and leaned forward on his elbows.

  “How can I help today?” He smiled his boyish smile, his brown eyes lighting up. His long arms and legs would probably fill out someday and he’d become better proportioned and transition from cute to handsome. He pushed up his modern black-framed glasses.

  “I have this,” I said. I pulled out my phone, turned it toward Joshua, and scrolled through the pictures.

  Joshua whistled. “A dirk! Beauty.”

  “Aye, ’tis a nice one,” Elias said, his voice lined with a hint of admiration for the nerdy guy who knew a good
weapon when he saw it.

  “What’s your question?” Joshua asked.

  “Can you tell me about this one specifically just from the pictures? Is it old or new? Anything,” I said.

  “May I?” he asked as he reached for the phone.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “There are ways to date things like this,” he said. “If I had it, not just pictures of it, I think I could get access to the machines in the basement, but … ah, yes, this is what I was looking for.” He held the phone closer to his squinting eyes and enlarged the picture on the small screen.

  A second later he placed the phone on the desk and his fingers moved to his keyboard, where they clicked away at warp speed.

  “As I suspected,” he said, sounding very pleased with himself. “Here, look at this.”

  Elias and I leaned forward as Joshua picked up the phone again. He scrolled and then enlarged a picture.

  “It’s some sort of insignia,” I said. “I think.”

  “It is.” He swung the giant screen around, and we saw the same insignia, in a much larger version. “It’s the mark of the manufacturer, Scotland Exports. A maker’s mark.”

  “Something tells me Scotland Exports wasn’t around a couple hundred years ago,” I said.

  “No. In fact they began their business,” he turned the screen so he could see it again, “back in 1963, here in Edinburgh. They’re still in business, though they moved up to Inverness.”

  “I see. So, it’s not old, or historical.”

  “No, but it’s a nice treasure. If they’re still making them, I imagine the quality has gone down since 1963. This is probably a good dirk. I’d like to see it in person.”

  Joshua’s instincts were probably another reason he and I had forged such a quick friendship. My bookish voices were to me what old things’ vibrations were to him, inanimate objects that spoke to things deep inside us. I hadn’t told him about my bookish voices, but I hadn’t doubted him when he’d told me about his own acumen.

  “It wouldn’t have been used by a William Wallace reenactor?” I said, not meaning to test his knowledge of the time period, but just to confirm mine.

  “Oh, no, probably not. Those folks used swords, big ones.” Joshua leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers authoritatively. “Best guess is that dirks came along around the mid-1500s. A couple of its precursors were swords, of course, daggers, and things called ballocks. You can find a few on the Web and see what I mean. Nevertheless, there was a time when Highlanders were always prepared for a fight, either with England or other Scots who wanted to take their land. They were always dressed for battle, which basically meant they always had a weapon on them. Dirks were much handier than swords. It’s a bloody but spectacularly beautiful history.”

  “Aye,” Elias said.

  “Where is this one? How did you get access to it?” Joshua asked me.

  “We found it on top of Castle Doune. It was wedged into a space at the bottom of a stone wall up on the battlements.”

  “I can’t think of any reason there should be a dirk at that particular castle. That’s a great place to make such a find though. I’m a tad bit jealous. What were you doing up there?”

  “Just visiting,” I said.

  Joshua nodded.

  “Elias and I went. Next time, we’ll let you know. Maybe you’d like to go with us,” I said.

  “I’d love that.” His eyes brightened. “Anyway, this could still mean something interesting. I mean, why would it be there? Even if it had been put or lost there recently, or fifty years ago, why? Could it be something as simple as someone dropped it? I don’t know. It’s curious, to say the least.”

  I couldn’t muster much interest in anything other than Billy Armstrong’s possible attachment to the dirk, but I nodded agreeably.

  “Not something the museum would want?” I said.

  “Only if we were preparing some sort of exhibit regarding the weapons specifically as a sample of a slice—pardon the pun—of history. Your boss might like it though. What did he say?”

  I sensed he was fishing for some information. I tried not to miss a beat. “I haven’t had a chance to show it to him yet.”

  “I bet he’d like it. I’m sorry it’s not one that might have actually been used in battle,” Joshua said.

  I smiled. “Not your fault. And thanks for taking the time with us.”

  “Always a pleasure.” He drummed his fingers on his desk and bit his bottom lip.

  “What?” I said.

  “I have a question, Delaney.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve heard talk about your boss and a room full of treasures.”

  He had been fishing. Though I didn’t like lying to the sweet young man who’d just helped me, I was well practiced in this particular lie. I laughed. “I’ve found that there are lots of rumors about Edwin. He’s much better known than I would have ever guessed before I moved here. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “And not a thing aboot what ye read,” Elias added.

  “That’s certainly true. All right then. You’d tell me if you came upon such a room, wouldn’t you, Delaney?”

  “You’d be the first,” I said.

  Elias and Aggie and Tom knew about the warehouse, but as far as I knew they were the only ones outside The Cracked Spine who had been invited in. The Fleshmarket Batch group had some ideas about it, but I knew Edwin hadn’t invited even his closest confidants from that group inside. Many of them had asked me about its possible existence more than once.

  Aggie had told me that the room, jam-packed as it was, had made Elias nervous and claustrophobic, but had been magical for her. I got the impression she’d like to spend more time there. Edwin told her she was welcome whenever, but she’d been too shy to take him up on the invitation. And probably too busy too.

  Tom had visited it just once, feeling like he’d gone somewhere he shouldn’t. I thought he’d become more comfortable with it over time, but he hadn’t.

  “Excellent. Lunch sometime soon?” Joshua said as Elias and I stood, filling the small space way too full.

  “Of course,” I said. “Next week looks good.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  As Elias and I descended the outside stairs and were far out of Joshua’s range of hearing, Elias said, “He kens ye have a lad in yer life?”

  “He knows. Tom has even gone to lunch with Joshua and me before. I think it’s a harmless crush that will abate the second he meets someone his own age who’s as interested in the things he’s interested in.”

  “A lass his age interested in that sort of stuff?” Elias whistled. “That might take a miracle. A rare thing that a lass his age is impressed by things such as dirks and auld museum pieces.”

  “They’re out there, and I like to think they’re worth the wait.”

  Elias laughed. “Aye. Tae be sure. Where tae now?”

  I looked at the time on my phone. We hadn’t been inside the museum for very long and it was only midmorning. The details about the dirk hadn’t been totally disappointing. At least I knew it wasn’t an overly valuable item, which was something to file away, but I still sensed it was tied to Billy Armstrong. I had a number of ideas on how to explore that possibility, but with a clear blue sky and a full open day ahead, one thought overrode the others.

  “How about a big trip?”

  “Where tae?”

  “Stirling Castle, and the William Wallace monument.”

  “Aye?” He rubbed his chin. “Certainly, I s’pose. Aggie doesnae need my help around the hooses. In fact, I think she’s pleased tae get me out from underfoot today. Let’s go.”

  We climbed into the cab and Elias drove us out of town. I hadn’t noticed when I’d become so used to riding on the left side of the road, but as he steered us out of Edinburgh, I realized that I didn’t have one moment of wrong-side-of-the-road panic.

  ELEVEN

  “There, it looks like they’re going to start a skit.
Or, I mean a reenactment,” I said as I pointed down toward the clearing and pulled my scarf up over my mouth against the cold wind.

  “Ye want tae ask if any of them knew the lad who was killed?” Elias said.

  “I do. We can watch their skit, and talk to them afterwards.”

  “Awright.”

  We moved down the short slope and into a narrow but long natural clearing. The wind was much less biting here. Elias and I blended in with the eager audience. Other than my trips to the Castle Doune, every time I’d visited a place for tourists, I’d seen plenty of them. Today was no exception.

  A man who was dressed the way Billy Armstrong had been dressed stepped into the middle of the performance space. It was more than his clothes that reminded me of the dead man. His wide shoulders, big frame, and longish hair were similar too, though his hair was more brown than auburn. He held a longsword, but I didn’t think it was real. There were no dirks in sight.

  I didn’t want to take the time to climb the 246 steps up to the top of the Wallace monument today, but it was certainly impressive; a tall stone tower. The views from it were spectacular—all Scottish rolling hills—but from the top they must be even more stunning. I’d probably want to linger inside it too; best not to have Elias, or maybe anyone, with me for that.

  Along with us and the other onlookers, a group of actors stood to the edge of the skit, observing the ones who were performing. It was almost like looking at a group of old-time clones. Except for slight variances in their ages, body sizes, hair color and length, they looked similar; they all wore the costume.

  The actor who introduced himself as William Wallace and the others who joined him proceeded to dispel almost every idea the movie Braveheart had presented.

  Wallace had fought valiantly for Scotland’s freedom from England, that was true. But as I’d already learned from Tom, the event that spurred his rebellion was likely the murder of his father, not of a wife. When the actor said this, a rumble spread through the audience and he gave us a moment to let the fact soak in.

  As the skit continued, other actors joined in to reenact a battle that had taken place beside a bridge. I heard Elias sniff once. When I glanced at him he quickly ran his finger under his eye and then gave me a brief smile.