Time and Tide

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by Shirley McKay


  ‘Whisht.’ His brother frowned. ‘He has not come about the pig.’

  ‘What about the pig?’ asked Hew.

  ‘We want to have a pig,’ said John. ‘Tis common for a mill to have a pig, to eat the bran and husks.’

  ‘I do not see why not,’ said Hew. ‘I will send you one.’

  ‘You mauma dae that! Or my mither will think, that I asked you for one.’

  ‘But you did,’ Hew answered with a smile.

  ‘My mither disna like pigs. Her faither was a fisherman,’ the boy explained. ‘She will not eat the pork.’

  ‘Many folk will not eat pork. Shut up about the pig,’ his brother said.

  ‘Do you think that pigs can see the wind?’ said John.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Hew.

  ‘My faither said that pigs could see the wind. They see it coloured red,’ the boy replied.

  His brother said, ‘Tis you that will see red, if you will not be gone.’

  The small boy turned and fled.

  ‘It killed my faither,’ said the miller’s son – he was the miller, now, thought Hew – ‘and it will not kill them.’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘What I am to show you. Wait, and I will close the hoppers at the top.’ The miller stopped the flow of grain and blew away the dust of flour that had gathered on the stones. ‘The bottom is the bedrock,’ he explained to Hew, ‘and it is firmly fixed. The top stone is the runner, and that is where she turns.’

  ‘I see it,’ answered Hew.

  ‘Yet what you do not see, is that the runner has been dressed with a hundred little grooves, these furrows that are cut in it; they shear the grain like scissors, so it is not crushed. The sharpness of the cutting is what turns the corn to flour.’

  Hew saw, and understood.

  ‘These little cuts grow blunt, and the stone must be resurfaced, once or twice a month. It is a skilled and careful task. My faither had the art, as I myself have not, so I must use a stone dresser, a pickman, as we call them, for picking out the grooves. The millstones are expensive, and are carefully preserved. They are bought in from abroad. The best are Cullin stones.’

  ‘Cullan?’ queried Hew.

  ‘It is a place that they come from, on the river Rhine.’

  ‘Cologne, possibly?’

  ‘I do not ken it, sir. But they come from across the sea, and are worth a lot. Now it is essential, that the stones do not grind dry, that is to say, they must not be set too close, or without a grain between them. For one thing, it might strike a spark, and set the mill on fire. But more than that, it hurts the stone. A moment’s rubbing dry shows more wear on the millstone than several weeks of grinding. And for that reason every miller has a bell tied to the hoppers with a rope, that will ring to warn him if the grain is running low, that he can keep them filled, when he cannot spare a boy to watch them all the while. My youngest brother has the task of heeding to the bell, and checking that the corn runs free, and in a steady stream. It is a tedious thing, and yet it is a vital one, that I have done myself, and God help the bairn who chanced to fall asleep at it, and had a rude awakening from his dreams. No matter that; it comes to John, as once it came to me. A miller kens his millstones. He knows them by their hum, the sweetness of their song when they are running true. And no one knew them better than my faither did. Well, sir, when my faither went to speak with Robert Wood, they went together to his mill. My faither looked over the stones. He told me they were badly worn, and that there was a deal of damage to the grooves, as though they had been badly set, and left to grind to dust. He said the same to Robert Wood. And Robert Wood the landlord swore the stones were freshly dressed, the day before the miller died, and were not turned since.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Hew’s interest was awakened. ‘Then what might that mean?’

  ‘It might mean that the landlord did not tell the truth,’ Alasdair explained, ‘and sought to pass off poor stones, in the place of good. Tis possible he swapped the stones. For I have used the pickman, that worked for Gavan Lang, and he has confirmed, the stones were freshly dressed. Tis possible that Robert thought to keep them for the windmill, and replaced them with another set. But why would he deny it, then? My faither put to Robert Wood, that the stone could not be used, and Robert Wood was not best pleased. My faither thought it like to sour the place he had with him, and so he was resolved to keep his peace with Robert, and to dress the stone himself. My faither had the knack for it,’ he added wistfully, ‘as I do not.’

  ‘I understand you,’ answered Hew. ‘For so I felt about my father and the law. As fathers often are dissatisfied in sons, I dis appointed him.’

  He was not sure what made him say it; a sadness in the miller’s voice somehow invited confidence. The miller looked surprised. ‘Oh, no, sir, you are wrong. Your faither was right proud of you. And you are very like him, stubborn, in your way. I hope you will not mind it, if I speak my heart to you?’

  ‘I do not mind at all,’ said Hew.

  ‘Well, sir, I began to think, suppose that Robert Wood had told the truth.’

  ‘Suppose he had? What then?’

  ‘The damage that my father saw, could happen in a moment, sir, if someone opened up the sluice while the stones were dry. Suppose that someone opened it when Gavan Lang was in the pond?’

  ‘The sluice was closed,’ Hew pointed out, ‘when Gavan Lang was found.’

  ‘A moment, sir, was all that it would take, for Gavan to be swept below, and pinned down by a gate, that afterwards was closed. And a moment is all that it takes, to do the damage that my father saw, on stones that are ground dry. So once it happened here, that when the mill was stopped, a horse that came to water at the burn by accident let loose the gate and set our wheel to turn. It took my father several days to repair the damage to the stone.’

  An awkward thought occurred to Hew. ‘The horse was not Dun Scottis, I suppose?’

  ‘My father, sir, did not report the horse’s name,’ the miller’s son said tactfully.

  ‘But surely, then,’ objected Hew, ‘the hopper bell would ring?’

  ‘It did, and should. Yet it is very likely that the hopper bell was stilled, or that it was not heard outside the mill. Since Gavan’s family have moved on, we cannot now find out.’

  ‘Then did your father know the death was not an accident?’ asked Hew.

  ‘I do not think he reasoned so far. Why would he, sir? It is his own departure makes it seem more strange, and throws it a light, that seems more dark and sinister. Though he may not have known it then, yet he saw the clue to it, the means to find it out. We know not who he may have told, apart from Robert Wood.’

  ‘And so you think this knowledge led him to his death?’

  ‘I suspect it, sir.’

  ‘Yet Gavan went into the water of his own free will,’ Hew considered. ‘Do you ever trap fish?’’

  ‘John does, sometimes, with hooks and lines. He throws them back, of course, he kens the fish are yours,’ Alasdair said guardedly.

  ‘That is not my point. Gavan Lang set traps to catch the eel, that were wrought from willow. Do you know how they work?’

  ‘I have seen them, sir. They are long and thin sleeves, and the fish swims inside. And when he is in, he sets off a catch, that closes the trap, and keeps him inside.’

  ‘Then a fish could not have closed the trap, unless he were inside it?’

  ‘Unless he were inside it, or a very clever fish,’ Alasdair agreed. ‘A fish with human hands.’

  ‘That,’ said Hew, ‘is what I thought. Then I think that you are right, and Gavan’s death was not an accident. And whether he suspected it, your father may have known of it, and it is more than possible, that for it he was killed. Have you told this to the coroner?’

  ‘I have been afraid,’ the miller’s son admitted, ‘even to tell him. Because he is the brother, too, of Robert Wood.’

  ‘I think that you are wise. I counsel you, tell no one else, but keep this matter close.�


  ‘Then will you find the killer, sir?’

  ‘Alasdair, I promise you, that I will find him out.’

  ‘I thank you. But my name is Sandy, sir,’ Sandy Kintor smiled. ‘No one but my mother ever calls me Alasdair.’

  Returning to the turret tower, Hew found Giles in consultation with Sir Andrew Wood. ‘Gavan Lang was murdered,’ he interrupted breathlessly, ‘I know how it was done.’

  The doctor shot a warning look, as Andrew Wood said tersely, ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘The string that tied the trap was cut, and the trap was closed. The trap was left to float into the centre of the pond. The killer knew that Gavan Lang would see the trap, and seeing it was closed, would know the eel was caught inside.’

  ‘It was not caught inside,’ Andrew Wood objected.

  ‘Precisely,’ answered Hew. ‘The trap was closed by human hands. It was a trap for Gavan Lang, to lure him into the pond.’

  ‘Ingenious,’ said Andrew Wood. ‘Once Gavan Lang was lured into the pond, then how was he persuaded he should drown?’

  ‘Once Gavan Lang was in the pond, the killer opened up the sluice, and Gavan was sucked under it. Before he was swept further, the sluice was closed again, and Gavan Lang was held fast by the gate. He had not, as we supposed, fallen through the broken rung, but was in fact, trapped under it. For why would he approach the damaged rung, unless it were the force of water that had swept him there?’

  ‘This is speculation, Hew,’ Giles interrupted wearily. His eyes to Hew looked dark and bruised. ‘You cannot know that someone opened up the sluice.’

  ‘The opening of the sluice is what provides the clue. It did damage to the millstones that were inside the mill. Sandy Kintor saw it.’

  ‘Who told you this?’ asked Andrew Wood.

  ‘It matters not who told me,’ Hew retorted. ‘Ask your brother Robert for the proof.’

  ‘Be quiet, Hew,’ groaned Giles.

  Andrew Wood said coldly, ‘What has Robert Wood to do with this?’

  ‘Two murdered millers, and both were at his mill,’ Hew replied succinctly.

  ‘What is it you imply? That Robert dislikes millers, or that someone else dislikes his mill? Consider very carefully, before you make reply,’ suggested Andrew Wood.

  ‘Neither,’ Hew faltered, a little too late. ‘In truth, I do not know.’

  ‘You can name no suspect?’

  ‘None, as yet,’ admitted Hew.

  ‘I see.’ The coroner turned again to Giles, who was sitting, head in hands, with a look of blank despair. ‘Two murdered millers, then, as we must suppose,’ Sir Andrew noted dryly. ‘Perhaps you can tell me, Doctor Locke, whether this is better, or yet worse?’

  Giles answered with a groan.

  ‘But what has happened here?’ demanded Hew. ‘Has there been another death?’

  ‘Worse than that,’ said Giles, ‘it is Bartie Groat!’

  ‘Bartie Groat has died?’

  ‘Now that,’ the coroner declared, ‘might yet prove our solution. Yet sadly, Bartie Groat has not died. Bartie Groat has blabbed the contents of the letters round the town.’

  ‘Oh Giles, I am so sorry,’ Hew exclaimed. ‘But why did Bartie do it?’

  ‘It was the death of Sandy Kintor, in the end that proved too much for him,’ said Giles. ‘His wits were turned to water, and he was afraid. You cannot blame an old man for his fears.’

  ‘I do not blame him,’ answered Andrew Wood, ‘I blame you.’ He turned to look at Hew. ‘I gave you no authority, to look into the windmill, with the miller Sandy Kintor, who afterwards was killed. And I gave you no authority to have the letters read, by a jabbering, blabbering old fool of a Dutchman, who blabbed them round the town. Wherefore I hold the two of you responsible, for the clamour and confusion we now have in our midst. The people are in terror and despair. He told me that red gillyflowers had blossomed in his heart: what sort of sense or solace are they meant to take from that? Half of them are sick, and the rest of them are crazed, and at each others’ throats, and all of them are raging, and stark staring mad.’

  ‘They are not mad; they only think they are,’ asserted Giles.

  ‘They are not mad; they only think they are,’ repeated Andrew Wood. ‘If you can tell the difference, Doctor Locke, and make it plain to me, then you must be a wiser man than I will ever be. You told me, sir, you promised me, there was no infection, no magic, plague, or trick, no possible contagion, that could come from that ship.’

  ‘There is none,’ Giles protested.

  ‘Then what, sir, is this?’

  ‘The fear of it,’ said Giles.

  ‘Aye, sir? Then mend it!’ Andrew Wood said sharply. ‘Since the college here has caused it, the college must mend it.’

  ‘How shall we do that?’

  ‘Explain to them,’ Sir Andrew challenged, ‘why they need not fear. Else I may have unleashed a fury on the town, because I did believe you, when you said that it was safe.’

  ‘It is safe,’ Giles insisted. ‘It is not the sickness, but the fear of it infects. The sailors on the ship, and Jacob in the port, died from a sickness that is known as holy fire. It is not a contagion, that can pass from man to man. It died out on the ship. And I am now quite convinced that I have found the cause. As for the millers in the town, none of them contracted it, and they were not bewitched. They died at human hands.’

  ‘Can you prove this?’ asked Andrew Wood.

  ‘I can explain my theory. But a theory is not proof.’

  ‘Then that must suffice,’ the sheriff sighed. ‘Since the rumour started in your college, then let the college put it right. You, sir, are respected, in the town. Therefore, put your case, and put it plain. I will call a meeting in the college hall, and you will give a public lecture, to allay their fears.’

  ‘In the college hall?’ Giles echoed, startled.

  ‘In your college hall. For since the rumour started here, it is only right and proper you should set it straight. These walls are cloistered, and the crowd are bound to come, from common curiosity. And you will still their fears. You will tell them – tell us all – how these people died. And you, God willing,’ he said bitterly to Hew, ‘will rout out our murderer, and find a man to hang. I will make a proclamation in the marketplace, and you shall hold your lecture tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Bartie Groat be damned!’ swore Hew, once Andrew Wood had gone. ‘May all his sleeves and handkerchiefs fall into streams and puddles.’

  ‘We never should have asked him,’ Giles concluded. ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘Not so. But is it true, that you have found the cause of the sickness on the ship?’ demanded Hew.

  ‘I am convicted of it . . . yet . . . I did not think to test it in the common field,’ Giles admitted. ‘I know not how the world will take it. I have not yet told Meg, whose common sense remains my arbiter, in all essential things. I hoped to write of it to Adam Lonicer.’

  ‘Will you not tell me what it is?’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘The theory wants refinement, Hew, it is not ready yet. In truth, I am not sure . . . I know not how to put it to them.’

  ‘In plain words,’ Hew suggested, ‘that are not convolute. As though you meant to spell it out, before the smallest wean. Their thoughts are crooked, Giles, and you must do your best to put them straight.’

  Chapter 13

  Ignis Sacer

  ‘Are you well prepared,’ asked Hew, ‘to put your case?’

  Giles answered doubtfully, ‘In part. I have concluded my report into the cause of that same sickness, which afflicted Jacob and the others on the ship.’

  ‘What was the cause?’ interrupted Hew, who hoped to bring the doctor swiftly to his point. His hopes were dashed, as Giles said enigmatically, ‘For that, you will have to wait. My fear is, that the matter is untested and unproved, and may sound with hollow resonance, on dull, unpractised ears. What did you mean, plain words?’ he demanded suddenly. ‘Do I not always speak plain?’


  ‘Not always,’ Hew admitted, with a grin. ‘There is a certain risk, that if the argument is too abstruse and convolute, that you may baffle and perplex, and make more opaque, what you hope to elucidate. I would counsel, choose words for their ripeness and simplicity. Speak clear and true, and, to be short, do not equivocate.’

  ‘You call equivocation, what is proper balance,’ argued Giles. ‘It cannot be a flaw, to weigh upon both sides.’

  ‘Yet there are times,’ said Hew, ‘in which it is essential to take sides, and commit to argument. This is a case that you must strip of paradox, laying bare the facts. For you must quell the tempests that are turning in their minds, and still the winds and waters in their hearts. They want a clear direction, that you must provide, and not take them round in circles. You must prove it plainly, to rid them of their fears.’

  Giles nodded. ‘You are right. I shall make it plain. And I shall use what players call their properties, to help me put the case.’

  ‘What properties?’ asked Hew suspiciously.

  The doctor winked at him. ‘That you must wait and see. It occurs to me,’ he changed the subject, ‘that since we come to talk about the millers’ deaths, it is more than likely that the killer will be present in the room.’

  ‘I have thought that too,’ said Hew. ‘It seems to me a certainty, for how could he resist? And I intend to closely watch the crowd, for any sign of guilt.’

  Giles hurried off to read his notes and collect his props. The whole of the baxters’ gild, the bailies of the council, and many other freemen of the burgh had gathered at the college gate. Among them, Hew saw Robert Wood, the miller, Henry Cairns, the Reverends Auld and Bruce and Traill, together with the elders of the kirk of Holy Trinity, the master from the grammar school, and the fruitman, Wullie Clegg, who sold pears that never ripened from a bucket at the cross. The students too attended, turning out in force, and Wullie Clegg had brought with him his dog.

  James Edie and Patrick Honeyman appeared in dual capacity, among a little cohort of the local magistrates. They were tuned for discord as soon as they arrived. Honeyman took issue with a student at the gate, appointed as an usher to escort them to the hall. The offender, noted Hew, was the tertian, William Wishart. As the hour approached, Hew began to sense a restless curiosity, a close demanding scrutiny that might not prove benign.

 

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