skull,’ the mason said in some dismay. ‘It
needs a compress of vinegar with lavender and rose petals,
hot to his feet, Alys, to restore the spirits and draw excess
humours from the brain.’
‘So I thought,’ she agreed, ‘but we are short of rose
petals. Jennet is gone out to the apothecary for more.’
‘What came to you, boy?’ said Maistre Pierre, staring
down at the waxy yellow face. ‘I wish you could tell
me.’
The sandy lashes stirred and flickered. Annis leaned
forward with an exclamation, and Catherine paused in her
muttering. Alys dropped to her knees, her head near the
boy’s as the bloodless lips twitched, formed soundless
words. Then the eyes flew open and suddenly, clearly,
Davie spoke.
It wisny me. It wisny me, maister.’
His eyes closed again. Alys felt his hand, then his cheek,
with gentle fingers, but he did not respond. She rose, and
turned to her father and Gil.
‘You must find his sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Before the
killer does.’
Chapter Three
Canon Cunningham was in his chamber in the Consistory
tower, working at the high desk in an atmosphere of
parchment and old paper. When Gil brushed past the
indignant clerk in the antechamber and stepped round the
door, his uncle was ferreting through more documents in a
tray from the tall narrow cabinet behind him. At his elbow
were the protocol books and rolled parchments for the
Sempill conveyancing, with his legal bonnet, shaped like a
battered acorn-cup, perched on top of the stack.
‘I’ll ring when I am ready,’ he said, without looking
up.
‘May I have a word, sir?’ said Gil. At his voice the
Official raised his head and favoured him with a cold grey
stare. Gil, undaunted, closed the door and leaning on the
desk gave a concise account of the morning’s discoveries.
His uncle heard him in attentive silence, then stared out of
the window at the rose-pink stone tower of the Archbishop’s castle, tapping his fingers on the desk.
‘James Henderson spoke to me at Chapter this morning,’
he said at last. ‘I think he has the right of it. She died on
St Mungo’s land, St Mungo’s has a duty to find her
killer.’
‘And to determine whether it was forethought felony or
murder chaud-melle,’ offered Gil. His uncle glanced at him
sharply.
‘Aye. Well, you were aye good at hunting, Gilbert, and
you have shown some sense making a start on the trail already. You might as well continue. You’ll report to me, of
course, and I’ll take it to Chapter.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Gil, blinking slightly at the unaccustomed praise.
His uncle looked again at the parchments at his elbow.
‘This must be replait, I suppose,’ he said, ‘at least until
the poor woman is formally identified. Where will you
begin? Where is the trail freshest?’
‘Two places, I think, sir,’ said Gil readily. He and the
master mason had already found themselves in agreement
on the same question. ‘The lass who was with the mason’s
boy must be found, and I wish to speak to John Sempill of
Muirend. And additional to that, St Mungo’s yard must be
searched carefully, in case we find the great piece of wood
with which the boy was struck down. The mason and his
men are seeing to that just now. I passed Sempill in the
waiting-room here,’ he added, ‘himself, Philip, two witnesses, and one of the gallowglasses.’
‘Well, well,’ said Canon Cunningham. He picked up
parchments and protocol books, and moved to sit behind
the great table, arranging his documents on the worn tablecarpet. Clapping the legal bonnet over his black felt coif, he
continued, ‘Then let us have in Sempill of Muirend and see
how he takes the news.’
John Sempill of Muirend, summoned alone, argued
briefly with Richard Fleming the clerk in the antechamber,
then erupted into the chamber saying impatiently, ‘Yon
fool of a clerk says you don’t want my witnesses. Is there
some problem, sir?’
‘There may
needs a compress of vinegar with lavender and rose petals,
hot to his feet, Alys, to restore the spirits and draw excess
humours from the brain.’
‘So I thought,’ she agreed, ‘but we are short of rose
petals. Jennet is gone out to the apothecary for more.’
‘What came to you, boy?’ said Maistre Pierre, staring
down at the waxy yellow face. ‘I wish you could tell
me.’
The sandy lashes stirred and flickered. Annis leaned
forward with an exclamation, and Catherine paused in her
muttering. Alys dropped to her knees, her head near the
boy’s as the bloodless lips twitched, formed soundless
words. Then the eyes flew open and suddenly, clearly,
Davie spoke.
It wisny me. It wisny me, maister.’
His eyes closed again. Alys felt his hand, then his cheek,
with gentle fingers, but he did not respond. She rose, and
turned to her father and Gil.
‘You must find his sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Before the
killer does.’
Chapter Three
Canon Cunningham was in his chamber in the Consistory
tower, working at the high desk in an atmosphere of
parchment and old paper. When Gil brushed past the
indignant clerk in the antechamber and stepped round the
door, his uncle was ferreting through more documents in a
tray from the tall narrow cabinet behind him. At his elbow
were the protocol books and rolled parchments for the
Sempill conveyancing, with his legal bonnet, shaped like a
battered acorn-cup, perched on top of the stack.
‘I’ll ring when I am ready,’ he said, without looking
up.
‘May I have a word, sir?’ said Gil. At his voice the
Official raised his head and favoured him with a cold grey
stare. Gil, undaunted, closed the door and leaning on the
desk gave a concise account of the morning’s discoveries.
His uncle heard him in attentive silence, then stared out of
the window at the rose-pink stone tower of the Archbishop’s castle, tapping his fingers on the desk.
‘James Henderson spoke to me at Chapter this morning,’
he said at last. ‘I think he has the right of it. She died on
St Mungo’s land, St Mungo’s has a duty to find her
killer.’
‘And to determine whether it was forethought felony or
murder chaud-melle,’ offered Gil. His uncle glanced at him
sharply.
‘Aye. Well, you were aye good at hunting, Gilbert, and
you have shown some sense making a start on the trail already. You might as well continue. You’ll report to me, of
course, and I’ll take it to Chapter.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Gil, blinking slightly at the unaccustomed praise.
His uncle looked again at the parchments at his elbow.
‘This must be replait, I suppose,’ he said, ‘at least until
the poor woman is formally identified. Where will you
begin? Where is the trail freshest?’
‘Two places, I think, sir,’ said Gil readily. He and the
master mason had already found themselves in agreement
on the same question. ‘The lass who was with the mason’s
boy must be found, and I wish to speak to John Sempill of
Muirend. And additional to that, St Mungo’s yard must be
searched carefully, in case we find the great piece of wood
with which the boy was struck down. The mason and his
men are seeing to that just now. I passed Sempill in the
waiting-room here,’ he added, ‘himself, Philip, two witnesses, and one of the gallowglasses.’
‘Well, well,’ said Canon Cunningham. He picked up
parchments and protocol books, and moved to sit behind
the great table, arranging his documents on the worn tablecarpet. Clapping the legal bonnet over his black felt coif, he
continued, ‘Then let us have in Sempill of Muirend and see
how he takes the news.’
John Sempill of Muirend, summoned alone, argued
briefly with Richard Fleming the clerk in the antechamber,
then erupted into the chamber saying impatiently, ‘Yon
fool of a clerk says you don’t want my witnesses. Is there
some problem, sir?’
‘There may
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