common in the winter, but in the summer months the gates were not usually locked until ten at night. The principal was clearly in fear that the murderer of Robert Sim had not yet finished his business with the Marischal College.
On another day I might have gone by the King’s Meadows and out past the Links to Old Aberdeen, but it was nopleasant errand I was on, and I had not the leisure to enjoy the afternoon sun as its rays sparkled like crystal on the waves chasing each other to the shore. Instead, I would take the more direct route between the two burghs, out along the Gallowgate and past Mounthooly, to ascend the Spittal hill and come down the other side on to College Bounds and the Old Town.
It was not yet three when I crossed the Powis Brig on to the High Street of Old Aberdeen. It was quiet here, so much quieter than the New Town that I had come from. It was not a market day, so what trade there was took place in booths at the fronts of people’s houses, their gables jostling for space around the market cross. I turned off the High Street and through the archway into the King’s College. The gatekeeper hardly lifted an eyebrow to see me pass; he had held his post over twenty years, and remembered me still as a young scholar there myself, struggling to keep the misdemeanours of Archie Hay from the sight and ears of the college authorities.
‘A fine day, Mr Seaton.’
‘Aye, Geordie, a fine day.’
I crossed the quad and sat on a bench outside the door to the common school of the college, from where I could see all comings and goings in the students’ and masters’ lodgings. Many of the students had abandoned their chambers to study and dispute with one another on the grass, while others sat talking quietly on benches. It was with some reluctance that I passed through the doorway to theround tower of Dunbar’s building and began to ascend the steps to John Innes’s chamber.
None amongst the students I passed questioned me; from my frequent visits here, my figure was almost as well known to the scholars of King’s as it was to those of Marischal. I came to the top floor, and knocked lightly on John’s door at the far end of it. There was no reply, and I tried once more, louder this time. I heard a shuffling noise on the flagstones, and the sound of an iron bolt being drawn back. The door opened as far as the chain linking it to the jamb would allow and a voice, John’s, but low and cracked, called, ‘Who is there?’
‘It is me, John – Alexander. Will you let me in?’
The chain was dropped, and the door drawn back further. I stepped carefully over the threshold and into a place more gloomy than the corridor I had just left. John’s chamber faced south, but today its one small window was shuttered fast against the bright mid-afternoon sun, and little light found its way into the room. The air inside was fusty and stale. It was a moment before I could see my friend: he was standing, hiding almost, behind the door. When he saw that it was indeed me, he pulled me further in and shut the door quickly behind me.
‘John,’ I said, ‘are you all right? What is the matter, man?’
‘Who saw you come here?’
‘Who? I don’t know … nobody. Everybody.’
He sat down on his narrow bed in the far corner of thechamber and ran his hands through his thinning hair. ‘It cannot be long,’ he said. ‘It cannot be long.’
I drew up a stool in front of him and forced him to look at me. ‘What cannot be long? John, what is this about?’
He shook his head and continued to mutter.
‘John, tell me, what is it? Is it something to do with the rumpus down at the Links between the students on Saturday? Are you being blamed for it?’
‘The students? Hah!’ he laughed a moment, as if I were stupid, and continued to shake his head. Something in his look recalled me to the reason I had come here today in the first place. I let go the hands I had taken hold of, and sat back a little. ‘John, has this
On another day I might have gone by the King’s Meadows and out past the Links to Old Aberdeen, but it was nopleasant errand I was on, and I had not the leisure to enjoy the afternoon sun as its rays sparkled like crystal on the waves chasing each other to the shore. Instead, I would take the more direct route between the two burghs, out along the Gallowgate and past Mounthooly, to ascend the Spittal hill and come down the other side on to College Bounds and the Old Town.
It was not yet three when I crossed the Powis Brig on to the High Street of Old Aberdeen. It was quiet here, so much quieter than the New Town that I had come from. It was not a market day, so what trade there was took place in booths at the fronts of people’s houses, their gables jostling for space around the market cross. I turned off the High Street and through the archway into the King’s College. The gatekeeper hardly lifted an eyebrow to see me pass; he had held his post over twenty years, and remembered me still as a young scholar there myself, struggling to keep the misdemeanours of Archie Hay from the sight and ears of the college authorities.
‘A fine day, Mr Seaton.’
‘Aye, Geordie, a fine day.’
I crossed the quad and sat on a bench outside the door to the common school of the college, from where I could see all comings and goings in the students’ and masters’ lodgings. Many of the students had abandoned their chambers to study and dispute with one another on the grass, while others sat talking quietly on benches. It was with some reluctance that I passed through the doorway to theround tower of Dunbar’s building and began to ascend the steps to John Innes’s chamber.
None amongst the students I passed questioned me; from my frequent visits here, my figure was almost as well known to the scholars of King’s as it was to those of Marischal. I came to the top floor, and knocked lightly on John’s door at the far end of it. There was no reply, and I tried once more, louder this time. I heard a shuffling noise on the flagstones, and the sound of an iron bolt being drawn back. The door opened as far as the chain linking it to the jamb would allow and a voice, John’s, but low and cracked, called, ‘Who is there?’
‘It is me, John – Alexander. Will you let me in?’
The chain was dropped, and the door drawn back further. I stepped carefully over the threshold and into a place more gloomy than the corridor I had just left. John’s chamber faced south, but today its one small window was shuttered fast against the bright mid-afternoon sun, and little light found its way into the room. The air inside was fusty and stale. It was a moment before I could see my friend: he was standing, hiding almost, behind the door. When he saw that it was indeed me, he pulled me further in and shut the door quickly behind me.
‘John,’ I said, ‘are you all right? What is the matter, man?’
‘Who saw you come here?’
‘Who? I don’t know … nobody. Everybody.’
He sat down on his narrow bed in the far corner of thechamber and ran his hands through his thinning hair. ‘It cannot be long,’ he said. ‘It cannot be long.’
I drew up a stool in front of him and forced him to look at me. ‘What cannot be long? John, what is this about?’
He shook his head and continued to mutter.
‘John, tell me, what is it? Is it something to do with the rumpus down at the Links between the students on Saturday? Are you being blamed for it?’
‘The students? Hah!’ he laughed a moment, as if I were stupid, and continued to shake his head. Something in his look recalled me to the reason I had come here today in the first place. I let go the hands I had taken hold of, and sat back a little. ‘John, has this
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