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Authors: Pat McIntosh
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sticks displayed. So we never risked that one, maister, being wholly taken up wi defending ourselves,’ he admitted.
‘The dog wasny interested in any of their doors, except Michael’s, and all he found in Michael’s place was la – the lassie’s stocking. So we’ve no been much
help.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Gil. ‘That’s very useful. I wonder where the cloak is?’
‘Why does it matter?’ asked Michael.
‘He went out in it,’ said Lowrie, ‘and now he’s no wearing it.’
‘He might have left it somewhere.’
‘Miggle, you’ve seen him often enough.’ In the thin light from the two doors Lowrie’s lanky frame was briefly transformed to mimic a smaller, stouter, more self-important
man. ‘He’d never have left his bedehouse cloak, wi all that braid and the badge and all. Never mind it was a cold evening.’
‘So now we ken it’s no in the bedehouse,’ said Gil, ‘or at least if I can check Millar’s lodging we’ll ken. And thank you for searching.’
‘There’s another thing,’ said Lowrie. ‘I know about things setting after they’re deid, maister, but how sure is the timing? It’s a man we’re talking
about, after all, no a side of mutton.’
‘Well, it can take longer,’ said Gil, ‘it can be slower, but it’s no often quicker. Why?’
‘Well, I wondered if the Deacon might ha been alive this morning.’
‘This morning?’ repeated Gil, startled. ‘No, he’d never have set that quickly. Why?’
‘Well, that’s it,’ said Lowrie. ‘I thought I saw him in the chapel, when we came to say Mass, though he wasny in his usual place. So how could he have been dead last
night, if he was at Mass this morning?’
‘A good question,’ agreed Gil. ‘How certain are you that you saw him? Could it have been someone else?’
‘No very,’ admitted Lowrie. ‘But I’d swear I saw an extra person within the quire, just the dark figure wi the badge on the breast like the others, and who else was it
like to have been?’
Gil looked from one young man to the other. ‘Did you see this, Michael?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’d the candle. You don’t see much past that.’
‘Come and show me where you saw him, Lowrie.’
They went out and across the outer courtyard to the chapel door, which was now closed. Within, the candles still burned on the altar of St Serf, on either side of a clumsy wooden crucifix.
Even with these, even with daylight seeping reluctantly through the narrow windows, the little box-shaped building was full of shadows. As a place intended for clerks to worship in, it had no
separate nave, but the stall seats faced inward, six on either hand, and their high backs and partial sides of Norway pine formed a sort of internal quire, with a painted screen and curtained
doorway at its westward end to shut out the worst of the draughts. Socrates set off, claws clicking on the worn tiles, to explore the dim space between the pine uprights and the plastered outer
walls where there was room for any lay folk who wished to hear the Office or the Mass.
‘There’s no vestry,’ said Lowrie, ‘so we robe in one corner or another. That corner, the day,’ he waved a hand. ‘We light the candle and the censer and go in,
and Maister Kennedy begins the Mass.’
‘And the bedesmen are there waiting for you?’
‘I think they’ve said Prime by the time we get here.’ Lowrie held the curtain aside, and he and Michael followed Gil into the quire. ‘Maister Millar leads them in
procession from the hall, so he was sitting up in his own place, I mind that. I’d the censer the day, no the candle, but it’s still no that easy to see out into the dark, you
understand, and the black cloaks don’t show well, and the lugs of the stall sides hide all the faces. It can be quite strange,’ he admitted, ‘up here in the dark, wi all the
voices round you and nobody to see. Just the same, their badges catch the light, and I thought I could see four each
‘The dog wasny interested in any of their doors, except Michael’s, and all he found in Michael’s place was la – the lassie’s stocking. So we’ve no been much
help.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Gil. ‘That’s very useful. I wonder where the cloak is?’
‘Why does it matter?’ asked Michael.
‘He went out in it,’ said Lowrie, ‘and now he’s no wearing it.’
‘He might have left it somewhere.’
‘Miggle, you’ve seen him often enough.’ In the thin light from the two doors Lowrie’s lanky frame was briefly transformed to mimic a smaller, stouter, more self-important
man. ‘He’d never have left his bedehouse cloak, wi all that braid and the badge and all. Never mind it was a cold evening.’
‘So now we ken it’s no in the bedehouse,’ said Gil, ‘or at least if I can check Millar’s lodging we’ll ken. And thank you for searching.’
‘There’s another thing,’ said Lowrie. ‘I know about things setting after they’re deid, maister, but how sure is the timing? It’s a man we’re talking
about, after all, no a side of mutton.’
‘Well, it can take longer,’ said Gil, ‘it can be slower, but it’s no often quicker. Why?’
‘Well, I wondered if the Deacon might ha been alive this morning.’
‘This morning?’ repeated Gil, startled. ‘No, he’d never have set that quickly. Why?’
‘Well, that’s it,’ said Lowrie. ‘I thought I saw him in the chapel, when we came to say Mass, though he wasny in his usual place. So how could he have been dead last
night, if he was at Mass this morning?’
‘A good question,’ agreed Gil. ‘How certain are you that you saw him? Could it have been someone else?’
‘No very,’ admitted Lowrie. ‘But I’d swear I saw an extra person within the quire, just the dark figure wi the badge on the breast like the others, and who else was it
like to have been?’
Gil looked from one young man to the other. ‘Did you see this, Michael?’
Michael shook his head. ‘I’d the candle. You don’t see much past that.’
‘Come and show me where you saw him, Lowrie.’
They went out and across the outer courtyard to the chapel door, which was now closed. Within, the candles still burned on the altar of St Serf, on either side of a clumsy wooden crucifix.
Even with these, even with daylight seeping reluctantly through the narrow windows, the little box-shaped building was full of shadows. As a place intended for clerks to worship in, it had no
separate nave, but the stall seats faced inward, six on either hand, and their high backs and partial sides of Norway pine formed a sort of internal quire, with a painted screen and curtained
doorway at its westward end to shut out the worst of the draughts. Socrates set off, claws clicking on the worn tiles, to explore the dim space between the pine uprights and the plastered outer
walls where there was room for any lay folk who wished to hear the Office or the Mass.
‘There’s no vestry,’ said Lowrie, ‘so we robe in one corner or another. That corner, the day,’ he waved a hand. ‘We light the candle and the censer and go in,
and Maister Kennedy begins the Mass.’
‘And the bedesmen are there waiting for you?’
‘I think they’ve said Prime by the time we get here.’ Lowrie held the curtain aside, and he and Michael followed Gil into the quire. ‘Maister Millar leads them in
procession from the hall, so he was sitting up in his own place, I mind that. I’d the censer the day, no the candle, but it’s still no that easy to see out into the dark, you
understand, and the black cloaks don’t show well, and the lugs of the stall sides hide all the faces. It can be quite strange,’ he admitted, ‘up here in the dark, wi all the
voices round you and nobody to see. Just the same, their badges catch the light, and I thought I could see four each
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