Read Online The King's Corrodian by Pat McIntosh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pat McIntosh
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get the good o’t when you go out again. Be
quiet
, Roileag! My!’ She sat down opposite Alys and studied her with interest while her dog jumped onto her knee and growled faintly. ‘And who did you say you were?’
‘I’m Alys Mason, from Glasgow, at your service, mistress. We’re lodging at the Blackfriars the now, while my man looks into this matter o the fellow,’ she paused, choosing her words, ‘carried off by the Deil.’
‘Oh!’ Mistress Buttergask breathed, the blue eyes going round with excitement. ‘Oh, I can tell you—’
‘I hoped you might,’ Alys said, with a complicit smile. ‘Prior Boyd has tellt us what you saw, a course, but I thought I’d as soon hear it from you.’
‘And your man’s looking into it, you say?’ Mistress Buttergask tilted her head, frowning. ‘Why would he need to do that? It’s a’ seen to, is it no? Though a course they couldny ha a quest on him, seeing there was no corp to examine. My – my friend said they’d no notion what to do in the matter on the Council.’
‘Holy Kirk wants an inquiry,’ Alys said. Their eyes met, and both nodded. What Holy Kirk wanted, Holy Kirk got. ‘So I hoped you’d tell me at first hand what you saw, for I’m sure it was more than Prior Boyd ever said.’
‘D’you ken?’ Mistress Buttergask clasped her plump hands together. The dog Roileag lurched on her knee and complained, with a sound between a growl and a whine. ‘I was certain that would happen. He never wanted to hear what I saw, you could tell that, only acause I hear things, he thinks I canny tell what I see wi my own een. It was only when my – my friend bore out everything I tellt them that they listened at all.’
‘He saw it too?’ Alys said. The other woman relaxed slightly at her tone, and nodded. Alys wondered if her neighbours were inclined to be sanctimonious about her ‘friend’.
A tapping at the door heralded one of the young maids with a tray. It held two horn cups, which gave off a welcome spicy smell, and a platter of little cakes. Once she had departed, they had toasted one another, and Roileag had been fed one of the cakes, which she took under the chair to consume, Alys said, ‘Are you close to the Blackfriars here? I’m all turned about,’ she admitted, ‘wi the way the path winds to come here. I’m not sure what way the house looks.’
‘Aye, it’s like a morris-maze,’ agreed Mistress Buttergask. ‘But that’s the Blackfriars at the foot o my garden.’ She nodded at the window of the little chamber, shuttered against the January weather. ‘It’s the outside wall o the very house, mistress.’
Alys rose and went to the window. It was deeply recessed; a new-looking crucifix had been hung on the panelling at one side of the recess, a print of the Annunciation on the other. She peered through the small greenish panes of the upper portion. The garden was long and narrow, the typical shape of an urban toft, and dismal in the rain, the kale shining dark green; at the far end was a fence, and beyond that, presumably on the other side of a path of some sort, was a well-built stone wall. Slabs of dark-red dressed stone, in many shapes and sizes, well fitted together in the same style as the front of Pollock’s house, rose to a roof of what must be local slate. The wall extended right and left into the drizzle; further to her left the bulky shape of the Blackfriars’ church loomed darkly, to the right the roof ended, showing where the row of small houses stopped, but the wall itself continued. She looked intently at the nearest section again, and made out the blocked window, on a level with three other little windows carefully shuttered against the weather. It was indeed Pollock’s house which faced her, and those must be the windows of the other small lodgings.
‘Tell me about it,’ she said, returning to her stool.
Mistress Buttergask set down her beaker and clasped her hands again before her round bosom. ‘Oh,
quiet
, Roileag! My!’ She sat down opposite Alys and studied her with interest while her dog jumped onto her knee and growled faintly. ‘And who did you say you were?’
‘I’m Alys Mason, from Glasgow, at your service, mistress. We’re lodging at the Blackfriars the now, while my man looks into this matter o the fellow,’ she paused, choosing her words, ‘carried off by the Deil.’
‘Oh!’ Mistress Buttergask breathed, the blue eyes going round with excitement. ‘Oh, I can tell you—’
‘I hoped you might,’ Alys said, with a complicit smile. ‘Prior Boyd has tellt us what you saw, a course, but I thought I’d as soon hear it from you.’
‘And your man’s looking into it, you say?’ Mistress Buttergask tilted her head, frowning. ‘Why would he need to do that? It’s a’ seen to, is it no? Though a course they couldny ha a quest on him, seeing there was no corp to examine. My – my friend said they’d no notion what to do in the matter on the Council.’
‘Holy Kirk wants an inquiry,’ Alys said. Their eyes met, and both nodded. What Holy Kirk wanted, Holy Kirk got. ‘So I hoped you’d tell me at first hand what you saw, for I’m sure it was more than Prior Boyd ever said.’
‘D’you ken?’ Mistress Buttergask clasped her plump hands together. The dog Roileag lurched on her knee and complained, with a sound between a growl and a whine. ‘I was certain that would happen. He never wanted to hear what I saw, you could tell that, only acause I hear things, he thinks I canny tell what I see wi my own een. It was only when my – my friend bore out everything I tellt them that they listened at all.’
‘He saw it too?’ Alys said. The other woman relaxed slightly at her tone, and nodded. Alys wondered if her neighbours were inclined to be sanctimonious about her ‘friend’.
A tapping at the door heralded one of the young maids with a tray. It held two horn cups, which gave off a welcome spicy smell, and a platter of little cakes. Once she had departed, they had toasted one another, and Roileag had been fed one of the cakes, which she took under the chair to consume, Alys said, ‘Are you close to the Blackfriars here? I’m all turned about,’ she admitted, ‘wi the way the path winds to come here. I’m not sure what way the house looks.’
‘Aye, it’s like a morris-maze,’ agreed Mistress Buttergask. ‘But that’s the Blackfriars at the foot o my garden.’ She nodded at the window of the little chamber, shuttered against the January weather. ‘It’s the outside wall o the very house, mistress.’
Alys rose and went to the window. It was deeply recessed; a new-looking crucifix had been hung on the panelling at one side of the recess, a print of the Annunciation on the other. She peered through the small greenish panes of the upper portion. The garden was long and narrow, the typical shape of an urban toft, and dismal in the rain, the kale shining dark green; at the far end was a fence, and beyond that, presumably on the other side of a path of some sort, was a well-built stone wall. Slabs of dark-red dressed stone, in many shapes and sizes, well fitted together in the same style as the front of Pollock’s house, rose to a roof of what must be local slate. The wall extended right and left into the drizzle; further to her left the bulky shape of the Blackfriars’ church loomed darkly, to the right the roof ended, showing where the row of small houses stopped, but the wall itself continued. She looked intently at the nearest section again, and made out the blocked window, on a level with three other little windows carefully shuttered against the weather. It was indeed Pollock’s house which faced her, and those must be the windows of the other small lodgings.
‘Tell me about it,’ she said, returning to her stool.
Mistress Buttergask set down her beaker and clasped her hands again before her round bosom. ‘Oh,
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