Read Online The Stolen Voice by Pat McIntosh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pat McIntosh
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certain.’
‘You saw him?’ Gil also moved away from the door, out of earshot of the soutar. ‘When was that, Walter? What did you see?’
Walter’s face split in a gratified smile, and he crossed himself energetically.
‘It was just two days afore my maister was taen away,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘I came by wi his supper, which our Mirren sends from our own table, I mean she aye sent it, and cam in by the back gate here, and my maister was looking out at his window –’
‘In March?’ said Gil, surprised.
‘Aye, in March, and he was talking to the Deil that was standing here in the yard.’ He pointed to a spot under the window. ‘Just there, he was stood.’
‘What time was it?’ Walter looked blank. ‘Was it dark?’
‘Aye, just getting dark, I seen the first star as I came by the wynd and wished on it,’ said Walter, nodding, ‘and then I came in at the yett and seen the Deil.’
‘And what did he look like?’ asked Gil with care.
‘No bigger than a bairn, for he didny come up to the window-sole,’ said Walter, his voice hushed again, ‘and he had great wings like leather all down his back, and a big hat on to hide his horns, and he’d a great deep voice like a big man’s.’
‘What was he saying?’
The young man licked his lips.
‘I heard him threaten that he’d come for him on St Patrick’s Eve, and that good singers was needed in Hell, and then I ran away, for I was feart, maister,’ he confessed, and crossed himself. ‘And I canny rid mysel of the thought of my maister, that was aye good to me and left me my wages at the last, burning in flames and tormented by imps wi great pincers, all acos he’s got a bonnie voice.’
‘Was there snow on the ground,’ Gil asked, ‘or was it muddy? Did he leave any tracks?’
Walter shook his head.
‘He must have flew away,’ he said, ‘on his great wings. There was no sign that any of us saw.’
‘I thought as much!’ said the soutar angrily in the doorway. ‘Is that you annoying the man wi your tales, Walter Muthill? Pay him no mind, maister, and I’ll thank you no to encourage him, for he’s naught but a daft laddie.’
‘He must have seen something,’ Gil said. ‘Did you come to look, maister?’
‘I did not,’ said the soutar, pulling off his brass spectacles again, ‘for I’d my boots off, and no notion to go tramping round the cow-wynd in the dark. When this bawheid cam in crying out that he’d seen the Deil in our yard my wife made him go round by the street, for Maister Rattray paid us good rent to get his supper brought him, as well as the chamber, and he never saw any sign by the front way, and his maister tellt him the Deil had never been here.’
‘Aye, but he’d have to say that,’ muttered Walter. Gil put one foot on the edge of a tub of daisies and leaned forward, meeting the young man’s eyes.
‘Walter, you said your maister’s pictures had been taken as well?’ Walter nodded. ‘What were they, can you tell me?’
‘One was the angel’s salutation,’ Walter raised one hand in the conventional pose of Gabriel in an Annunciation, ‘and the other was St John Baptist baptising Our Lord, wi the water all up round his waist, paintit on a wee board.’
‘So one showed Our Lady and the other showed Our Lord.’ Walter nodded. ‘Do you really think the Deil could carry away somebody wi those images in his pack?’ Is that a syllogism? he wondered. Something is defective in the logic, but this laddie won’t notice.
‘You see?’ said the soutar triumphantly. ‘I tellt you it was nonsense.’
‘You mean he’s no in Hell?’ Walter stared at Gil, a huge relieved grin spreading across his face. ‘Oh, thanks be to Our Lady! She must ha saved him! Oh, wait till I tell our Mirren.’
Gil exchanged a glance with the soutar, and decided to leave well alone.
‘Afore you do that, Walter,’ he said, ‘had Maister Rattray taken all his gear wi him?’ The young man shook his head,
‘You saw him?’ Gil also moved away from the door, out of earshot of the soutar. ‘When was that, Walter? What did you see?’
Walter’s face split in a gratified smile, and he crossed himself energetically.
‘It was just two days afore my maister was taen away,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘I came by wi his supper, which our Mirren sends from our own table, I mean she aye sent it, and cam in by the back gate here, and my maister was looking out at his window –’
‘In March?’ said Gil, surprised.
‘Aye, in March, and he was talking to the Deil that was standing here in the yard.’ He pointed to a spot under the window. ‘Just there, he was stood.’
‘What time was it?’ Walter looked blank. ‘Was it dark?’
‘Aye, just getting dark, I seen the first star as I came by the wynd and wished on it,’ said Walter, nodding, ‘and then I came in at the yett and seen the Deil.’
‘And what did he look like?’ asked Gil with care.
‘No bigger than a bairn, for he didny come up to the window-sole,’ said Walter, his voice hushed again, ‘and he had great wings like leather all down his back, and a big hat on to hide his horns, and he’d a great deep voice like a big man’s.’
‘What was he saying?’
The young man licked his lips.
‘I heard him threaten that he’d come for him on St Patrick’s Eve, and that good singers was needed in Hell, and then I ran away, for I was feart, maister,’ he confessed, and crossed himself. ‘And I canny rid mysel of the thought of my maister, that was aye good to me and left me my wages at the last, burning in flames and tormented by imps wi great pincers, all acos he’s got a bonnie voice.’
‘Was there snow on the ground,’ Gil asked, ‘or was it muddy? Did he leave any tracks?’
Walter shook his head.
‘He must have flew away,’ he said, ‘on his great wings. There was no sign that any of us saw.’
‘I thought as much!’ said the soutar angrily in the doorway. ‘Is that you annoying the man wi your tales, Walter Muthill? Pay him no mind, maister, and I’ll thank you no to encourage him, for he’s naught but a daft laddie.’
‘He must have seen something,’ Gil said. ‘Did you come to look, maister?’
‘I did not,’ said the soutar, pulling off his brass spectacles again, ‘for I’d my boots off, and no notion to go tramping round the cow-wynd in the dark. When this bawheid cam in crying out that he’d seen the Deil in our yard my wife made him go round by the street, for Maister Rattray paid us good rent to get his supper brought him, as well as the chamber, and he never saw any sign by the front way, and his maister tellt him the Deil had never been here.’
‘Aye, but he’d have to say that,’ muttered Walter. Gil put one foot on the edge of a tub of daisies and leaned forward, meeting the young man’s eyes.
‘Walter, you said your maister’s pictures had been taken as well?’ Walter nodded. ‘What were they, can you tell me?’
‘One was the angel’s salutation,’ Walter raised one hand in the conventional pose of Gabriel in an Annunciation, ‘and the other was St John Baptist baptising Our Lord, wi the water all up round his waist, paintit on a wee board.’
‘So one showed Our Lady and the other showed Our Lord.’ Walter nodded. ‘Do you really think the Deil could carry away somebody wi those images in his pack?’ Is that a syllogism? he wondered. Something is defective in the logic, but this laddie won’t notice.
‘You see?’ said the soutar triumphantly. ‘I tellt you it was nonsense.’
‘You mean he’s no in Hell?’ Walter stared at Gil, a huge relieved grin spreading across his face. ‘Oh, thanks be to Our Lady! She must ha saved him! Oh, wait till I tell our Mirren.’
Gil exchanged a glance with the soutar, and decided to leave well alone.
‘Afore you do that, Walter,’ he said, ‘had Maister Rattray taken all his gear wi him?’ The young man shook his head,
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