The Nicholas Feast

Chapter Four

‘They were lying,’ said Maistre Pierre positively. ‘Oh, not about where they were, I think we can accept that, but they know more about the dead than they would tell us.’

‘I agree.’ Gil stopped in the inner courtyard, looking about him. ‘Maybe if I speak to them separately I’ll learn more. But before that we need to look at William’s chamber, which seems to be locked from what one of the boys said, and I think I want a look at the limehouse. We must also talk to those three senior bachelors, and to the two boys named as William’s friends, even if one of them is a Montgomery.’

‘Did you say you had ordered the yett shut?’ asked the mason.

‘Aye, and we’ll need to let it open soon. Once Maister Coventry has finished that list I asked him for, we can let folk go.’

‘Then do you go and inspect the limehouse and I will find out the young man’s chamber.’ Maistre Pierre looked about, and caught the eye of one of the numerous students who somehow happened to be crossing the courtyard. ‘You, my friend, may guide me! Where did your lamented fellow pursue his studies?’

‘Eh?’ said the boy.

‘William’s chamber, you clown!’ said the next student. ‘It’s in the Outer Close, maister. I’ll show you, will I?’

Gil, retrieving the lantern from the coalhouse, lit the candle in it with the flint in his purse and unbarred the next door. Behind it was a similar vaulted chamber, unwindowed and smelling sharply and cleanly of limewash. Neatly ordered sacks were ranged against the walls, several wooden buckets and paintbrushes sat on a board near the door, and a fine sifting of white powder lay on everything. In it were displayed a great confusion of footprints, particularly immediately in front of the door. As Gil peered into the shadows, the light from the courtyard was cut off behind him.

‘The chamber is locked indeed,’ said the mason.

‘We ’ll find someone with a key.’ Gil stood aside so that the other man could see past him. ‘Look at this.’

‘But he was not here, was he?’

‘I don’t know about that. I thought one group of searchers expected to find him here.’ Gil stepped carefully in over the dusty floor. ‘These prints are theirs. No, look, Pierre, this is quite clear. Some large object has been put down here, in the centre of the floor, and then moved.’

‘I see,’ agreed Maistre Pierre, following him in. ‘But I can make no sense of the footprints. There are quite simply too many. This is a good dry store,’ he added approvingly. ‘The walls are excellent work. What have you seen?’

Gil bent, directing the light from the lantern at the floor near one pile of sacks.

‘I don’t know,’ he said after a moment. ‘Can you see something? It isn’t a footprint, I would say.’

‘A smudge,’ said the mason. ‘Someone put his hand or his knee to the floor.’

‘I wonder.’ Gil hunkered down, staring at the shapeless print in the dust. ‘William’s purse is missing. I know it was on his belt earlier, for I saw it — ’

‘The belt which was used to strangle him,’ said the mason intelligently.

‘Precisely. Was there anything valuable in the purse? Why should it be thrown on the floor?’

‘Whoever removed the belt in order to strangle the boy must have drawn it out of the purse-latches,’ offered the mason, with a gesture to demonstrate, ‘and discarded the purse.’

‘Why is it no longer here?’

‘All good questions,’ said Maistre Pierre. ‘You think that is the mark of the purse?’

‘It could be.’ Gil stood up and looked around him. ‘I must speak to the Principal, or perhaps the Steward. This store must be searched. The purse may be here, behind one of these sacks.’

‘I can do that.’ The mason stepped carefully towards the door. ‘I have worked with John Shaw, we are good friends. He will send two or three of the college servants if I ask him. What will you do? Seek a key to the boy’s chamber, or — ?’

‘No, we should both see that.’ Gil was still studying their surroundings. ‘I think I will question those senior bachelors.’

Another of the many passing students directed Gil up the wheel stair just beyond the kitchen. It led past one of the doors of the Laigh Hall, where four tonsured Theology students were debating a fine point of exegesis over bread and stewed kale. As Gil climbed on up, someone said, ‘But Wycliff — ’ and was instantly hushed.

At the top of the stair he came to a narrow landing with two doors. Voices murmured behind one. He knocked, and after a moment footsteps approached. The door opened a crack, and one alarmed eye examined him.

‘I think you need to talk to me,’ he said. The eye vanished, as its owner turned his head to look at the other occupants of the room. ‘I’m alone,’ he added reassuringly.

‘Let him in,’ said a strained voice.

‘Ninian — ’ expostulated the boy at the door.

‘I better tell someone,’ said Ninian. ‘Come in, maister.’

The room was large, stretching the full width of the attic, but four small study-spaces had been partitioned off with lath-and-plaster panels, and the remnant was a very awkward shape and had only two windows. By one of them the mousy-haired boy sat on a stool hugging his knees; he did not rise as Gil entered. Lowrie the fair-haired tenor closed the door, saying, ‘We don’t have a chair for a visitor, maister, but this is the best stool.’

‘I’ll sit on the bench,’ said Gil, moving to the other window. Three pairs of eyes watched apprehensively as he settled himself. ‘Good day to you, Michael. And how is your father?’

‘He’s well,’ said Michael, startled back into civility. ‘Is madam your mother well, maister?’

‘She is, and like to be in Glasgow soon.’

‘Will you have some ale, maister? I think we’ve got some ale,’ offered Lowrie, apparently accepting the social nature of the visit.

‘It’s finished,’ said Ninian hoarsely.

Gil looked from Michael, now twirling the turn-button on the shutter, to Lowrie, still standing by the door, and then at Ninian huddled in blankets in the bed.

‘Three of the enemies of the Crown,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘It must be a conspiracy.’

They stared at him.

‘I think that was before we were born, maister,’ said Michael eventually. ‘In James Second’s time, maybe. This is just us.’

‘And our wee bittie problem,’ said Lowrie.

‘Tell me about it,’ Gil invited.

‘How much do you ken, maister?’ asked Lowrie.

‘Quite a bit,’ countered Gil. ‘Which of you hit him? Where was he then?’

‘It was me that hit him,’ said Ninian, shivering. ‘He was there.’ He nodded at one of the little study-spaces. ‘I was angry at him already, the way he clarted up the fight scene in the play, and then I came up to move my Aristotle when the rain started, and there he was, in Michael’s carrel, where he’d no right to be, speiring at things that don’t concern him. I shouted at him, and he did that trick of looking down his nose and strolling off, like a cat on a wall. So I hit him, and he fell down, and hit his head on the stool. Then the other two came in.’

‘That’s right,’ said Lowrie, and Michael nodded.

‘And then you put him in the limehouse,’ prompted Gil, as the conversation died. They looked at each other in what seemed like relief.

‘That was my idea,’ said Lowrie.

‘Didn’t he argue?’ Gil asked.

‘He wasn’t stirring,’ said Lowrie. ‘So we tied his wrists with Miggel’s belt and got him down the stairs, between the three of us, and round to the limehouse.’

‘With Michael’s belt? Why did you not use his own?’

‘We’d have had enough snash from him as it was,’ said Lowrie frankly. ‘If we’d damaged his property he’d certainly have complained to Dobbin. Much better to use one of ours.’

‘We’d never have got it back,’ said Michael, as if continuing an argument. ‘I suppose we canny have it back now, maister? No, I thought not.’

‘How did you carry him?’ Gil asked. ‘Did nobody else see you?’

‘They had a leg each and I had his shoulders,’ said Ninian, in surprised tones. ‘That’s why we tied his wrists. And everyone else in the Inner Close was all gone back to the feast, and the Elect were in the Law Schule waiting for Father Bernard, so there was none to see us. Maister, he wasny deid when we left him!’ he burst out. ‘He was stirring and gruntling like he was drunk, so we left him lying on his side. He wasny deid then!’

‘Which side was he lying on?’

They exchanged glances, and Michael mimed the position.

‘His right side,’ he said. ‘Aye, the right side. He wasny deid then,’ he echoed.

‘And where did you put him?’ Gil asked carefully.

‘Just lying in the middle of the limehouse,’ said Ninian.

‘No hidden or anything,’ elaborated Lowrie. ‘Anyone that opened the door would see him there. Likely they’d hear him too,’ he added.

‘And what did you do with his purse?’

‘His purse?’ repeated Ninian.

‘Damn,’ said Michael. ‘We should have checked that. He’d aye paper, or his bonny wee set of tablets to make notes on. Tod, did you — ?’

‘Not I,’ said Lowrie, and added politely to Gil, ‘I don’t think we touched his purse.’

‘So you left him in the limehouse.’ All three nodded. ‘And you’re sure nobody else saw you?’

‘We took good care nobody saw us,’ Michael pointed out.

‘I wondered,’ said Ninian, ‘how much Bendy Stewart saw, or maybe heard. You mind, he followed us across the close, and we were talking about it?’

‘I never saw him,’ said Lowrie. ‘You told us to curb the bummle, I mind that.’

‘I saw him,’ said Michael. ‘But we were nearly at the pend before he came into the Inner Close from the kitchen-yard. He wouldny see where we’d been. How much he heard I don’t know either.’

‘And why did you shut William in the limehouse? Why there? Why not the coalhouse?’

‘The kitchen’s aye after more coal,’ said Michael. ‘He’d have been found in no time.’

‘But why shut him in at all?’

‘So we could bar him in,’ said Lowrie after a moment. ‘I don’t know why the limehouse has that bar on the door, but I thought we could — ’ He stopped, reddening. ‘It seems a daft idea now. I thought we’d get at the sweetmeats in the Fore Hall before he did, and I thought and all that we’d get him into trouble for once. If he never turned up to get his reward for the play the Dean would be displeased, and he wasn’t best pleased wi him already after the meeting. I never meant — ’

‘But surely,’ said Gil, ‘he had only to tell the Dean why he was not present?’

‘But then we would tell the Dean why we locked him up,’ Lowrie explained.

‘It would never have worked,’ said Michael suddenly. He had a surprisingly deep voice. ‘He could wammle out of anything, kale-wirm that he was.’

‘He was not popular?’ Gil asked innocently.

‘He had friends,’ Lowrie said. ‘Robert Montgomery, Ralph Gibson.’

‘Not friends I would choose,’ said Ninian, sucking his knuckles.

‘But you didn’t like him,’ Gil prompted. They eyed him carefully, and said nothing. ‘Did he often look at things that did not concern him?’

‘No,’ said Ninian.

‘Yes,’ said Lowrie at the same moment.

‘He was aye poking at my books,’ said Michael. ‘Him and Robert and that Ralph were on the same landing as us, see, last year when they were bejants. We were mentoring them,’ he added, pulling a face. ‘Ralph and Robert was all right, but William thought he should have free run of everything we owned. I’ve not seen my Aristotle since last summer.’

‘What was he looking for?’

‘He looked,’ said Lowrie, ‘for secrets. Things you would rather weren’t known. Everyone has things he’d rather weren’t known.’

‘I haveny,’ said Michael, raising his pointed chin.

‘Except for Michael, everyone has things they’d rather weren’t known,’ amended Lowrie. ‘And the dear departed went round ferreting them out. He wrote them down. With pen and ink to report all readie.’

‘He did, too,’ said Michael rather sharply.

‘And then he’d come privately and ask you what it was worth not to tell Dobbin.’

‘I see,’ said Gil evenly. ‘And did he make any profit from this scaffery?’

‘That’s the word!’ said Ninian.

‘No from me, he never,’ said Lowrie firmly.

‘Was that why Dobbin wanted you last week?’ said Michael.

Lowrie grinned. ‘Aye. Dear William found my uncle’s notes and when I wouldny pay up he went and told Dobbin my ideas weren’t my own. He hadn’t read the notes properly. They were from old Tommy’s lectures on Aristotle, in about 1472, and I’ll swear Tommy gave the identical lectures last winter. I showed them to Dobbin, and he agreed with me. Not that he said so, but you could tell. And of course Dobbin taught my uncles at the grammar school at Peebles before he came here. Before they all came here,’ he amended. ‘Separately.’

‘We get the idea,’ said Michael.

‘Do you know if William made a habit of this?’ Gil asked.

‘He made a good living from it,’ said Lowrie roundly, ‘for I saw him.’

‘Of wikkit and evil lyf of tyranny and crimynous lyfing. Good enough to pay for a chamber to himself in the Outer Close?’ suggested Gil. ‘Or do you suppose he had some kind of hold over Maister Shaw?’

‘I’ve no idea how much he won,’ said Lowrie, ‘though I’d guess it was silver rather than copper, but if you want to know who else he was putting the black on, you’ll have to ask around yourself. Maister,’ he added with belated civility, and straightened his shoulders so that his faded blue gown creaked.

‘Fair enough,’ said Gil. ‘Ninian?’

‘He saw me in the town,’ said Ninian, reddening. ‘One night I hadn’t leave to be out.’

‘Ning!’ said Lowrie sharply. ‘You never gied him money?’

‘No, I never!’ returned Ninian. ‘I gied him my notes on Auld Nick’s Peter of Spain lectures.’

‘Was that all?’ Gil asked.

Ninian looked uncomfortable. ‘He was wanting more,’ he admitted. ‘He’d asked me for a sack of meal.’

‘Ambitious,’ said Gil. ‘Would you have given it to him?’

‘Maybe,’ said Ninian. ‘But maybe I’d just take my chance. Dobbin’s fair, if you plead guilty. It would have been a beating, maybe, or a week’s loss of privilege. A sack of meal was too much. I hadn’t answered him yet.’

‘Michael?’

‘I’ve no secrets,’ said Michael flatly.

Gil waited, but Ninian burst out again with, ‘Maister, what came to him? Was it the bang on the heid? Why was he in the coalhouse?’

‘It was not the bang on the head,’ Gil said firmly, ‘or the blow to the jaw. That was not what killed him, Ninian.’

Ninian stared at him, sucking his knuckles again. Then he relaxed, sighing.

‘So it wasn’t me that killed him,’ he said, and scrubbed at his eyes. ‘But how did he get in the coalhouse?’

‘That is what I would like to know,’ Gil said. ‘Show me your feet,’ he said suddenly to Lowrie, who gaped at him, then closed his mouth and turned up the soles of his boots one at a time to the light.

‘No coal, I hope,’ he said lightly.

‘No coal,’ Gil agreed. ‘There’s lime on the hem of your gown — ’ He stopped, recalling the hem of William’s gown. Quicklime and damp wool — that would account for the scorch marks.

‘Mine too,’ said Michael gruffly.

‘Mine are on the kist yonder, maister.’ Ninian nodded across the room. Gil stooped to inspect Michael’s boots, then made his way round the great box of the bed. As he lifted Ninian’s downtrodden footwear heavy steps pounded on the stair, and there was a hammering at the door.

‘Lowrie! Lowrie Livingstone! Is Maister Cunningham there? He’s wanted!’

Lowrie opened the door. Two students were on the landing, and eager footsteps suggested more on the stair. The nearest, the irrepressible Walter, said urgently, ‘Maister, can you come quick?’

‘There’s something in William’s chamber,’ said the boy behind Walter.

‘It’s a ghaist,’ said Walter. ‘We heard it!’

‘If it’s no the deil himself,’ said someone on the stairs.

‘That’s nonsense,’ said Gil firmly.

‘We heard it!’ said Walter again. ‘It’s wailing and girning like the Green Lady. Come and hear for yirsel, maister!’

‘I do not believe William’s ghost can be in his chamber,’ said Gil, ‘much less the deil himself. Why should the devil be in William’s chamber?’

‘I could tell you that,’ muttered Michael.

‘But we heard it, maister! Please will you come and listen?’

‘Why were you at his chamber door anyway?’ asked Lowrie. ‘You lodge here in the Inner Close, no out-by.’

‘Billy Ross went with a message from Maister Doby,’ said Walter virtuously, ‘and heard the noise on the way past, so he cam and tellt us and we all went and we heard it an’ all. Will you come, maister? There’s certainly something there, for I heard it.’

‘We all did,’ said someone on the stairs. ‘It goes Ooo-oo.’

‘That’s foolishness!’ said Gil. ‘How can a ghost make a noise like a screech-owl? Walter, what is a ghost, tell me that?’

‘A ghost is the spirit of a dead man,’ said Walter nervously, clearly quoting something.

‘It has no body, has it?’ Walter shook his head. ‘So how can it make a noise? Whatever is making a noise, it must be something in possession of a body.’

‘Aye, the deil,’ said a voice on the stairs.

‘All of you,’ said Gil. ‘Go and ask Maister Coventry and Maister Kennedy, if they have finished the list I asked them for, to meet me in a quarter-hour at William’s chamber door. Can you mind that?’

Walter repeated the message in a rush, nodded, and thudded off down the stairs. The boy behind him reiterated, ‘There’s something in William’s chamber, maister, for we heard it!’

‘All of you,’ said Gil again. ‘In a quarter-hour, by William’s chamber.’

He shut the door on the departing crowd and turned to the three senior bachelors.

‘Ninian, are you wearing your belt?’ he asked.

‘Aye,’ said Ninian, pushing back the blankets to display the item.

‘May I see it?’

The belt was old, and had clearly been worn by Ninian as he filled out, for a succession of holes had been stretched by the buckle. The most recent was easy to identify, but the older ones were beginning to close up as the leather itself stretched. Gil, concluding that the belt was Ninian’s and nobody else’s, handed it back.

‘Have you any other belt?’ he asked.

‘We have a spare,’ Lowrie said. ‘Where is it, Miggel?’

‘In your carrel,’ said Michael. A brief search uncovered the spare belt in Ninian’s kist. Gil inspected it for the sake of the thing, though his aim had been only to locate the object, and handed it to Michael, who put it on.

‘Two more questions,’ he said.

‘Don’t you want to see my belt?’ asked Lowrie.

‘I can see it from here. What did you eat at the feast?’

‘I never ate,’ said Michael. ‘I wasn’t hungry. Besides, I had to get painted up for the play.’

‘I had a mouthful of flan,’ said Lowrie indignantly, ‘and then Bendy Stewart came along fussing about me spoiling my voice. I got some wine, though,’ he added.

‘Snoddy Tod,’ said Ninian tolerantly. ‘I had rabbit stew, and foul it was, too. She’d put ground almonds to it.’

‘And the other question?’ prompted Lowrie.

‘You mentioned the meeting. When William rose — ’

‘God, that was funny,’ said Ninian, whose spirits were improving by the moment. ‘Did you see all their faces? And old Tod Lowrie here waiting to speak.’

‘It was not funny,’ said Lowrie. ‘I spent hours getting that speech by heart. It might have gone right out of my head, with William interrupting me like that.’

‘What did he say again?’ said Gil, who remembered perfectly well.

‘What if another of the college’s sons has misused her money,’ quoted Michael, in excellent imitation of William’s clearly enunciated Latin, ‘or has inculcated heretical beliefs in her students?’

‘What did he mean?’ wondered Ninian.

‘Exactly,’ said Gil. ‘Who was it intended for?’

‘Hanged if I know,’ said Lowrie. ‘I thought by his expression it was a shot at someone, not just random unpleasantness, if you see what I mean, but I don’t know who.’

‘One of the Elect?’ said Michael.

‘I doubt it,’ said Lowrie. ‘Bendy Stewart would root out heresy in his students if they even sniffed it, I’d have thought.’

‘I don’t think we know, maister,’ Ninian said to Gil.

‘Are you going to see after this ghost?’ Lowrie asked.

‘I am,’ Gil agreed. ‘But you three are not coming with me.’

‘How not?’ said Ninian.

‘We have to go and confess,’ said Lowrie heavily. ‘Who should we tell, maister?’

‘Either Maister Doby or Maister Coventry,’ advised Gil. ‘And if I were you I should offer it as sacramental confession. They are both priested, either of them can hear you.’

‘Yes,’ said Lowrie, scuffing thoughtfully at the floorboards with his toe. ‘Yes, it’s perjury, isn’t it? We’ve broken the oath about brotherhood and amity.’

‘He started it,’ said Ninian.

‘No defence,’ said Michael. He got to his feet, and braced himself. ‘Come out of your burrow, Ning. Better get it over with.’

‘I offer my sympathy in advance,’ said Gil. ‘I’ll speak to you again.’

As Gil reached the courtyard, the bulky form of the mason emerged round the kitchen stair, followed by three of the college servants dusting at their clothes. Sighting Gil, he made his way to meet him, grinning.

‘Success!’ he proclaimed. ‘Thank you, all of you, that is all!’ Coins changed hands and the men went off, looking less gloomy. ‘Here it is. It was hidden behind the sacks, as you thought.’

He held out a plain leather purse, somewhat greasy. Gil took it, and weighed it.

‘It is not empty,’ agreed Maistre Pierre. ‘I have not looked, I kept it to show to you.’

‘It doesn’t feel like a key,’ said Gil, loosening the strings. He tipped the contents jingling into his palm.

‘Well, well,’ said Maistre Pierre. Gil sorted the coins.

‘Two, two and a half — three merks in silver, and several groats. A total of two pounds and eighteen pence Scots,’ he said, ‘simply carried about in his purse. And this.’ He pushed the little set of tablets along his fingers.

‘I use tablets when I am working,’ observed the mason, ‘but I should have thought these too small to be much use for taking notes.’

‘He had a small hand,’ said Gil, ‘and there are several leaves.’ He shook the purse. ‘Is there anything — ah!’

White flakes fell to the flagstones. The mason pounced, and came up with two pieces of paper, one folded into a long curling spill, one wadded square.

‘What have we here?’ he said, and unfolded the long piece.

Tiny writing, in ink, covered one side and half of the other.

‘It is notes of some sort,’ said the mason after a moment. ‘What does it say?’

‘M will be in G,’ Gil read, taking the much-creased sheet. ‘He believed in making full use of the paper, didn’t he? H passed through for Irvine. I wonder who H and M might be?’

‘Friends of the boy’s? And why ever fold it like this?’

‘Who knows? What of the other piece?’

Maistre Pierre unfolded the thick square.

‘It makes no sense,’ he complained.

Gil peered over his shoulder, tucking the coins back in the purse.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s in some kind of code.’

‘Certainly no language that I know.’

‘A game of some sort?’

‘He has sustained it well,’ said the mason thoughtfully. ‘It is a long passage to put into code, merely for a game.’

‘Well, we can try to decode it, though I suspect it will take time. And the tablets.’ Gil slipped the leather case off and turned the little block to admire it. ‘Very pretty, with this chip-carving on the outside. What has he written down? M will be in G — it seems to be the original notes for the long piece of paper.’

‘Why did he simply transcribe them?’ Maistre Pierre wondered. ‘More usual, surely, to expand — to say who he meant by M.’

Gil grunted absently, turning the little wooden leaves.

‘What’s this?’ he said, tilting the last opening to read the tiny writing incised on the green wax. ‘It looks like a will.’

‘I thought you said he was a bastard,’ said the mason.

‘I did,’ said Gil in puzzlement. ‘He couldn’t make a will. What does it say? I, William Montgomery, sometime called William Irvine, being in my right mind and now able to make a will, commend my soul to Almighty God and direct that. . Whatever is he about?’

‘It is not signed,’ observed Maistre Pierre. ‘Nor witnessed.’

‘He would hardly get it witnessed still in the wax like this, even if it had any standing. His kin may take it as an instruction if they please, but if I know the Montgomery … He wishes his property divided equally between Ann Irvine, whoever she is, and Ralph Gibson. Poor boy,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Was this fantasy? Or folly?’

‘Should it be either?’

Gil tapped the frame of the tablet with a long forefinger.

‘He is pretending, here, to be legitimate. Either it was a private game, committed to writing, or he was deluding himself into believing it.’

‘Do not we all delude ourselves, at his age?’ Maistre Pierre took the long spill of paper back and folded it carefully with the larger sheet. ‘I myself was convinced from the ages of nine to twelve that I was of noble blood, snatched away at birth. I still remember the disappointment when I realized that I had no birthmark by which my true exalted parent could recognize me when I rescued him from drowning.’ He laughed, the white teeth flashing in his neat beard. ‘We lived, you understand, two hundred leagues from the sea.’

‘I see where Alys gets her love of romance,’ Gil commented. ‘Come and see if Patrick Coventry’s key will open the boy’s chamber. There is something strange there.’

William’s stair was easily identified by the huddle of students at its foot. As Gil and Maistre Pierre approached, first one boy and then another put his head in at the doorway and ducked out again grinning with bravado.

‘What are you doing?’ Gil asked, making his way through the group.

‘Listening for the ghost, maister,’ said Richie the Scholar.

‘A ghost?’ said the mason. ‘In broad day?’

‘There is no ghost,’ Gil said. ‘How can a spirit with no body make a noise?’

‘Like the wind does?’ said somebody else smartly.

‘I heard it, maister,’ said one of the Ross boys with pride. ‘It went Ooo-oo.’

‘You dreamed it,’ said Gil. ‘Stay down here, all of you.’

William’s door was halfway up the stair, and therefore had only a narrow wedge of landing. Maister Coventry and Maister Kennedy were waiting there, still in formal academic dress, both with the appearance of men who would rather be elsewhere.

‘Gil!’ said Maister Kennedy. ‘Thank God you’re here. Listen to this — there is something in there.’

They listened.

‘I hear nothing — ’ said the mason, but Patrick Coventry’s upraised hand cut him off. Then they all heard it, through the heavy oak door: a high-pitched sobbing, unearthly, dying off in a wail. Gil felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

‘No mortal throat made that sound,’ said Maistre Pierre through dry lips, and clutched at the crucifix on the end of his set of beads.

‘Does that open this door?’ Gil asked, looking at the key in the Second Regent’s hand. For answer, the small man fitted it into the lock and turned it. The tumblers clicked round. Gil lifted the latch and pushed, and the door swung ponderously open.

‘Christ aid!’ said Maister Kennedy.

The room was in complete disarray. Books and clothing were strewn about, the bed-frame yawned emptily and mattress and blankets were tumbled in a heap, a lute lay under the table.

‘Faugh!’ exclaimed Maistre Pierre. ‘What a stench!’

‘Yes,’ said Gil, relaxing. ‘What a stench, indeed.’

He stepped into the room, placing his feet with care, and halted. The mason moved watchfully to stand at his back, saying, ‘But what has happened here? Is this the work of devils? Is that why the stink — ?’

Gil, surveying the wrecked room, said absently, ‘No, I think not. Watch where you step, Pierre.’ He moved forward as the two regents followed them, staring round. ‘I think we can conclude,’ he continued, ‘that someone has found William’s key and made good use of it.’ He bent to lift the rustling mattress back into the bed-frame, and piled the blankets on top of it.

‘He had many possessions, for such a young man,’ said the mason, still watchful at Gil’s back.

‘And what in the name of all the saints was making that noise?’ said Maister Coventry.

‘That?’ said Maister Kennedy in alarm.

They all looked where he was pointing. A heap of clothing lay under the window, a tawny satin doublet, a red cloth jerkin, several pairs of tangled hose. As they watched, the jerkin moved, apparently by itself. The high wailing began again, and something appeared from the cuff of the sleeve and became a grey hairy arm.

‘Ah, the poor mite!’ said Gil. Under the mason’s horrified gaze he strode forward and lifted the clothing. The jerkin came up, swinging heavily, with a grey shaggy body squirming in its folds.

‘Mon Dieu, what is it?’ said the mason as a long-nosed face appeared through the unlaced armhole.

‘A dog,’ said Gil. ‘At least, a puppy. Wolfhound, deerhound — one or the other. Some kind of hunting dog, certainly.’

He disengaged the animal from the garment and set it on its feet, a gangling knee-high creature consisting principally of shaggy legs and a long nose. It promptly abased itself, pawing appealingly at his boots. He bent to feel at its collar. ‘Perhaps three or four months old, far too young to be wearing a good leather collar like this. That’s the source of the stink,’ he added. ‘Watch where you put your feet. Bad dog,’ he said to the pup, which flattened its ears and wagged its stringy tail, trying to excuse its lapse of manners.

‘William should certainly not have been keeping a dog in his chamber,’ said Maister Coventry.

‘That’s William for you,’ said Nick Kennedy.

‘Who do you suppose searched the place?’ said Maistre Pierre, watching Gil soothing the dog. ‘Was it the same person who killed the young man?’

‘Quite possibly,’ said Gil. ‘But it was certainly the same person who hit this fellow over the head.’ He lifted the pup again, its long legs dangling, and turned its head so that they could all see the blood clotted in the rough hair behind one ear. ‘I’ll wager he tried to defend his master’s property, eh, poor boy? — and was struck or kicked. When he recovered he began to howl, and the boys took him for a ghost.’

‘Poor brute,’ said Maister Coventry. ‘What a way to treat a young animal!’

‘What about this chamber?’ said Maister Kennedy, cutting across the mason’s comment. ‘Do we search it, or lock it, or send for John Shaw to get it redded up?’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Gil, ‘that we must search it ourselves. It should not take the four of us long.’

‘What are we looking for?’ said Maister Kennedy in resigned tones.

‘Anything the boy should not have had. Possibly papers, or money, or jewels.’ Gil settled the pup in a nest in the blankets and turned away. It promptly staggered out and pawed at his boots again.

‘Papers, you say?’ Maistre Pierre stared round again. ‘Gil, I see very little paper here. Surprisingly little, for a student’s chamber.’

‘What about the students?’ said Patrick Coventry. ‘There are a great many boys below in the yard working themselves into a terror about the ghost.’

‘Let them,’ said Maister Kennedy callously, stooping to lift a book. ‘Peter of Spain. This is the library’s copy, with Duncan Bunch’s own notes in it. Plague take the boy, I’ve been wanting this for months. As well they never saw the brute,’ he added, ‘or they’d have kent it for Auld Mahoun himself.’

‘And what do we do with it?’ worried Maister Coventry, shaking out the satin doublet. ‘We canny keep a wolfhound when we’ve forbidden the students to keep dogs.’

‘Properly he belongs to William’s next kin,’ said Gil doubtfully, ‘but he must be fed and physicked before they can be here to claim him.’

‘That’s true. It seems to like you, Maister Cunningham. Would you take it? As regent with a duty for the late keeper,’ said the Second Regent formally, ‘I ask you to have a care to this animal until its right owner can be identified. Will that do?’

‘Admirably,’ said Gil, and grinned. The pup licked his hand with a long wet tongue. ‘Do you suppose Alys would give me some bread and milk for him, Pierre?’

‘And this,’ announced Maister Kennedy, practically gnashing his teeth, ‘is the library’s second copy, bound up with Laurence of Lindores’ commentary on the Book of Suppositions. I have been hunting for this for over a year!’

‘It was not the only treasure in his chamber,’ said Gil, setting several bundles on Maister Doby’s reading-desk.

‘So I perceive,’ said the Principal, eyeing them askance. ‘What are all these?’

‘Four books belonging to the library’ Gil indicated the little volumes. ‘Who is librarian just now, maister? Perhaps some change to the rules?’

‘I will recommend it. And these?’

‘Two more books, apparently William’s own. One belonging to the senior bachelor, Michael Douglas, which I will return to him. A green silk purse with a surprising amount of money, and some jewels.’ Gil unrolled the red cloth jerkin, to reveal the three elaborate brooches which he had pinned to the cloth.

‘He should certainly not have kept these in his chamber,’ said the Principal after a moment, ‘setting temptation in the way of his fellow students.’

‘Quite so. There are also two rings, which I stowed in the purse with the money, and these.’ He unrolled the jerkin further. ‘We can ask at the armourer where he got a pair of daggers like that, but I suspect it wasn’t in Glasgow.’

There was a high wailing sound from the antechamber.

‘What is that noise?’ asked the Principal, distracted.

Gil, aware he was going red, said, ‘It’s William’s dog. It’s taken a liking to me. Maister Mason was going to take it to his house to wait, but it’s reluctant to go with him.’

‘A dog? How could the laddie keep a dog in secret?’ asked Maister Doby, perplexed.

‘It may not have lived in his chamber,’ Gil speculated. ‘Maister, may I ask some questions?’ The older man inclined his head. ‘Can you suggest who might have been William’s enemy?’

‘Oh, no. Not to such an extent. Although he was clever he was not admired,’ admitted Maister Doby, ‘and he was not as popular as one might expect, but surely he had no enemies?’

‘Clearly he had one at least, as Maister Crawford said,’ said Gil. ‘Can you offer me any interpretation of his question at the Faculty meeting? That might lead us to his enemy.’

‘But it might also lead us to suspect unjustly someone who was in fact innocent.’

‘Maister,’ said Gil patiently, ‘the boy deserves justice. Moreover, the person who killed him needs the succour of Holy Kirk, to bring him to repentance and confession of his sin.’

‘That is true,’ agreed the Principal. He thought deeply for a short while, then sighed and said heavily, ‘I can shed no light on the suggestion of heresy, and I suspect you will not find anyone who will.’

‘Probably not,’ agreed Gil.

‘But I wondered if the charge of peculation might be a garbled recollection of something that happened when John Goldsmith was Principal.’ Maister Doby paused, and counted carefully, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk. ‘Aye, in ’85. The college had borrowed money from old John Smyth, you remember him?’

‘My uncle has mentioned him. He was senior song-man at the cathedral, was he no?’

‘Quite so.’ The Principal glanced at his door. ‘That dog sounds to be in pain.’

‘It’ll stop greeting when it sees me,’ said Gil, embarrassed.

‘Then in God’s name have it in and silence it.’

Gil fetched the pup from the anteroom, where the mason gave it up with some relief, and returned to his seat with the creature, trying to repress its ecstatic embraces.

‘That’s a dog of breeding,’ Maister Doby remarked acutely, watching as it sat down at Gil’s feet and laid its head on his knee. ‘Someone will ken where he got it from. Where was I? Oh, aye, old John Smyth. Well, he wanted his money back, and Maister Goldsmith couldn’t just put his hand on it, and David Gray was Bursar at the time and catched in the midst of the ding-dong. I mind he was ill with the worry of it at the time. You follow me?’

‘I think so,’ said Gil with caution. ‘You are saying that there was a little trouble about money, and Maister David Gray was caught up in it.’

‘But without fault,’ said the Principal firmly. ‘I mind the whole thing. John Smyth got his money in the end, we had to borrow from the archdeacon to pay him, and one or two said David had mismanaged it, but they didny see the books, and I did, for I was Wardroper that year. In any case, Gilbert, David was at the high table with the Dean and me, he canny have throttled the boy.’

‘He was, wasn’t he,’ agreed Gil, recalling the way Maister Gray had sat staring into the flan-dish before him. ‘What were you eating up there, maister? Was it any better than what we got?’

‘I think Dean Elphinstone commended the spiced pork,’ said Maister Doby, ‘but to tell truth, Gilbert, I have no sense of taste these days. One stew is much like another. There was raisins in it, I can tell you that.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will lock these things away. Have you the inventory? Good. And signed by Nicholas and Patrick. Excellent. You were aye one to think of everything, Gilbert.’ He bent and held out a hand to the pup, which inspected it solemnly and administered a minuscule lick. ‘But we willny lock you away, treasure or no, eh? Take care of the brute, Gilbert. They eat like a student, at this age.’

The Principal turned to the door, as there came a tapping on the planks from the other side. He opened it, and a fond smile crossed his face.

‘Well, Billy? This is William Ross, Gilbert. He and his brother lodge at my house. What is it, Billy?’

‘If you please, maister,’ said William Ross, stepping confidently into the room and bobbing his head in a schoolboy’s bow, ‘Jaikie at the yett sent me to say there’s a bonnie young lady asking for Maister Cunningham.’