Free A Pig of Cold Poison by Pat McIntosh Page A

better. I wouldn’t need to see your note unless you learn aught the Provost has to hear,’ he added, ‘but I’d as soon know it was writ down somewhere just what you learned.’
    Wat frowned at this, but grunted agreement. His wife looked at him, then into the mortar; pushing it to one side she covered it with a cloth and said, ‘I’ll go out the now, while folk are still in their houses. How was Christian the day, sir?’ she added shyly. ‘Adam said she was to lie at your house. That was kind in you.’
    ‘She’s worried for her brother,’ Gil said. ‘She went down the town early, to see to the booth and get a loaf to send in for him to break his fast.’ He glanced at the window. ‘I’d best be away to the Tolbooth and speak to the man myself.’
    ‘Tell him he has our prayers,’ she said, and both the brothers agreed with emphasis.
     
    ‘Spoke to the Provost,’ repeated Serjeant Anderson.
    ‘You can send a man up to the Castle to check, if you like,’ said Gil pleasantly.
    ‘No, no, I’ll tak your word for it, maister.’ The Serjeant reached for his keys, rose in offended dignity from his great chair and turned towards the stair which descended from the far side of his cluttered chamber. ‘Come and get speech wi our pysoner, then. I’ve no put him to the question yet, I was waiting on instruction from the Provost myself and he’ll likely want him up at the Castle. Forbye my lord Montgomery hasny returned the pilliwinks he borrowed off me the last time he was in Glasgow.’
    Suppressing the thought of what thumbscrews would do to a man used to such fine work as rolling pills and measuring tiny quantities of their ingredients, Gil followed the Serjeant down to the row of three small cells where miscreants were held until justice came their way.
    ‘We’ve no that much room,’ admitted the Serjeant, ‘seeing the Watch lifted a couple of lads on the Gallowgate last night, suspicion of pickery, and the ale-conners had a bit trouble yesterday and all, so we’ve a hantle of alewives, causing of mob and riot …’ He paused as a volley of shrill invective struck them from the alewives’ cell. ‘But just the same I put him in on his own, seeing it’s no right to ask other folk, even ill-doers, to share a cell wi a pysoner.’ He was unlocking the furthest cell as he spoke, and now unbarred the door and opened it cautiously, peering in. ‘Right, Anthony Bothwell, here’s a man of law to question you why you did it.’
    Bothwell was on his feet when Gil stepped into the cell, a blanket round his shoulders, the end of a loaf in one hand. He ducked his head in a bow, stammering, ‘Maister Cunningham! This is right kind of you –’
    ‘Wait till he’s questioned you afore you call him kind,’ said the Serjeant. ‘Just kick the door and shout a bit when you want to leave, maister, I’ll hear you in time.’
    As lock and bar clunked into place Gil looked round and sat down cautiously on the stone slab which served as a bed.
    ‘Your sister’s loaf reached you,’ he observed.
    Bothwell looked down at the crust. ‘Aye. How is she? She’s aye – she’s –’
    ‘She’s out at the booth here,’ Gil said. ‘She’s feared it might be attacked if she left it unattended.’
    ‘Aye. I thought o that too, in the night,’ said Bothwell. He took two paces across the cell and two back, and turned to Gil, spreading his hands, the crust shedding crumbs on the filthy floor. ‘What am I to do, maister? I never pysont Danny, whatever the Serjeant says, but he’ll not hear me. I lay all night thinking, what of my sister? She’ll never wed now, we’ll never get a tocher thegither for her, who’ll go to an apothecary that’s been accusit of pysoning a man?’
    ‘You’d be surprised what folk can forget,’ said Gil. ‘Your sister’s asked me to look into this business. She’ll not believe you guilty, and nor do the Forrests, nor the other players.’
    ‘My thanks for that, maister,’ said