Free The King's Corrodian by Pat McIntosh

mistress!’ This was clearly a well-rehearsed tale.
    ‘Oh, it still makes me that wambly to think on it!’ She paused, considering her audience. ‘I rose in the middle of the night, see, and when I’d done wi the jordan and eaten a bite out the dole-cupboard, I went to the window to see how the night was progressing.’
    ‘The window looks the same way as this one?’
    ‘It’s the chamber above this.’ On the word, they heard footsteps overhead, and chattering voices. Roileag yapped, and Mistress Buttergask smiled tolerantly. ‘Och, those lassies, they’ll be showing your servants where I looked out and what it was I saw.’
    ‘Did you open the shutter?’ Alys asked, one ear cocked for the responses above her.
    ‘I did.’ Mistress Buttergask nodded. ‘I did that, for it was a mite stuffy in the chamber, for all it was so cold. Bitter cold it was, and a clear night, wi a hard frost. So I looked out,’ she went on, regaining her narrative, ‘and the moon was shining on the rooftops, and sparkling on the frost, right bonnie it was, and not a thing moving. And I was just thinking what a sight it was, wi the moon and the stars like jewels, when I seen this great black shape rise up fro the roof there.’
    She waited expectantly. Alys obliged by saying, ‘A shape? What sort of a shape?’
    ‘Oh, my!’ The other woman set one hand at the base of her throat and looked away, down at the floor beside her. ‘What a sight it was! All hunched ower, ye ken, what wi carrying the man, but there was flames flitterin about it, and a pair o great red een. I crossed mysel, you can be sure,’ she suited the action to the words, ‘and woke Rattray, and got him out his bed to look. And he seen it and all, and bore me out when I tellt Father Prior,’ she added, ‘so he’s no need to doubt me or shorten the tale. I was feart for my mortal soul, I can tell you, mistress, and Rattray’s and all.’
    ‘He hadny shortened it by much,’ said Alys, studying her. There could be no doubt it had been a genuine account of something the woman had seen or thought she saw; she showed signs of distress now at the recollection. Roileag had jumped possessively onto her lap again, and now curled up firmly; her mistress stroked her fur, as if for comfort. ‘Will I call your servants for more of the wine?’ Alys asked. ‘Or should you eat one o the wee cakes, to settle your humours?’
    Mistress Buttergask drew a hand down her face and straightened up.
    ‘No, no, mistress, I’m well. Aye, maybe a cake.’ She accepted one when Alys handed her the platter, and nibbled it cautiously. ‘It just cam ower me all o a turn, there, how we’d escaped sic a fate as that poor man. No matter what an ill-doer he was, it’s no a thing I’d wish on anyone, to be carried off to the Bad Place and tormented by fiends the rest o yir life.’
    Alys, appreciating the charity which underlay the statement, made no comment on its theology.
    After a few moments her hostess said reflectively, ‘And it’s just come to me: none o my voices had a word to say that night.’
    ‘Would they usually?’ Alys asked, as being the most non-committal comment she could think of.
    ‘Oh, aye.’ Mistress Buttergask gave her a wary look. ‘It’s no – it’s no like I hear sounds, you ken. It’s like a voice right inside my head, telling me things, and sometimes I can picture them and all. There’s my grandam now telling me you’re a kind lassie, and well intentioned, but you’ve your own reasons for talking to me.’
    Taken aback, aware she was blushing, Alys could only say honestly, ‘Aye. That’s true, mistress.’
    ‘Och,’ said the other woman, ‘you’re asking it for your man. Your man’s work must aye come first, lassie, I see that.’
    No wonder Prior Boyd had not wished to hear this woman, Alys thought briefly. Trying to recover her poise, she said, ‘How long did – what you saw stay there? How long were you watching it?’
    ‘Oh!’ Clearly