Free The King's Corrodian by Pat McIntosh Page B

o your neighbours saw anything?’ Alys asked. Mistress Buttergask shook her head.
    ‘No, none o them. It was just a chance that I was up at that time and keeked out. I suppose they didny happen to do likewise. Come away down to the warm, lassie, it’s chilly up here.’
    The mood in the town was no better than it had been when they rode through yesterday – could it only be yesterday? Surly groups of men stood on street corners in the drizzle, gaggles of women had their heads together in doorways. The word
witchcraft
floated on the wind. Alys picked her way along the darkening Skinnergate and past St John’s Kirk, hoping the two servants could obey her instructions and keep silent at her side long enough to get through the burgh. She was aware of curious glances, as a stranger in town, and also of Jennet peering at the stalls and booths they passed, nudging Tam to point out a leatherworker’s display on the Skinnergate, but they reached the South Port without drawing undue attention to themselves, emerged through it and took the short path to the Franciscan monastery.
    Its buildings were less ostentatious than the Blackfriars’ foundation, with a low plain church surrounded by timber-framed structures, a hall and dorter and Chapter House, and a paling fence round about the policies. Alys had noticed it as they rode into Perth and had thought then how characteristic it was of the Franciscans with their vow of poverty.
    ‘What, more friars?’ said Jennet in discontent. ‘Could we no get questioning someone wi a friendly kitchen, mem, same as the last one? Those lassies were right good company, weren’t they no, Tam?’ Tam grunted agreement, and she went on, ‘Tellt us all what their mistress seen fro the window, and how the Bishop was there telling her no to pass the word on, and that wee dog o his stole a good leather glove and chewed it all to ribbons, and then picked a fight wi her doggie and all. Our dog would never do a thing like that.’
    ‘No, indeed.’ Alys led the way to the west door of the church. ‘I may need you, if I can get a private word wi one o the friars, so don’t stray.’
    ‘As if I would!’ said Jennet, offended.
    To Alys’s relief, she had gauged the afternoon correctly; at this time of year it began to grow dark well before the clergy began to think of their evening devotions. The church was busy, with lay people kneeling before one saint or another, several Franciscans moving among them in their grey gowns with the knotted rope girdle. I hope they wear enough under those, Alys thought irrelevantly. They could die of the cold. The Rule was written for Italy, not Scotland. She looked about her, and caught the eye of one of the friars, who made his way towards them.
    ‘Can I help you, daughter?’ he asked.
    ‘Faither,’ she said, and curtsied, aware of Jennet crossing herself, Tam muttering something like
Amen
. ‘I hope so. I read something in a book lately, and I hoped someone here might explain it to me.’
    ‘A book,’ he said in disapproving tones. ‘You can read?’
    ‘My mistress is aye reading,’ said Jennet proudly. ‘Our maister says she’s a great scholar.’
    The friar shook his head. ‘Better to leave sic things to the men, daughter, and mind your household,’ said the friar, his disapproval deepening.
    ‘Nevertheless,’ Alys persisted, ‘now I have this matter in my head, I’d as soon have it expounded.’
    ‘What’s this matter, then? What book were you reading in?’
    ‘Albert the Great. He mentions the secret fire.’ She watched the changes in his expression, keeping her smile as innocent as she could manage.
    After a moment he said, ‘Hah! I’ve no time to deal wi sic things the now. Bide here, lassie, and I’ll see who I can send out to you.’
    Seating herself on the stone bench at the wall-foot, she drew her beads from her purse and prepared to wait, the two servants beside her. In fact, it was no more than a quarter of an hour before