3 A Surfeit of Guns: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery (21 page)

King James rode off with his goblet tucked into his saddlebag, chuckling to himself and wondering idly was Carey still as much of an innocent as he had been? Surely not. Lord Spynie was riding close by, but casting looks like daggers over his shoulder at Carey. Well, it was always a pleasure to see a well-looking man with a bit of polish and a nice smooth tongue on him, it reminded him of poor d’Aubigny in a way that none of the ruffianly heathens and sour-faced Godlovers that generally surrounded him could ever do. Certainly not Spynie, whose polish was thinly applied and increasingly gimcrack.

The King began to look forward to the afternoon’s audience.

***

Young Hutchin had spent the morning finding the house of the Graham water-bailiff’s woman, in the unhealthy part of town near the Kirk Gate. His curiosity to see the court had completely left him, but he had a more urgent desire now. In the little wooden house he had discovered the water-bailiff, well settled in and dandling a baby on his knee while a plump girl laughed and stirred a pottage on the fire. Round the table were two other cousins of his, and his Uncle Jimmy.

There was some ribald cheering when he came in and his cousin Robert asked if he was planning to join the court and if he thought King James would like him too. Uncle Jimmy cuffed his son’s ear and asked if it was true what he had heard, that the Deputy Warden had gone after him alone with his sword.

Beetroot at the thought of the story getting back to his father, Young Hutchin nodded.

“He shouldnae have let ye come here,” opined cousin John, who was the elder and took his responsibilities seriously.

An innate sense of fairness forced Hutchin to explain. “I came after him meself and I wouldnae go back to Carlisle though he told me to,” he said. “Ye cannae blame the Deputy for the mither.”

Uncle Jimmy grunted. “D’ye want us to do anything?” he asked.

Hutchin thought about this for a while. It was a serious matter. If he said the word, he could be sure that every man in the room at the Red Boar would have a price on his head and the whole Graham surname after his blood. It was a warming thought, that, but would it be as satisfying as seeing them die himself?

“Nay,” he said at last. “I’ll kill them all meself when I’m grown. I can wait.”

Uncle Jimmy exchanged looks with the water-bailiff who nodded approvingly.

“That’s right, lad,” said Uncle Jimmy. “Allus do the job yerself if ye can, and be sure it’s done the way ye want it. And what’s the Deputy doing here anyway?”

“He’s looking for the guns that were reived out of Carlisle Keep on Sunday, for one thing,” Young Hutchin told him. Uncle Jimmy laughed shortly. Everyone knew what had happened to them, except the Deputy of course. “And he keeps asking after a German he saw arrested on the Border the Saturday as well, wants to talk to him.”

“Why?” asked Uncle Jimmy.

Young Hutchin frowned. “How would I know?” he said. “He might want to make friends. Can ye keep an eye out for him?”

The other Grahams sighed deeply. “That’s ticklish, Young Hutchin,” said his other cousin. “What if this German doesnae want to meet the Deputy?”

Young Hutchin shrugged. “I think he’ll be as bitten by curiosity as any other man,” he said. “Would ye not at least go to gawk, Cousin Robert, if ye were not at the horn, that is?”

Cousin Robert snorted.

Not one of the Grahams, other than Young Hutchin and the water-bailiff, was legally there, because at least one of the stated reasons for the King being in Dumfries was to harry the evil clan of Graham, that had lifted so many of his best horses, off the face of the earth. The evil clan knew this perfectly well and were anxious to hear about it when the King finally decided what to do with his army.

So there were the Johnstones who were old friends and with the town as packed as it was, a few extra louring ruffians in worn jacks were hardly noticeable. Uncle Jimmy and his sons promised to look out for the German, and gave Hutchin news of his father and his Uncle Richard of Brackenhill, who were finding that people were even slower with their blackrent payments than usual. According to Uncle Jimmy, Richie of Brackenhill blamed the new Deputy Warden who was shaking everything up so well, and wanted Hutchin’s estimate of what it would cost to pay him off and how he should be approached.

Hutchin blew out his cheeks and drank some of the mild ale poured by the water bailiff’s woman. She had pretty brown hair and a lovely pair of tits to her; Hutchin found his attention wandered every time she passed, and when she sat herself down on a stool to feed the babe, it was all he could do not to state. God knew, it was older men and weans had all the fun. None of the maids he met would let him so much as squeeze their paps.

“Young Hutchin?” pressed Uncle Jimmy, looking amused. “How much for the Deputy’s bribe?”

“It’s hard to tell,” Hutchin said slowly. “I dinnae think he thinks like other men.”

“Och nonsense,” growled Uncle Jimmy. “Every man has his price.”

“Ay, but I dinna think it’s money he wants.”

“What d’ye mean?” demanded cousin Robert. “O’ course he wants money, what man doesnae?”

“Land? Cattle? Women?”

“Nothing so simple, see ye, Uncle Jimmy,” said Hutchin. “Ay, he wants something, but I dinna ken for sure what it is.”

“When ye find out, will ye pass the word to your Uncle Richie, Hutchin? God knows, it’s why we paid to put ye in the Keep in the first place.”

“Of course.” Hutchin was offended. “I know that. But it’s no’ so simple as I thought. It’s…well, he doesnae treat me like ye’d expect, and he doesnae think like a Borderer. I’m no relation of his at all, but there it was, he came after me.”

Surprisingly, Uncle Jimmy nodded. “Your Uncle Jock o’ the Peartree was saying something alike the other day. He’s as puzzled as ye are. But dinna forget, Carey’s got his price, same as any man. All ye need to do is find out what it is and we’ll do the rest.”

Hutchin smiled. “Whatever it is, it’ll be high. Have ye seen the velvets and silks he wears and the way he treats ‘em?”

Uncle Jimmy laughed. “Och, we’ll even pay his tailor’s bills for him, if he wants. Uncle Richie’s a businessman, no’ a headcase like Kinmont Willie.”

Belly packed tight with a hot pottage and more ale Young Hutchin said goodbye to his relatives and started back up the Soutergate towards the Townhead and Maxwell’s Castle. He felt very proud of himself for never mentioning the water-bailiff’s rather older wife that he had left in Carlisle.

As he picked his way between the heaps of dung and the men playing dice and drinking at every corner, he realised that someone was keeping pace with him. Narrow-eyed with new suspicion, he looked sideways as he drew his dagger, saw a stocky youth a little older than himself, but well-dressed in a wool suit and wearing a sword, though not obviously a courtier. His face seemed a little familiar, but Hutchin couldn’t place it.

“Good afternoon,” said the youth cheerfully. “Are you Hutchin Graham?”

“Who wants to know?” demanded Hutchin, backing to the wall and looking around for ambushes.

The youth took his cap off politely. “Roger Widdrington, second son of Sir Henry,” he said, and then added, “Lady Widdrington sent me.”

Young Hutchin relaxed slightly. He could hear easily enough that this Roger Widdrington was no Scot, but did indeed come from the East March.

“Ay,” he said. “I’m Hutchin Graham.”

“Sir Robert Carey’s pageboy?”

“Ay. What about it?”

Roger Widdrington moved closer, ignoring Hutchin’s dagger, so that they were under the overhang of an armourer’s shop. “Ye know that my Lady Elizabeth has been forbidden to speak to the Deputy?”

Hutchin nodded. He had carried the letter, but had not been able to read it. However, it was easy enough to guess what it said from the Deputy’s reaction to it.

“Well,” said Roger Widdrington with a knowing grin, “my stepmother still likes to hear about him. Will ye tell me anything you can about him while he’s in Dumfries?”

“The Deputy doesnae take me into his confidence much.”

Roger Widdrington nodded wisely. “Whatever you can tell me,” he said. “And my lady will pay you of course, sixpence for each item of information.”

Hutchin nodded cannily. That made sense and Lady Widdrington was a sensible woman. God knew, he sometimes thought the Deputy needed a nursemaid to keep him out of trouble.

“Ay,” he said. “I can do that.”

“What can you tell me now?”

“Not much. I havenae seen him since last night, for I left the Castle before him this morning.”

“How are his balls?”

Hutchin suppressed a grin. “Not bad, not bad at all, considering some bastard tried to swing on them, though he doesnae ken who, it being too close and too quick. He didnae need the surgeon, though Dodd was all for sending for one, but the Deputy said most of the surgeons he knew were ainly interested in what they could cut off, and that wasnae what he had in mind.”

Roger Widdrington laughed. “I’ll tell her he’s better,” he said, and handed Hutchin a silver English sixpence as proof of his integrity.

“Meet me here tomorrow at noon,” said Roger Widdrington. “Can you do that?”

“I reckon I can.”

“Excellent. Oh, and don’t tell the Deputy about this—Lady Widdington doesn’t want him worrying about what might happen to her if Sir Henry finds out.”

“Ay,” said Young Hutchin, well pleased with himself, pulled at his cap and went on up to Maxwell’s Castle.

***

King James had finished his repast, mainly of brutally tough venison, and was well into the Tuscan wine when the English Deputy Warden was announced. Beaming happily he rose to greet the man and found him down on one knee again.

“Up, up,” cried King James. “By God, I had rather look ye in the eye, than down on ye, Sir Robert. Will ye sit by me and take some wine? Good. Rob, my dear, fetch up some of the white Rhenish and some cakes for my good friend here.”

King James watched his page trot off dutifully and sighed a little. At that age they were delightful; so fresh-faced and rounded, but King James was a man of principle and had promised himself he would have nothing to do with children. Poor d’Aubigny had been clear in his contempt for those who did and besides, as he had also said in his delightful trilling French voice, how could one tell that they would not suddenly erupt with spots or become gangling and bony? Beauty was all to d’Aubigny, beauty and elegance, things in precious short supply in Scotland.

King James turned back to Carey and smiled. “It’s such a pleasure to meet someone newly from the English court,” he said. “Can ye tell me aught of my esteemed cousin, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth?”

Carey, who was extremely tall once off his knees, had sat down at once when invited to, tactfully upon a low folding stool by the King’s great carven armchair. He spoke at length about the Queen, from which King James gathered that the old bitch was still as pawky and impossible as ever; that she was spending money like water upon the war in the Netherlands and the miserable fighting against the Wild Irish led by O’Neill in the bogs of Ireland; that if James’s annual subsidy was actually delivered he should be grateful for it, since there was no chance whatever of an increase—a sad piece of news to King James, but not unexpected.

“Och, it’s a fact, Sir Robert,” he said sadly. “There is nothing more stupid than a war. If I have a hope for the…for the future, it is that I may one day become a means of peace between England and Spain.”

Sir Robert took this extraordinary sentiment like a man. Not a flicker of surprise did his face betray; instead he managed to bow from a sitting position and say “Her Majesty is often heard to say the same thing: that the war was never of her making and that she fought against it with all she had and for as long as she could, but that at the last you cannot make peace with one who is determined to fight.”

“Ay,” said the King. “That’s true as well and well I know it.”

“What Her Majesty deplores most of all is the waste of gold to pay for weapons. She says it is like a great bottomless pit, and if you tip in cartloads of gold, still you never hear them so much as tinkle.”

King James smiled at the figure, but felt he could improve it. “Or the mouth of an ever hungry monster, a cockatrice or a basilisk, perhaps.”

“It’s not surprising,” continued Carey. “For weapons are expensive, above all firearms.”

“So they are, so they are,” agreed King James affably as the young Robert came trotting back with a silver flagon and two silver goblets. The wine was better than most of the stuff swilling around Dumfries, but still not up to its surroundings, and Carey had some work to swallow it. King James was more used to the rotgut that the Hanseatic merchants had been unloading on thirsty Scotland until the Bonnettis arrived, and knocked his own drink back easily.

“We had a strange accident in Carlisle upon the Sunday,” said Carey after a moment’s pause. “A number of newly delivered firearms were stolen out of our very armoury while we were at muster in readiness to assist you.”

“Never?” said King James. “Well, I am sorry to hear it, Sir Robert, sorry indeed. Such dishonesty…”

“It was thought that they might have come to Scotland, perhaps brought by an ill-affected noble?”