The Counterfeit Madam (21 page)

The little valley narrowed, curved to the right, then to the left. She paused by a scatter of rougher stones, and bent to lift one which caught her eye, turning it this way and that in the light. Socrates came to see what she was looking at. Satisfied, she pushed his nose out of the way and found her purse again, tucked the scrap of stone into it, and drew out the dagger she had extracted from Gil’s kist last night. Leaving its sheath in the purse she shook her skirts straight and moved cautiously onward, the haft of the little weapon comforting in her hand. She was fairly sure now of what they would find, but if it came to an argument with the occupiers, it might help to be armed.

The burn beside her widened into a pool with a noisy waterfall at its head. The bank they followed rose, and the path swung away from the pool to skirt the waterfall. Beyond it she could see a wall of dark jagged rock, overhung with ivy and leaning bushes. Moving carefully, she climbed to the crest of the fall and paused warily in the shadow of some trees, studying the land. Socrates waited beside her, looking up at her face.

This was where the valley forked; the main burn swung to her right, a smaller burn tumbled in from the other side. There was no sign of flames, only a thread of smoke rising up somewhere on her left, but there was a sense of threat, the feeling of being watched, although nothing stirred but some black birds sailing against the brisk clouds, croaking in annoyance, and smaller singing birds hopping in the trees above her. She drew breath, told herself firmly not to be foolish, and moved forward to go and explore the new valley.

‘Both dead when we found them,’ said Lowrie.

‘The poor souls.’ Alys crossed herself, gazing at the scene, then knelt to close the remaining eye of the body nearest her. ‘What can have happened? I think this one must have fallen into the furnace, but the other?’

‘Stabbed,’ said Tam. ‘He was the luckier, I’d say.’

She nodded without looking up, biting her lips to keep the tears back, and touched the undamaged portion of the dead man’s face and neck with care, silently promising him her prayers.

Across the hollow the little furnace was still smoking, occasional flames leaping from the charcoal which was exposed where the clay and stones had crumbled. There was what looked like a crucible tilted among the debris, with crushed rock sintered into a lump; the big leather bellows were scorched beyond repair, a pair of tongs lay where they had been flung down, a patch of clay had been smoothed and grooved for pouring whatever should have run from the crucible. The other dead man lay on his face, sprawled, his hands out before him. A narrow slit in the back of his hooded leather sark told of his end. There was a smell, of blood, of burnt flesh and hair, of mud.

Her escort stood bareheaded and awkward in the presence of death. Luke was now openly weeping. Socrates sat at her elbow, subdued by the mood of the group.

‘But what has happened here?’ she asked, sitting back on her heels. ‘Have they fought one another? Was there a third man? I think,’ she tested the rigid neck again, ‘he is dead perhaps three hours or a little more.’

‘I’ve made out four men a’thegither,’ said Lowrie’s man Frank, gesturing at the trampled earth. ‘It’s no that clear, you’ll understand, but I’ve saw both their marks, and two others. Three o them’s all over the place here, one above the other, they’ve been here days I’d say or even longer. The last one’s just on the top o the rest, and him, well, it’s like he’s been fighting, the marks go all ways and the heels is right dug in, you can see where he jumped aside to get this fellow.’

‘Is this what you expected, mistress?’ Lowrie was trying for a normal tone of voice. ‘The mining? I take it they’re getting silver?’

‘I – yes,’ she admitted. ‘I wasn’t certain, you understand, but it seemed the best explanation. When I saw the rocks in the burn I thought it more likely. I saw a silver mine once before,’ she explained, ‘in France, in just such rock as this.’

‘A siller mine?’ said Sim hopefully. ‘Is there like to be siller lying about for the taking?’

‘We should check,’ said Lowrie. ‘But mind it belongs to the Crown, man, keep your light fingers off it if you see anything. And keep back from that furnace, it may no be yellow any longer but it’s still ower warm.’

‘Yes, we must check,’ said Alys, getting resolutely to her feet and looking round. Sim unwound his plaid and laid it over the dead man with care, hiding the ruined face. Frank followed his example to cover the other corpse. ‘Show me these marks,’ she said to him.

With an indulgent air he pointed out the traces of the different footprints, not easy to see in the rough broken stone underfoot, more readily picked out in the muddy patches near the burn. When she found another set of marks near the shelter he looked at her with more respect.

‘Aye, that’s number fower,’ he agreed, ‘he’s got a narrower heel than these ithers, and his toes is more like the shape o Tam’s or Luke’s and all. These ither three all had their shoon frae the same place, and it wasny hereabouts, I’d say.’

Alys nodded, gazing about her.

‘So these two were about their work,’ she said, ‘and this man with the different feet came and fought with them. One fell in the fire, and the stranger stabbed the other.’

‘Aye, or they fought among the three o them,’ the man offered. ‘Then he made off.’

‘I wonder how far he has gone,’ she said. ‘And where is the other man with these shoes? Could they be out there?’

They were only a few yards from the main valley, but because of the way this smaller burn twisted, they could neither see nor hear the other watercourse. The dell where they stood must once have been pretty, with little white flowers and hawthorn bushes under a ring of taller trees in which jackdaws commented busily on the strangers below them. Now it was scarred by the industry of the dead man and their companion; there was their small shelter of bent branches and hides, a stack of green wood cut for burning, the broken furnace now cooling rapidly, its spoil mixed with broken and crushed rock all about. Not far upstream a bigger spoil heap was smothering the aconites, and a low dark hole in the rocky bank spoke of a mine adit. What did the folk at the mine by Carluke call it? Oh, yes, an
ingaun ee
.

‘What were they doing here?’ Luke wondered, sniffing. ‘Why would you break the stone so small, mistress?’

‘To get the silver out,’ Lowrie said before she could answer. He bent and lifted a scrap of rock, turning it to the light as Alys had done on the path. There was a small gleam from one angle.

‘Oh, I see!’ said his man Sim. ‘And then they melt it in the furnace, and catch it in thon dish in its midst. That’s right clever. I never kent that was how you got siller.’

‘Was that the flames they all seen?’asked Tam, who was poking about the little shelter. ‘How about the howling and the fiends?’

‘Could two men work and two pretend to be fiends?’ Alys wondered. And this poor soul’s injuries, she realized grimly, would explain the howling Sir Richie heard this morning.

‘That’s what I thought,’ admitted Tam. He straightened up. ‘But there wasny four o them, mistress. There was three, for there’s three scrips here, and three bedrolls, and no sign there’s ever been a fourth dwelling here, the neat way it’s all fitted thegither.’

‘So where is the third?’ Lowrie looked about.

‘There’s four sets o prints,’ said Frank.

‘Aye, and what do we do wi these two, maister?’ asked Sim. He clapped Luke on the shoulder. ‘Here, laddie, it comes to all o us soon or late. No sense in grieving for a man you never met.’

‘I never kent eyes would do that,’ Luke said, wiping his nose on his sleeve, and sniffed again.

‘Take your dagger,’ Alys said in some sympathy, ‘and go cut some hazels to make hurdles, then we may carry them down to the kirk. Maybe Frank would go with you?’ She raised her eyebrows at Lowrie, who nodded briefly. ‘Tam, what else have you found?’ She crossed to the shelter, and bent to peer in. Above their heads the jackdaws rose and swirled, commenting indignantly on the extra movements.

‘Aye, well, they’ve been snug enough in here. Their blankets, a kettle for cooking, a couple lanterns—’

‘They would need the lanterns in the mine,’ Lowrie suggested. ‘No tools?’

‘How neat it all is. Is there nothing to tell us who sent them?’

‘No that I can see.’ Tam straightened up to look at Alys, but his gaze went beyond her. ‘Here, where’s the dog away to?’

She turned, in time to see the lean grey shape hurtling up the eastward slope away from the burn. Alarmed, she called him but he continued, and vanished among the bushes. Around her the men drew their weapons and scanned the valley sides, all three poised for action. Luke and Frank had gone the other way, she realized, westward, and as the thought reached her there was a terrified yell from the crest of the slope, and an outbreak of snarling.

‘Socrates! Hold!’ she shouted, and picked up her skirts, intending to follow the dog.

‘Wait here!’ ordered Lowrie, running past her. Tam and Sim were already part way up the slope, moving cautiously, peering through the branches for the sources of the snarling argument above them. Lowrie, whinger drawn, caught up and passed them. She stood anxiously staring as they worked their way up among the new leaves, trying to make out what Socrates was doing. His low, continuous growl told her he had trapped someone or something, but she thought he was uncertain what to do with his catch. A wolf? Surely not, this close to Glasgow, she told herself. A man? Is this who was watching earlier?

‘Stand still,’ said Lowrie sharply. A man, then. ‘I said stand still! Tam, Sim, get his arms, if he’ll not listen to me. Mistress, will you call the dog?’

It was less simple than that, of course. In the end Alys had to climb the slope to adjudicate between the dog and the three men. Socrates gave up his prisoner with reluctance, and watched jealously while the newcomer was escorted back down to the dell.

He was no more than a boy, she realized as she slithered after them, younger than Luke. He was dressed in shabby clothing of strange cut, jerkin and hose and a jack with holes at the elbows, and must have been hunting for the pot; a sling hung at his belt, and he had two coneys in a bag on his back. His boots were broad and round of heel and toe. He looked terrified, but when he saw the two silent forms in the hollow he checked in horror, and then flung himself forward with a cry. Lowrie dived after him, but was not in time to prevent him pulling back the checked folds of Sim’s plaid and revealing what the intense heat of the furnace had done to the dead man’s face.

‘
Vati!
’ he said, and choked, and heaved drily. ‘
Ah, mein vati!
’

‘High Dutch, I think,’ said Alys, overwhelmed with pity. ‘He says that is his father.’

‘I’ve no tongues other than Latin,’ said Lowrie, ‘and I doubt this laddie –
loquerisne latine
?’ There was no reaction; the boy had staggered back a few steps, and was staring at his father’s corpse, still gagging. ‘Either of you speak High Dutch?’

‘No me, maister,’ said Sim, and Tam shook his head. Alys mustered the few words of Low Dutch she knew, and put a hand on the prisoner’s wrist.

‘
Ik
Alys,’ she said, pointing at herself. ‘
Du?
’

He stared at her, as if returning from a great distance, then looked round at the men in fear. Lowrie shook his head and made a calming gesture with one hand, but the boy shivered.

‘
Du?
’ Alys repeated.

It took some time, during which Luke and Frank returned with armfuls of withies and began to construct a couple of hurdles, looking askance at the boy. His name was Berthold Holtzmann, the same as his father. Numbly, he identified the man under the other plaid, stroking the cold brow: his uncle Heini. They were here to mine silver, but he could not or would not understand Alys’s attempts to ask who had brought them here. He was clearly terrified about his own fate, and she could not find the words to reassure him.

‘When did he leave here?’ Lowrie asked. That took a lot of sign language and pointing, but eventually the boy pointed at the sun and tracked it back to where it had been when he left. ‘Five, maybe six hours,’ Lowrie estimated. ‘And you thought these two were dead three or four hours. This laddie’s been fortunate.’

‘You think it was not him who slew his uncle,’ Alys stated. He looked at her.

‘I think he’s the third man living in the shelter,’ he said. ‘There’s been another here the day, by what Frank sees, and this one touched both corps without a qualm. And their shoon came from the same soutar, all three pair. I think we seek the fourth man.’ He looked again at the sky. ‘We should leave here. We’ve to ride back to Glasgow, after all, wi an extra—’

‘Glasgow?’ repeated the prisoner. He was sitting shivering on the ground now, one of the blankets from the shelter wrapped about him, clutching his beads like a lifeline.

‘Aye, Glasgow. You know that word, do you?’ Lowrie said. The boy looked up at him, apparently trying to read his expression; then he looked at his father’s body again, bent his head meekly and nodded. Tears fell on the rough wool of the blanket.

‘So give me the tale again,’ said Otterburn. ‘Were you alone? I find that hard to believe.’

‘I’ve no doubt of that,’ said Gil politely. The clerk Walter glanced up briefly, and down again at his work. Gil thought the man was smiling. Himself, he had little to smile at. It was nearing Sext, and the day was going much too fast.

On last leaving the Castle, not really that long since, he had found Luke sound asleep beside Cato in the kitchen behind the House of the Mermaiden, the pair of them curled up on a straw mat like a pair of puppies. Helped by a disapproving dog he had roused the boy, steered him homeward, and eventually fallen into his own bed. By the time he woke, the sun was pouring in at the windows, Alys’s side of the mattress was cold, and no one in the household appeared to know where she was. Ealasaidh McIan seemed to want to talk to him, but he had excused himself to his duties.

‘You and – one other? decided in the midnight that you’d find Dod Muir in his own kist,’ said Otterburn. ‘Then you set up a shouting match wi the rest o the folk on Clerk’s Land, and bade the Watch rouse me. Have I that right?’

Gil bit back the first reply that rose to his lips, and after a moment said, with formality,

‘As I told you last night, Provost, I searched Dod Muir’s premises in pursuit of information concerning the person who killed Dame Isabella. I found Muir himself while I was doing that, and dropped the lid o the kist from surprise. That was what roused the neighbours.’

Otterburn glared at him, but rose, lifting his tablets from the table before him.

‘Come and we’ll look at Muir,’ he said. ‘Assuming it wasny you put him in there, you need to see what we found when we got him out his kist.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Gil, following the man down the fore-stair from his lodging. ‘Provost,’ he added quietly, as they reached the centre of the courtyard, far enough from the various passing servants to go unheard. Otterburn swung round to stare at him. ‘How well are you acquaint wi Madam Xanthe?’

The narrow gaze sharpened. Then the other man nodded briefly and moved on, but when he next spoke his manner was less curt.

‘It’s as well I seen the man last night,’ he said. ‘It’s clear enough he’d had time to set and soften again, he’d been dead since some time on,’ he counted, ‘this is Saturday, must ha been Thursday. We took him out as soon as it was light, for I want to get on and get the quest on him dealt wi as soon as we’ve sorted the old dame this morning, and here he is.’ He stepped into the shelter where both corpses were laid out, nodding to the man on guard, and pulled one of the linen cloths back from the form it shrouded.

Muir was a small man, dark-haired and spare of build. He had been stripped and washed, and the greenish tinge of decomposition could clearly be seen spreading across his hairy belly. There was no mark on his chest or abdomen; Gil bent and peered the length of the body, holding his breath, but could recognize nothing like a death-wound. Conscious of Otterburn’s gaze, he walked round the bier, lifted the scarred and calloused hands to study them, turned the head to search for a wound.

‘Ah,’ he said, as the bones of the skull shifted like gravel under his fingers. ‘That’s it. Was there any mark on his hands? Had he fought? Was there aught under his nails?’

‘Nothing,’ said Otterburn. ‘I looked.’

No huntsman, Gil thought, liked to take another’s word for the sign he found, but in this case he had no choice.

‘He’s been struck down,’ he said slowly, ‘likely from behind, by a man he knew.’ He felt again at the crushed bones of the head, and ruffled through the short locks to expose the scalp. ‘The weapon must ha been a heavy thing, but maybe padded, for the skin’s not broken.’ He grimaced. ‘The man’s workshop has any number o mells. Indeed, there was one laid on the bench, a monstrous great thing.’ He demonstrated the size of the mell head as he recalled it, and Otterburn nodded.

‘I sent a couple o the lads round to take a look,’ he said, ‘and they cam back wi one like that. They’d a look round, found the other fellow’s scrip that was lying in the loft, nothing else untoward. You’re welcome to take one o them and get a look yoursel,’ he added, ‘but I wanted the place checked afore the neighbours stripped it.’

‘I’d sooner question the neighbours themselves,’ Gil admitted. ‘What about this fellow’s clothes? Was there aught useful on him?’

‘You could say so.’ Otterburn looked modestly triumphant. ‘Nothing to speak of in his purse, but in the bottom o the kist – well, come and see.’

Back in his lodging, he made for the great kist by the wall. Walter looked up again as he unlocked it, but did not speak.

‘We need a stronger place to keep the likes o this,’ Otter-burn pronounced, delving under the lid. Gil repressed a shudder, thinking of the way he had put his hand on Dod Muir’s cold face doing the same thing. ‘Aye, here it is. Now what d’ye make o that, maister?’

It was a small column of brass, as long as Gil’s thumb, surprisingly heavy. One end was splayed like the top of a fence-post, as if from repeated blows of a hammer; the other –

‘Ah!’ he said, as James Third leapt briefly in the light. ‘This is what we were – this is one of the dies they’ve been using.’ He tilted it against the light, so that the image came and went. ‘Is it the first one, the worn one? The king has no ringlets that I can see.’

‘So I thought,’ agreed the Provost. ‘And it was in the bottom o the kist, like I said.’

‘What, just lying there? Had it fallen out of his clothing or his purse, maybe?’

‘I wouldny ha said so,’ Otterburn considered. ‘Maybe as if he’d been holding it, or the like, when he was struck down.’

‘He’d ha dropped it, surely.’ Gil looked at the object. ‘I’d think it’s been hidden on purpose along wi the corp, or – no, for it would be found when the corp was found, and that wouldny ha been much longer.’

‘He’s a bit ripe already,’ Otterburn agreed. ‘So’s the old dame.’

‘So why was it in there? I wonder what the man kept in that kist for usual? Was there anything under him?’

‘A blanket wi the moth. And no, nothing under the blanket, we looked.’ He glanced at the window. ‘Here, I’ve the quest on the two o them called as soon as dinner’s done wi. If you’re wanting to question any of the neighbours afore that you’d best get about it. They’re down in the cells, you’d best speak to Andro about it.’

Gil nodded, hefting the brass die in his hand. ‘I’ll take this with me, if I may. I’ll not lose it.’

Locating the captain of the guard, who was wrestling in his chamber with accounts overdue for the last quarter-day and very glad to be interrupted, Gil requested time with the prisoners, separately.

‘What, one at a time?’ Andro said, frowning. ‘Aye, well, I suppose it can be done. You can get them up here, if you want, it’s secure enough.’ He glanced out into the guardroom, where several men were sitting about playing dice or arguing about football. ‘Who d’ye want first? Jack! Jimmy! Away down and fetch that Neil Campbell up here to Maister Cunningham.’

‘Are they held separately?’ Gil asked. ‘They’ve had no time to agree their tale, have they?’

‘No on my watch,’ said Andro, pushing his papers unceremoniously aside. He tramped out into the guardroom, returning with a jug of ale and two beakers. ‘Hae a seat, maister. Jack, you gomeril, I tellt ye
Neil
Campbell, no
Noll
Campbell.’

‘I tellt ye,’ said one of the men escorting the whitesmith.

‘Well, it sounds the same,’ argued the other, propelling the prisoner into the chamber. ‘Right, you, stand there and behave.’

‘I’ll take this one for now,’ said Gil, rearranging his thoughts. ‘I’ll see Neil Campbell next.’ He looked up at the surly face of Noll Campbell, and held up the brass die. ‘Where’s the other one, Campbell?’

The man’s gaze went to the bright thing, and he frowned briefly, and then said,

‘What other? What is it?’

‘Oh, I think you know well enough,’ said Gil. He turned the die over, making it appear and disappear between his fingers as if it was a coin. ‘There should be two. In fact I think there are four, because the first pair wore out. When did you cast this one? Does Maister Hamilton and the rest of the guild ken you’re working in brass as well as white metals? I’m sure they’ll be interested, since it means you’re at default in the guild fees.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the prisoner, scowling, trying to pretend he was not watching the brass pillar slithering through Gil’s fingers. ‘Nor I don’t know why I was flung in the jail last night, it was never me found Dod Muir dead in his own kist. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘So you say,’ said Gil agreeably, and set the die on the table. ‘No, I’d sooner hear why you put your cousin Neil to sleep in Dod Muir’s loft. Why should he not sleep in your house?’

The whitesmith shrugged.

‘He never has. He has aye slept at Dod Muir’s, him or Euan, when they are in Glasgow.’

‘Why?’ Gil asked, curious.

‘We have but the one bed, it’s ower narrow, and,’ with a flash of wry humour, ‘he would not be fitting in the cradle.’

‘Where does your prentice sleep?’

‘Prentice? I’ve no prentice. I can barely support mysel, I’ve no work to spare for a daft laddie.’

‘And your sister has no room either?’ Gil suggested.

‘What has our kin’s arrangements to do wi you?’

‘You speak civil to Maister Cunningham,’ said Andro, pouring ale for himself and Gil. ‘Or we’ll learn you some manners.’

‘What brings Neil to Glasgow, anyway?’ Gil continued, ignoring this as much as the prisoner did. ‘Who is he working for?’

‘How would I be knowing that? He runs errands for one or another, so far as I can tell, there is no pride in him. You can ask at him for yoursel.’

‘Oh, I will, be sure of it. So if you’ve no prentice,’ Gil said, twirling the little column of brass round a forefinger, ‘who was it was taken up for theft the evening the Provost’s men searched the toft?’

‘No idea,’ said Campbell firmly. ‘It was just someone was passing, it was them decided he was my prentice, I never said a—’

‘Oh, you did so, you sliddery leear!’ exclaimed the man on his right. ‘For I was there, it was me took up the fellow when he would ha run off, and I heard all you said!’

‘Did you now?’ said Gil with interest. ‘Tell me more, man.’ And why did the tale not reach me before this, he wondered. I suppose because none of us asked.

‘Aye, speak up, Jack,’ said Andro, sitting forward. ‘Taken up for theft, wasn’t he? What like was the fellow, and what had he thieved?’

‘Aye but he hadny,’ objected the other man. ‘Thieved anything, I mean. Sir.’

‘You be quiet, Jimmy,’ ordered Andro. ‘Jack, let’s ha the tale from you. Start at the beginning. Where was this thief?’

‘Wasny a thief,’ muttered Jimmy. Jack kicked him on the ankle behind the prisoner’s back, and said diffidently,

‘He was in this fellow’s forge.’ Gil nodded encouragement. ‘See, this fellow and his wife was at their meat, and we’d about got to their door when we spied a man in the shadows in the forge. Right by the house, sir,’ he elucidated in Andro’s direction. His officer nodded. ‘So I shouted, and he started to run off, and we laid a hold o him, and he had a bundle on him he wasny keen we should see, and when we shook it out, well—’ He paused for effect.

‘Well?’ said Andro irritably. ‘Get on wi’t, man!’

‘Naught but a heap o scrap metal,’ said Jack. The prisoner scowled at him. Gil lifted the brass die from the table.

‘Metal like this?’ he asked. ‘Was it brass, or pewter, or what?’

‘Well, it was all kind o yellow-like,’ said Jack doubtfully. ‘But maybe no so yellow as that. But,’ he went on, regaining his narrative, ‘I ken even wee bits o metal is valuable, for they can melt it down and cast it all again like new, so we tellt him he was charged wi theft, at which he said, No he never, his maister gave him it. And when we asked who was his maister, he said this man here that was eating his supper in his own house. Save that he wasny by then,’ he admitted, ‘for he was out at his door wanting to ken what was afoot, were you no, you?’ He kicked the prisoner, who mumbled some sort of agreement to this statement.

‘So it was the other fellow said he was the prentice,’ said Gil thoughtfully. ‘Who is he, then, Noll Campbell? You don’t earn enough to keep a prentice, but you let this man claim that’s what he was, and agreed you’d given him the scrap brass. Who is he? If you’re dealing honestly, man, you’ve nothing to hide.’

‘He’s no dealing honestly,’ said Jimmy derisively. ‘He wouldny ken honest dealing if it kicked him in the cods.’

‘What’s the fellow’s name?’ Gil repeated, watching Campbell’s face.

‘I’ve never a notion,’ the prisoner said. ‘It’s just some chiel I was selling the scrap metal to. My wee furnace will not be hot enough to melt brass, see, it needs a bigger fire than I can raise.’

‘What did he gie you for it?’ Gil asked, as something wriggled at the back of his mind. What had been said just now? The man before him hesitated. ‘A leather sack o false coin, maybe?’

‘Nothing o the sort!’

‘So you just let him away. And you never got his name,’ said Andro rather grimly to his minions. They looked sideways at one another, and shook their heads. ‘Aye, well, the garderobe’s needing cleared again. Did ye at the least get a description?’

A little argument, and some harsh words from Andro, produced an account of a man of more than average height, between twenty and twenty-five, wearing a blue bonnet and a jerkin of green, brown or possibly dark red, boots or shoes, and no plaid. Oddly, they were agreed on that point. Gil frowned at them, still trying to get hold of the elusive idea at the back of his mind. Something else he needed to ask about, something reported along with the apprentice who was no apprentice.

‘The fire,’ he said, as it suddenly emerged. ‘There was a fire in the yard, I think.’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ agreed Jack. ‘Away too close to the thatch.’

‘Which I never set,’ said Campbell resentfully. ‘None of my doing it was.’

‘What was in the fire?’ Gil asked. Jack shrugged.

‘Kale stalks, making a rare stink, a few scraps o wood and shavings. Some rags. Someone burning a bit rubbish, but away too close to the thatch, so we fined the lot of them.’