The Harper's Quine Read Online Free PDF

shoulder, then back again, just in
time to see Maister Paniter hurl some small object into the
trees, and then withdraw, slamming the crypt door behind
him.
    Gil turned to face the master mason, staring. The man
standing on the scaffolding was big, even without the furtrimmed gown he wore. A neat black beard threatened;
under the round hat a sharp gaze scanned the kirkyard
and returned to consider the corpse.
    ‘What has come to this poor woman in my chantier?’ he demanded, springing down from the planking. ‘And who
are you? Did you find her, or did you put her there?’

    ‘I am Gil Cunningham, of the Cathedral Consistory,’ said
Gil, with extreme politeness, ‘and I should advise you not
to repeat that question before witnesses.’ The French
mason, he thought. Could this be the father of his
acquaintance of yesterday?
    ‘Ah - a man of law!’ said the big man, grinning to reveal
a row of strong white teeth. ‘I ask your pardon. I have
other troubles this morning already. I spoke without
thinking.’ He raised the hat, baring dark red hair cut
unfashionably short and thinning at the crown, and
sketched a bow. ‘I am called Peter Mason, master builder
of this burgh. Maistre Pierre - the stone master. Is a joke,
no? I regret that I come late to the tryst. I have been
searching for the laddie who did not sleep in his bed last
night, although his brother was come from Paisley to visit
him. Now tell me of this.’
    ‘I found her when I came for the meeting,’ said Gil.
‘She’s stiff - been killed sometime last night, I’d say.’
    ‘Been killed? Here? She has not died of her own accord?’
    ‘There’s blood on her gown. Yes, I think here. The grass
is too trampled to tell us much, this dry weather, but
I would say she is lying where she fell.’
    Maistre Pierre bent over the corpse, touching with surprising gentleness the rigid arm, the cold jaw. He felt the
back of the laced bodice, sniffed his fingers, and made a
face.
    ‘See - I think this is the wound. A knife.’ He looked
round. ‘Perhaps a man she knew, who embraced her, and
slipped in the knife, khht! when she did not expect it.’
    ‘How was her sleeve torn, then?’ asked Gil, impressed in
spite of himself.
    ‘He caught her by it as she fell?’ The big hands moved
carefully over the brocade of the under-sleeve. ‘Indeed,
there is blood here. Also it is smeared as if he wiped his
hand. There is not a lot of blood, only the shift is stained.
I think a fine-bladed dagger.’

    ‘Italian,’ offered Gil. The bright eyes considered him.
    ‘You know Italy, sir?’
    ‘There were Italians in Paris.’
    ‘Ah. Firenze I know, also Bologna. I agree. What do we
do with the poor soul? Let us look at her face.’
    He laid hold of the shoulder and the rigid knee under
the full skirt, and pulled. The body came over like a
wooden carving, sightless blue eyes staring under halfclosed lids. The black velvet fall of the French hood
dropped back, shedding tiny flakes of hawthorn blossom
and exposing a red scar along the right side of her jaw.
Poor woman, thought Gil, she must always have kept her
head bent so that the headdress hid that, and with the
thought he knew her.
    The knowledge made him somehow decisive. He
reached out and drew a fold of velvet up across the staring
eyes, and the woman’s face immediately seemed more
peaceful.
    ‘It’s one of the two who sings with the harper,’ he said.
    ‘But of course! The one with the baby, I should say.’
    ‘A child, is there?’ said Gil, and suddenly recalled his
uncle using the same words. ‘Then I know who must be
told, as well as the harper. She is on St Mungo’s land, we
must at least notify the sub-dean as well, and he is probably the nearest member of Chapter in residence just now.
I have no doubt he will want to be rid of her. Do you
suppose the Greyfriars would take her until we can confirm her name and where she is and find her kin?’
    ‘But