“It’s a fair question.”
“I’ve found out the answer,” I said. “The commissioners were unaware of Lily’s claim. They weren’t the ones who did arrange for the inquiry.” I told him about Helen’s cousin, and what she had learned from him.
“I see,” said Moray. “That is interesting.”
“The Earl of Seafield knows about the inquiry. He mentioned it at dinner, though he said that it was secret, and that it was being done at the direction of a member of the high court. I assume he meant Lord Grange.” Here I paused and looked to Moray, who confirmed that Lord Grange was in fact a member of the High Court of Justiciary. As with anyone who’d ever faced a complex lock, I knew I’d have to spring each pin in proper order before it would open. “Gilroy is the only person who has mentioned the commission. You know both men—Gilroy and Lord Grange. What can you tell me of their character?”
Moray had stayed seated, which in any other conversation would have meant that I had the advantage, but in this case he was clearly in command. He took his time deciding how to answer. “Anything I tell ye will be of less use than your own observations. Do I know them? I know what they let me see of them, and whether that is what they truly are, I cannot say. Gilroy does seem to be a man who follows orders and is loyal, though he lies as coldly as a politician when he’s called upon to do it. As for Lord Grange, I have known him long, yet know him very little. ’Tis his brother who’s my friend.”
“Do you trust them?”
“No, but there are few men I trust in these times.”
I had to ask. “And yet you trust me with your messages. Why? You know nothing of me.”
He said, “I know all I need. I saw the way you looked at Lily. More than that, I saw the way she looked at you. That tells me much about the measure of a man.”
I took his measure for a moment. “Gilroy does not trust her. He believes I’m being played.”
“By Lily? Never. She’s not capable of such a thing.” He sounded certain. “I agree you’re being played, but not by her.”
I waited for his further explanation, and when none came I remarked, “That isn’t helpful, as a warning.”
“It’s the only warning I can give.” He did stand then, and turned a fraction so the light no longer fell behind him. Robert Moray never did a thing without a purpose. It was his intent that I should see his eyes. They were determined. “There is more at stake,” he said, “than ye can possibly imagine, Sergeant Williamson. Ye’ll have to find your own way through.”
*
I was searched, as Robert Moray said I would be, when I left his cell. The guard seized Moray’s letter with such satisfaction that I found it comical to watch his face change when he saw to whom it was addressed. He kept it anyway.
“I’ll see this is delivered to the Earl of Seafield,” said the guard, which suited me, since I had no great wish to see the earl again.
The guard, for all his searching, missed the gold ring on my finger. Finding nothing else that he had cause to confiscate, he gave me back my sword belt with the whinger and permitted me to leave.
I hadn’t realized, till I passed through the portcullis gate and put that castle tower at my back, how being in that place affected me—but leaving it, I felt as though an iron chain had fallen from my chest. All men must feel the same when they’re set loose from prison. Free air is a precious thing to breathe.
I breathed it deeply, trying not to think of Moray left in that stone room with little comfort but his honor, and in hazard of his life.
The wind had changed. It drove the dark clouds on before it, and I caught the long familiar scent of threatened rain. As I came down into the Landmarket I was already lengthening my stride so I’d outpace the coming storm.
Approaching Caldow’s Land, I met our neighbor from upstairs, the Latin master, who’d been hurrying home up the street from the other direction. He stopped to greet me, and we stepped into the shelter of the portico outside the merchant sisters’ shop, and he asked how I liked the books that I had bought from him, and whether they had been of use. I told him that they had. And then I thought of something I had meant to ask him.
“Oh, that’s very fine work, yes,” he told me, as I handed him the whinger I had bought from Mr. Bell.
“But the inscriptions are in Latin, and I cannot read them,” I confessed.
“Ah. Well, this one is simple. Ne quid nimis. It means ‘Nothing in excess,’ which is but good advice.” He turned the blade, to read the motto Dr. Pitcairn had pronounced as being fitting for our times. “And this one, Fide sed cui vide, is more of a warning.” He handed it back. “It means ‘Trust, but beware in whom.’”