William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

of being in a foreign city. The sounds and smells were different from those in London. The air was colder and had not the grit and odor of chimneys in it, although the buildings were stained enough and the eaves dripping grimy water. The cobbles of the street were like those of London, but the narrow footpaths at the sides were barely above the level of the thoroughfare, the gutters shallow. But then the street itself was at such a pitch its surface drained down the hill anyway.
    He walked slowly, staring around him, interested in spite of himself. The buildings were largely of stone, which gave them a dignity and permanence, and nearly all were four, five or six stories high, ending in a jumbled mass of steeply inclined roofs, dormers and fine crowstepped gables, like numerous flights of stairs amid the slates. On one gable he saw an iron cross, and then craning upwards to see the better, he noticed another, and another. It was certainly not a church, nor did it seem to have been a religious establishment of any sort.
    Someone bumped into him sharply and he realized with a jolt that he had not stood still while gazing upwards, and was thus causing something of a hazard.
    “Sorry,” he apologized peremptorily.
    “Aye, well watch where ye’re goin’ an’ stop gaupin’, afore ye knock some poor soul into the gutter,” came the reply, in a voice so strongly accented it barely sounded likeEnglish, and yet so distinct was the diction it was understandable without effort. “Are ye lost?” The man hesitated, detecting a stranger and forgiving error because of it. Strangers were half-witted anyway, and one should not expect normal behavior from them. “Ye’re in Templelands, in the Grassmarket.”
    “Templelands?” Monk said quickly.
    “Aye. Where are you making for, do you know?” He was now disposed to be helpful, as good men are towards those they sense cannot care for themselves.
    Monk was obliged to smile to himself. “I’ve been looking for lodgings.”
    “Oh, aye? Well ye’ll find a good, clean room at William Forster’s, down there at number twenty, and there’s McEwan the baker’s, next door. Innkeeper and stabler, Willie is. Ye’ll see it written up on the wall. Can’t miss that, if ye’ve eyes in yer head.”
    “Thank you. I’m obliged.”
    “Ye’re welcome.” He made as if to move on.
    “Why Templelands?” Monk asked quickly. “What temple was there here?”
    The man’s face registered amusement and mild contempt. “No temple at all. The land used to belong to the Knights Templar, long ago. You know, Crusades, and the like?”
    “Oh.” Monk was surprised. He had not thought of Edinburgh as being of such age, or of the Templars so far north. Dim memories of history came back to him, names like Mary Queen of Scots, and the Auld Alliance with France, and the Stuart kings, battles on the moors above Culloden, Bannockburn, massacres in the snowbound steeps of Glencoe, secret murders like the death of Duncan, or of Rizzio, or perhaps Darnley right here in Edinburgh. It was in a mist of stories and impressions he could only dimly recall, but it was part of his northern heritage, and it made these streets with their towering houses more familiar. “Thank you,” he added, but the man was already moving away, his duty discharged.
    Monk crossed over the street and walked on until he saw WM. FORSTER, STABLER & INNKEEPER written right across the front of a large building, between the second and third stories, and the name of McEwan’s Bakery at one end. It was a four-story building; the first two were of cut stone blocks, and the windows were large, indicating generous rooms. Several of the high chimney pots at the spine of the roof were smoking, a hopeful sign. Since he had no horse, he did not bother going through the archway into the yard, but knocked hastily on the front door.
    It was opened almost immediately by a large woman, busy drying her hands on her apron. “Aye?”
    “I’m looking for lodgings,” Monk replied. “Possibly for a week or two. Have you a room?”
    She glanced at him rapidly, summing him up, as was her trade.
    “Aye, I have.” Evidently she approved of him. If he had more clothes in his case of the same quality as those he was wearing, they alone would pay his rent for a month or more. “Come in and I’ll show ye.” She backed away to allow him in, and he followed gratefully.
    Inside was narrow and dimly lit, but it smelled clean and the air was warm