William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

ironmonger’s, waiting for Eilish, he could picture every yard of it in his mind, and he was determined not to be caught again.
    It was twenty minutes past midnight when he saw her slender figure emerge from the Kings Stables Road and turn into the Grassmarket. She was going a little more slowly this time, perhaps because she was carrying a large parcel of some sort, which, to judge from her less graceful, more awkward gait, was quite heavy.
    He waited until she was about fifteen yards past him, then he moved out of the doorway and walked after her, keeping close to the wall and swinging his stick casually, but with an extremely firm grip.
    Eilish walked the length of the Grassmarket, crossed the George IV Bridge without looking right or left, and went into Cowgate. She gave no sign whatever of knowing that anyone was following her. Never once did she hesitate or glance backwards.
    What on earth was she doing?
    He closed the gap between them now that they were in the dim cavern of Cowgate. He must not lose sight of her. She might stop any minute and disappear into one of these high buildings and he would have great difficulty in finding her again. They were all at least four or five stories high, and inside would be like a rabbit warren, passages and stairs, half landings, room after room, all crowded with people.
    And of course there were the stairways and alleys and wynds, any one of which she might have taken.
    Why did she know no fear, a beautiful woman walking alone after midnight in such a place? The only conceivable answer was that she was perfectly aware of someone following her to protect her. Baird McIvor? It seemed absurd. Why on earth meet here? It made no kind of sense. No stretch of the imagination, short of insanity in both of them, accounted for it as a lovers’ tryst. There were any number of easier, safer and more romantic places far nearer home.
    They passed South Bridge, and ahead of Eilish he saw a shadowy figure, body bent, a sack across its shoulders, hurry from a side alley and disappear into another, heading towards the Infirmary. With an involuntary shudder he remembered the grotesque crimes of Burke and Hare, as if he had seen a thirty-year ghost heading towards Surgeon’s Hall with a newly murdered corpse on his back to present to the huge, one-eyed anatomist Dr. Knox.
    He glanced backwards nervously, but there was no one unwarrantably close.
    They were level with Blackfriars’ Wynd and Cardinal Beaton’s house on one corner with its jutting overhang and crumbling stone. His information earlier that day had told him it had been built in the early fifteen hundreds by the then-archbishop of Glasgow and chancellor of Scotland during the regency and the monarchy of King James V, before England and Scotland were united.
    Next was the Old Mint, a dilapidated building with a walled-up doorway with the inscription over it BE MERCIFUL UNTO ME , O GOD . He knew from the daytime that there was also an advertisement for Allison the chimney sweep, and a little picture of two sweeps running, but he could not see it now.
    Eilish continued on her way, and Monk gripped his stick more tightly. He disliked carrying it. The feeling of it in his hand brought back sickening memories of violence, confusion and fear, and above all overwhelming guilt. But the prickling in the back of his neck was a primal fear even greater, and against his conscience his hand closed more tightly. He turned every now and again to look behind him, but he saw only indeterminate shadows.
    Then suddenly at St. Mary’s Wynd she turned sharply left and he almost lost her. He ran forward and only just prevented himself from colliding with her as she stopped in front of a dark doorway, the parcel still in her hands.
    She turned and looked at him, for an instant afraid, then as her eyes, used to the darkness, went beyond him she cried out.
    “No!”
    Monk swung around just in time to raise his stick and fend off the blow.
    “No!” Eilish said again, her voice powerful with complete authority. “Robbie, put it down! There is no need….”
    Reluctantly the man lowered the cudgel and stood waiting, still gripping it ready.
    “You are very determined, Mr. Monk,” Eilish said quietly. “You had better come in.”
    Monk hesitated. Out here in the street he had a fighting chance if he were attacked, inside he had no idea how many men there might be. In an area like Cowgate he could be disposed of without trace or necessity for