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.He shook his head, and she returned the box to a purse at her waist.“I was hoping you might arrange a meeting for me,” Quire said.She smiled, and for once achieved a more or less natural, relaxed appearance that brought her face to life.“Well, I do like it when folk owe me favours, so I daresay I’ll help if I can.What—or who—was it you were after?”“Your witch.”“What?”“Cath says you get your charms from an old witch woman.I want to talk to her.Only if it’s not all some game you play, mark you.I don’t care about those silly wee beads—I daresay they’re no use for anything but taking pennies off the gullible—but I need to talk to someone who knows about… whatever it is such folk know about.Darker matters.Can you oblige me?”There was an element of suspicion in the gaze to which the Widow subjected him.An appraisal, too; trying to reach a judgement, perhaps, on whether or not he was serious.“You’re a man full of surprises,” she said at length.“It’s an appealing trait, in moderation.I’ll see what I can do for you, but I make no promises.The woman concerned makes her own decisions.”“Fair enough.There’s one more matter.I’ve a feeling I’ll be needing somewhere to stay.My own rooms have been attracting some unwelcome attention of late, and I need to be a wee bit harder to find, just for a time.I was thinking Cath might…”The Widow laughed, a rich and strangely generous sound to Quire’s ear.“Why, Adam.You must be in the direst of straits if you think the Holy Land a safer bolt-hole than your own roof.There’s one or two in there who’d not count themselves your friend.”“You put it about I’m under your protection, I’ll be safe enough.It’ll not be for long.”“And you think Catherine will have you, do you?”“I think so.”“You might be right, at that.”The Witch of LeithThe harbour at Leith was not large, but it seethed with activity.Boats of every kind were tied up along the curving quay that lined the Water of Leith’s mouth.A naval cutter big and brash amongst a little flotilla of fishing smacks; a coastal barge discharging a cargo of baled cloth beside a snub-nosed ferry waiting for its passengers.The masts and rigging made a thin forest stretching along the sea’s edge, all swaying and rocking in time with the chop of the water.Crew and dock hands clambered about and over the boats like so many busy, noisy ants.The quayside itself was no less lively.The last few boxes and trays of fish from the morning’s haul were still being sold, drawing a busy crowd of those late from their beds, or hoping for scraps disregarded by richer, earlier buyers.This was Edinburgh’s port, separate but bound to the city by the long, straight run of Leith Walk, and all manner of city folk came here to buy the sea’s produce and the cargoes it bore upon its back.Quire sat a short way from that crowd, balanced somewhat precariously upon an iron bollard.He had been told to wait there, and did so with more than his usual degree of patience.It was no great chore, with the Forth’s bright air blowing in and ruffling his hair, and wheeling, screeching seagulls swirling above him.The rhythmic creaking of the ships lining the quay had a comforting solidity to it, as if it knew what an ancient, unchanging sound it was and through how many scenes just like this it had threaded itself over the centuries.There were a handful of steamships in these waters now, Quire knew, but today the harbour was all rigging and furled sails and festoons of rope.Quire was absorbed in his ruminations, and thus did not notice the woman approach him until she was right in front of him, blocking off his view of the fishermen and their customers.She was old enough to be a little creased, a little worn, but not so old as to be diminished or hampered by the years on her back.Beyond forty, not yet fifty, Quire guessed.Her face had the faintly sallow, pinched look a hard-working life bestowed, but there was nothing frail about her.She was holding a swaddled baby in the crook of her arm.The infant was blinking and mewing softly to itself, apparently content.“My granddaughter,” the woman said.“Mother’s gone work-hunting down the shore, hasn’t she, beautiful?”She tapped with a crooked finger at the baby’s lips, and the tiny girl duly tried to suck at it.“You’re Quire?” the woman asked, still looking down with affection at the infant, still tickling at it with her finger.“I am
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