The King's Corrodian by Pat McIntosh Page A

in himself and strengthen it to cast out the evil, but he persisted in saying that he was evil. I asked him in what way, and he offered the disappearance of our corrodian as evidence. I asked him how he had achieved that, and he replied again:
Because I am evil
.’
    ‘It makes no sense,’ said Gil, and realised they had reverted to Latin.
    ‘No. What is more, it makes a nonsense of years of teaching in logic and analytical thought. He should have learned to dissect a syllogism at fourteen.’
    ‘Indeed,’ said Gil. He paused, and said carefully, ‘I believe you were also his confessor.’
    ‘I was. This was not said under the seal of confession.’ White also paused, and said with equal care, ‘I think I may say to you that the young man did not confess anything to me which would help your investigation.’
    Gil bowed his head in acknowledgement of this, and considered what he had learned so far.
    ‘So we have a young man,’ he said, ‘intelligent, highly strung, emotional—?’ White nodded. ‘Who suddenly becomes convinced that he is evil and that he has therefore caused the corrodian to disappear, with no logical explanation for the belief.’
    ‘A fair summary.’
    ‘And the fact that Pollock had
not
disappeared, that his ashes were still in his lodging, was not known to anyone. What could the boy have been doing, to make him think he had caused this situation? Was his reading supervised? Could he have been lured into some of the darker mysteries?’
    ‘I see where you are leading this,’ said White, ‘and I may say that I am working on the subject of witchcraft myself, and my conclusion, though there are those who disagree with me, is that there is no such thing, no power to cause harm by casting spells. On the other hand its devotees are invariably far gone in heresy and in the worship of the Devil.’
    ‘Had you taught your students this?’
    ‘I have discussed it with them.’ He produced a reluctant smile. ‘Andrew and his friend Sandy Munt argued the matter forcibly, but were unable to prove the existence of witchcraft to my satisfaction.
Everybody knows
is not proof. Indeed, what everyone knows is quite frequently erroneous.’
    ‘Pollock was in the habit of extortion,’ said Gil. ‘I found Andrew Rattray’s name among his papers.’
    ‘
Was
he now?’ said White softly. There was a short silence. ‘I must question Andrew’s fellows, the other students. Poor young man, I hope Our Lady has received him under her mantle, whatever he has been dabbling in.’
    ‘I need to question them too,’ said Gil. ‘Let us not lose sight of the fact that someone slew this young man, unshriven, still in his confused state, and tried to conceal the deed by setting a fire which has seriously injured the community. That is murder and arson, which are both pleas o the Crown and capital offences. Whoever is responsible must be found, for the sake of his immortal soul and of his brothers.’
    ‘Believe me, I have not lost sight of it,’ said White rather sharply. They looked at one another, and after a moment White gave a slight bow. ‘I agree. Your investigation should take precedence. I would appreciate it if you would send them to me when you are done.’
    Andrew Rattray’s fellow students were still in the library, though how much work they were doing was questionable. Their faces, as their teacher summoned them one by one, were a series of studies in surprise, well-concealed alarm and concern, but when Gil led the four of them through the slype and into the warmth of the guest hall without Father Henry they relaxed slightly.
    ‘Tak a seat,’ he invited. ‘Will you have some ale?’
    ‘I’d not say no,’ admitted the nearest as they gathered stools and settled themselves, and the others nodded.
    ‘Tell me your names, first.’ Gil lifted the jug from the table, and one of the group sprang up to serve. Socrates, sprawled by the hearth again, raised his head to follow the movement, then settled