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"Do you really think Cairnie had something to do with the death of your Grandmother?" I asked urgently, leaning forward over the desk. Mayfield looked desperately bitter for a moment and then shook her head hopelessly. "No, I don't really think so," she said with a sigh, "Now that she is dead, he might be expecting a bequest in her will. But he only had to wait a few years and Grandmother would have passed away naturally. All he needed was a bit of patience." All very level-headed of her, I thought, all very cool and calculating. "I think I need to talk to this brother of yours," I said thoughtfully, "Is there anything you can tell me to help track him down?" She shook her head, her forehead wrinkling prettily. Then a thought occurred to me. "When's the reading of Lady Strowan's will?" I asked. "Day after tomorrow, in the morning," she said promptly, "Eleven o'clock. Why?" This is very typical of Goblin society in recent times, say the last couple of thousand years. We have long lives, at least compared with the humans, but we do not tend to dwell on death when it inevitably happens. Funerals take place within a very few days of death and any legal proceedings - especially last wills and testaments - are completed within the week. "Ahh, so you already have a scheduled hearing at the Courts of Probate?" I said, trying to keep the worst of the smugness out of my voice, "I'd like to make a small bet that your wayward brother also turns up at the reading." Her face brightened as she realised what I was saying, then her eyes narrowed at the thought of laying her hands on Cairnie. "You'll need to give me a good description," I went on, "Then all I have to do is hang around outside the Courts and then follow him when he comes out." She sounded surprised that I knew that much about it. "Which Judge?" I added. "Uh, just a minute," she muttered. She fished around in her purse until she found an envelope. It was of thick heavy paper and the red wax seal which had held it closed still bore the imprint of the Courts. She re-opened it and drew out a handwritten letter on the same old-fashioned paper which she then studied for a moment. Goblins appreciate the traditional ways in such matters. "Judge Kirkton," Mayfield read aloud. I knew Kirkton, had crossed metaphorical swords with him before. Actually, he was a conscientious Judge who would invariably uphold the letter of the law, at least as far as it applied to Probate. But it would probably be better if he didn't know I was involved. "Okay, that's a plan," I confirmed, "Is Glen all right?" "Yes," she replied, looking sad, "We’ve spoken on the phone a lot. I don’t think he likes me being away. And I'm missing him too." "So you're not travelling back to the surface all the time? Where are you staying down here?" She suddenly looked defensive. "Why do you want to know?" she demanded. "Because you're my client, assuming you do get around to handing over a retainer. Because I need to make reports to you, regularly. Because one member of your family has already come to an untimely end, and it could just happen to you too, so you might need some protection." She had the good grace to look apologetic and slightly worried. Better scared than dead. "I've been staying in a hotel," she answered quietly, "Somewhere out of the way. But I'm going to be staying at Grandmother's place. I'll move in tonight. Tibbermore insisted." "Good. I'll catch up with you there later."
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Part 35