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animatedly talking to Leicester. "They did not pass through the Traitors' Gate and back along the river, the route by which they gained access to the fortress. None of the City gates were disturbed, according to the watch. And so I dispatched the search parties to the north and west." He puffed out his chest, pleased with himself.

    "You found their trail?"

    "Perhaps. We shall see," he replied, but sounded confident.

    In the dark, Will lost all sense of direction, but soon they came to a broader street guarded by four other soldiers, from what Will guessed was the original search party. They continually scanned the shadowed areas of the street with deep unease. Will understood why when he saw the three dead men on the frozen ruts, their bodies torn and broken.

    Kneeling to examine the corpses, Will saw that some wounds looked to have been caused by an animal, perhaps a wolf or a bear, others as if the victims had been thrown to the ground from a great height. They carried cudgels and knives, common street thugs who had surprised the wrong marks.

    "Were these men killed by the Enemy?" Leicester asked, his own eyes flickering towards the dark.

    Ignoring the question, Will said, "Three deaths in this manner would not have happened silently. Someone must have heard the commotion, perhaps even saw in which direction the Enemy departed. Search the buildings."

    As Leicester's men moved along the street hammering on doors, blearyeyed men and women emerged, cursing at being disturbed until they were roughly dragged out and questioned by the soldiers.

    Will returned to the bodies, concerned by the degree of brutality. In it, he saw a level of desperation and urgency that echoed the anxiety Walsingham had expressed; here was something of worrying import that would have consequences for all of them.

    His thoughts were interrupted by a cry from one of Leicester's men who was struggling with an unshaven man in filthy clothes snarling and spitting like an animal. Three soldiers rushed over to help knock him to the frosty street.

    "He knows something," the man's captor said, when Will came over.

    "I saw nothing," the prisoner snarled, but Will could see the lie in his furtive eyes.

    "It would be in your best interests to talk," Leicester said, but his exhortation was delivered in such a courtly manner that it was ineffectual. The man spat and tried to wrestle himself free until he was cuffed to the ground again.

    Leicester turned to Will and said quietly, "We could transport him back to the Tower. I gather Walsingham has men there who could loosen his tongue."

    "If we delay, the Enemy will be far from here and their prize with them," Will said. "The stakes are high, I am told. We cannot risk that." He hesitated a moment as he examined the man's face and then said, "Let me speak with him. Alone."

    "Are you sure?" Leicester hissed. "He may be dangerous."

    "He is dangerous." Will eyed the pink scars from knife fights that lined the man's jaw. "I am worse."

    Leicester's men manhandled the prisoner back into his house, and Will closed the door behind him after they left. It was a stinking hovel with little furniture, and most that was there looked as if it had been stolen from wealthier premises. The prisoner hunched on the floor by the hearth, pretending to catch his breath, and then threw himself at Will ferociously. Sidestepping his attack, Will crashed a fist into his face. Blood spurted from his nose as he was thrown back against a chair, but it did not deter him. He pulled a knife from a chest beside the fireplace, only to drop it when Will hit him again. As he scrambled for the blade, Will stamped his boot on the man's fingers, shattering the bones. The man howled in pain.

    Dragging the man to his feet, Will threw him against the wall, pressing his own knife against his prisoner's throat. "England stands on the brink of war. The queen's life is threatened daily. A crisis looms for our country," Will said. "This is not the