You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. But that didn’t quiet the fluttering in my gut.
The cathedral was lit now by candles. People mulled about in Paul’s Walk, fewer than yesterday, but not by much. I skirted the crowd, scanning the faces as I passed. As promised, I kept my back to the wall, hands on the grips of my pistols.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Again I told myself to stop being silly and went around the chancel to Saint Erkenwald’s tomb. The flowers I’d placed there yesterday were gone. A few new offerings had been made today: a pouch knotted with string, a daffodil, and a simple ceramic cup. I placed the folded paper I was carrying on the lid, then backed away.
I’d barely stepped into the shadows when a girl my age, hair in long, blond braids and dressed in a simple peasant smock, approached from the chapel of Saint George in the northeast corner of the church. She reached over the rail and plucked the paper I’d left from the tomb. For all Tom’s worry yesterday about stealing from a saint, no one even noticed she’d done it.
She unfolded the paper, read what I’d written inside. It was just a single word.
Covenanters.
She studied it for a moment. Then she tucked the paper inside her dress.
And turned to look directly at me.
CHAPTER
40
I FROZE.
Pressed against the wall, I tightened my grip on my pistols. For a moment, the girl didn’t move. She just regarded me calmly.
Then she strode away.
She walked toward the north end of the cathedral. Before she disappeared, she stopped and looked back at me.
I hadn’t moved. But as I stared at her, I finally understood what she wanted me to do.
I was supposed to follow.
I glanced around. No one seemed to be paying attention to either of us. If there was a threat somewhere, I couldn’t see it.
I decided to chance it. Hands still on my pistols, I pushed myself from the wall.
The girl moved again, disappearing around the corner.
I hurried after her. When I caught sight of her, she was well ahead of me, moving deftly through the crowd. I thought she’d go out the main entrance, to the west, but instead, she took a side entrance, heading out of the cathedral to the north.
I hesitated. I’d left Tom watching the main entrance. If I followed the girl, he wouldn’t know I’d gone.
I thought about firing a shot to alert him, but alert him to what? The girl wasn’t threatening me. If anything, my shot was likely to scare her off. To say nothing of the fury it would cause in the church.
I stood there, not knowing what to do, until the girl decided for me. She’d stopped in the doorway, waiting. When I didn’t move, she simply pushed the door open and left.
I followed her outside.
By the time I emerged, she was already across the courtyard. She’d bought a wax taper from one of the tallow boys outside the cathedral; the weak flame of the candle lit her way.
I hurried to follow, some thirty yards behind. She picked up the pace, moving northeast toward the junction of Newgate and Cheapside. I went after her, knowing Tom would be furious with me for leaving him behind. I could only hope I hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.
She darted through the traffic, heading north. On Foster Lane, she stopped. She turned around, locked eyes with me once more.
Then she stepped into the shadows of an alley.
A clear invitation. But to what?
Go get Tom, I told myself.
I stood there, hesitant once more.
Go get Tom.
I wanted to. But if I left now, by the time I came back, I knew whatever waited for me in the alley would be gone. I’d already trusted the Templars this far.
You don’t know it’s the Templars, Master Benedict said.
No, I didn’t. But when it came down to it, I had no more choice now than I’d had back at Whitehall. Whatever awaited, I was on my own.
I drew my pistols and followed her into the alley.
CHAPTER
41
IT WAS DARK.
The lights of travelers on the street couldn’t reach into the cramped and narrow space between the houses. I waited a moment, a few feet into the shadows, to let my eyes adjust. To let my heart slow, get it to stop hammering in my chest.
I shifted my grip on the pistols. The wood was slippery, slick with sweat. I wiped my hands, took hold of the guns again. Then, cautious, I stepped forward.
The roofs blocked all but a faint band of stars. I could feel, more than see, the walls next to me. I used that sense and the starry road above to guide my way.
The alley turned left, first gradually, then sharply.
And then suddenly I saw a glow.
The girl was up ahead. Past private gardens to my right and left, the girl stood in a narrow intersection, where the alley crossed another. She was facing me, holding a lantern. She hadn’t had a lantern before.
I stepped forward, intending to call to her. Before I could say a word, she turned to her right. The light faded, her silhouette dancing a mad shadow on the wall as she ran.
I moved faster now, pistols held tight, barrels forward and ready. At the intersection, I turned to follow—and found the alley had gone completely black. Her light had disappeared.
Then a new light flared, right in front of me. And I gasped.
It was an angel.
Not real, my mind said in rebellion. And of course that was true. It was just a man.
But he looked like an angel. His face was painted gold, his hair the same color. He was dressed in samite, the long robe shimmering in the flame of the lantern he’d ignited. His hands were almost like claws—not the gnarled, calloused claws of
