be of use to us.’ The pale-faced man continued to turn slowly, studying every aspect of his surroundings. ‘What did our playwright discover?’
Carpenter righted a stool and sat on it. ‘We might have got more information from the landlord if you hadn’t been overcome by your feverish desire to draw blood,’ he growled irritably.
‘And do you think it is pleasant for me to listen to your whining morning, noon and night?’ Kneeling, the Earl began to examine the upended table.
‘And that is the thanks I get? Where would you be without me? Your head on a pike at the bridge gates, I would wager.’ The surly Carpenter kicked a goblet across the room in anger. ‘What now? Are you ignoring me?’
Launceston traced his pale fingers across the tabletop and then righted it. With the back of his hand, he brushed off the dirt and then grabbed a fistful of plaster dust, spraying it across the wood. Carpenter watched him curiously. Leaning close to the surface, the Earl gently blew the surplus dust away. He studied what remained behind for a moment and then said, ‘Here.’
The scar-faced man came over and saw, first of all, an outline in white where the dust had filled the grooves carved by a knife. It formed a circle with a square within it, the same symbol that they had both witnessed at the deadhouse, carved into the back of the spy Gavell.
‘Marlowe knew of Gavell’s murderer,’ Carpenter said in a quiet, thoughtful voice.
‘Or he must have known this sign had some special significance.’ The Earl drew a finger around the outline. ‘I would say he carved it here one night, while ruminating over the meaning of what he had discovered.’
‘There.’ Carpenter pointed to letters carved into the wood near the symbol.
Launceston threw more plaster dust on the surface to make the words clearer. ‘Clement. Makepiece. Swyfte. Marlowe. Gavell. Shipwash. Pennebrygg. And here, further down, Devereux, with a question mark.’
‘Robert Devereux? The Earl of Essex?’
‘Perhaps. The family is old, with many branches.’
Carpenter’s eyes widened. ‘All spies. Swyfte, Marlowe, Gavell — in order. If this is a list of victims, then those poor bastards Clement and Makepiece are already dead. I have not seen either of them in recent weeks.’
‘Nor I.’
‘We must warn Shipwash and Pennebrygg-’
Launceston held up a hand to silence his companion. ‘Think clearly, you droning codpiece. Why are
A noise at the door brought a flash of steel. In an instant, the two men were either side of the entrance, silent, poised, glinting daggers at the ready. At Carpenter’s nod, Launceston tore open the door and dragged in a figure in a grey-hooded cloak, poised on the threshold.
With a cry, the stranger turned, throwing off her hood, to reveal black hair and a pale, pretty face. ‘Wait. It is I.’
‘Alice? What are you doing here?’ Carpenter said, shocked. His eyes flickered towards the Earl, who studied the woman icily. Though the face gave nothing away, the scarred spy could read every critical thought in his companion’s head. ‘You should not be here,’ he continued, flushing.
When Alice drew closer, Carpenter saw deep concern in her features. ‘I went to the stew you frequent,’ she whispered with only a hint of embarrassment, ‘and Will Swyfte’s man directed me here. I was lucky to catch him before he left to meet his master.’
‘Enough prattle. Speak your message and then be off,’ Launceston snapped.
Carpenter glared at his companion.
‘In the kitchens last night, one of the other girls said that she’d heard a rumour that all Kit Marlowe’s closest friends were to be questioned, on the orders of the Privy Council,’ the woman said, clasping her hands together. ‘They fear Master Marlowe has infected you all with his atheist views. John, you know what that means. The Tower …’ Her voice tailed away, unspoken fears of torture and execution clear in her face.
‘Rumours,’ the Earl snorted.
‘I understand your doubts,’ Alice continued. ‘There is fear and suspicion throughout the court these days, but I could take no risk. And when I arrived here in Bankside, I saw strange men everywhere, questioning apprentices and merchants, stopping carts. John, they are watching this very house. Four men across the street-’
‘What? And you still came here?’ Carpenter exclaimed, worried now.
‘For you.’ Concerned, the woman pressed her palms together as though she were praying for his soul. ‘Oh,’ she said, puzzled, her hand going to her nose. When she examined her finger, a droplet of blood glistened. ‘I feel unwell … an ache in my belly …’
‘Now see what you have done,’ the Earl hissed.
Easing open the door, Carpenter stepped to the top of the dusty wooden stairs. He could feel the familiar sensations himself now as his body rebelled against the presence of something unnatural: the dull thump deep in his head, the churning in the pit of his stomach, as if he had eaten sour apples. ‘Not now,’ he muttered, the panic rising, ‘with Alice here. Please God, let it not be so.’
His hands trembling, the spy squatted on the top step and tried to peer around the turn in the stairs. From below came the faint creak of a foot upon a step. The rest of the house was still.
Carpenter glanced back into the room where a baffled Alice waited. He felt his chest tighten.
His head was filled with a sound like a dagger drawn across glass. It was only a man slowly climbing the stairs, the spy told himself. Mere flesh that could be torn with a blade. A life that could be extinguished without another thought.
Another long, low creak.
Carpenter gripped the banister until his knuckles turned white. ‘Just a man,’ he breathed, readying his dagger.
The soft tread continued up the stairs.
Carpenter felt the pressure in his head grow until he thought he would faint. Blood trickled on to his upper lip. Desperation gripped him and he leaned out over the banister to try to see what was coming, although he knew, God help him, and he could deny it no longer.
A grey shadow fell across the cracked plaster of the wall.
Turning, Carpenter waved his hand frantically at Alice and Launceston, but they only stood like statues. In frustration, he almost cried out. But what could they do? His gaze was drawn back by the terrible pull of that rising shadow. A drop of his blood spattered on the boards.
All he could think was:
For a moment the spy thought he saw two shadows, the one on the wall and the thing that cast it. The figure climbing the stairs took on more substance, as if it was emerging from autumn mist. Carpenter glimpsed bloodless skin, a head marked with black and blue interconnecting circles. It wore a black cloak with a hood thrown back, that swirled around it like a storm cloud. Rooted, the spy felt the ringing in his head grow so loud he thought his skull would burst.
As though it could sense Carpenter’s presence, the thing turned its head slowly up to him. The pale figure’s gaze fell upon the scar-faced spy like a shroud. Thin, pale lips pulled back from yellowing teeth in what could have been a wolfish grin, or a predatory snarl, but meant the same thing.
Tearing himself out of his frozen state, the scarred man threw himself back into the room, slamming the door and dragging the bed in front of it. ‘Robert, help me,’ he pleaded pitifully, looking around the small chamber. ‘Help Alice.’
Launceston only stared blankly.
‘John, what is wrong? Have they come for you?’ the woman cried, running to grasp his arms.
Carpenter pushed her away. ‘Robert, please. I need your help. Take her … take her,’ his eyes fell upon the small window, the only way out of the room, ‘out and across the roof. It is our only hope.’
Troubled by her love’s desperate tone, the woman began to protest. Carpenter grabbed her shoulders and begged, ‘Alice, you must trust me. If you see what is beyond that door, you may never sleep again. You may lose your wits, or your life. Go now, and do not look back.’
‘What about you?’
