The papists say that at that moment the candles in Dover church lit spontaneously, and there were other such silly legends around the country, but I can attest for myself that the eyes in the queen's severed head did move, roving madly round the crowd, the lips working as though trying to speak. Someone shrieked in the crowd behind me and I heard a susurration as the crowd, all in their best puffed-sleeved clothing, crossed themselves. In truth it was less than thirty seconds, not the half an hour people said later, before the movement stopped. But in my nightmare I relived each of those seconds, praying for those ghastly eyes to be still. Then the executioner tossed the head into an arrow box, which served as coffin, and as it landed with a thud I woke with a cry to the sound of someone knocking at the door.

I lay breathing heavily, my sweat congealing in the bitter cold. The knocking came again, then Alice's voice called urgently, 'Master Shardlake! Commissioner!'

It was dead of night, the fire burned low and the room was icy. Mark groaned and stirred in his pallet.

'What is it?' I called, my heart still pounding after the nightmare, my voice shaky.

'Brother Guy asks you to come, sir.'

'Wait a moment!' I heaved myself out of bed and lit a candle from the embers of the fire. Mark rose too, blinking and tousle-haired.

'What's happening?'

'I don't know. Stay here.' I threw on my hose and opened the door. The girl stood outside, a white apron over her dress.

'I beg your pardon, sir, but Simon Whelplay is very sick and must speak to you. Brother Guy said I should wake you.'

'Very well.' I followed her down the freezing corridor. A little way along a door stood open. I heard voices: Brother Guy's and another that whimpered in distress. Looking in, I saw the novice lying on a truckle bed. His face shone with sweat and he muttered feverishly, his breath wheezing and rasping. Brother Guy sat by the bed, mopping his brow with a cloth that he dipped in a bowl.

'What ails him?' I could not keep the nervousness from my voice, for the sweating sickness made people writhe and gasp so.

The infirmarian looked at me, his face serious. 'It is a congestion of the lungs. No wonder, standing about in the cold with no food. He has a dangerous temperature. But he keeps asking to speak with you. He will not rest till he has done so.'

I approached the bed, reluctant to go too close lest he breathe the humours of his fever on me. The boy fixed red-rimmed eyes on me. 'Commissioner, sir,' he croaked. 'You are sent here to do justice?'

'Yes, I am here to investigate Commissioner Singleton's death.'

'He is not the first to be killed,' he gasped. 'Not the first. I know.'

'What do you mean? Who else has died?'

A series of racking coughs shook his thin frame, phlegm gurgling in his chest. He lay back, exhausted. His eyes fell on Alice.

'Poor, good girl. I warned her of the danger here…' He began to cry, retching sobs turning into another fit of coughing that looked ready to shake his thin frame apart. I turned to Alice.

'What does he mean?' I asked sharply. 'What has he warned you of?'

Her face was clouded with puzzlement. 'I don't understand, sir. He has never warned me of anything. I have barely spoken to him before today.'

I looked at Brother Guy. He seemed equally puzzled. He studied the boy anxiously.

'He is very ill, Commissioner. He should be left to rest now.'

'No, Brother, I must question him some more. Have you any idea what he meant there?'

'No, sir. I know no more than Alice.'

I moved closer to the bed and bent over the boy.

'Master Whelplay, tell me what you mean. Alice says you have given her no warning-'

'Alice is good,' he croaked. 'Dulce and gentle. She must be warned-' He began coughing again, and Brother Guy stepped firmly between us.

'I must ask you to leave him now, Commissioner. I thought talking to you might ease him, but he is delirious. I must give him a potion to make him sleep.'

'Please, sir,' Alice added, 'for charity. You can see how ill he is.'

I drew away from the boy, who seemed to have collapsed into an exhausted stupor. 'How ill is he?' I asked.

The infirmarian set his lips. 'Either the fever will break soon, or it will kill him. He should not have been treated so,' he added angrily. 'I have made a complaint to the abbot; he will be coming to see the lad in the morning. Prior Mortimus has gone too far this time.'

'I must find out what he meant. I will come again tomorrow and I want to be told at once if his condition worsens.'

'Of course. Now pray excuse me, sir, I must prepare some herbs-'

I nodded, and he left. I smiled at Alice, trying to seem reassuring.

'A strange business,' I said. 'You have no idea what he meant? First he said he had warned you, then that he must do so.'

'He has said nothing to me, sir. When we brought him in he slept a little, then as his fever rose he started asking for you.'

'What could he mean by saying Singleton was not the first?'

'On my oath, sir, I do not know.' There was anxiety in her voice. I turned to her and spoke gently.

'Do you feel you could be in danger from any source, Alice?'

'No, sir.' Her face reddened and I was surprised at the degree of anger and contempt that came into her face. 'I have had approaches from certain monks from time to time, but I deal with them with the aid of Brother Guy's protection and my own wits. That is a nuisance, not a danger.'

I nodded, struck once more by the strength of her personality.

'You are unhappy here?' I asked quietly.

She shrugged. 'It is a post. And I have a good master.'

'Alice, if I can help you or there is anything you want to tell me, please come to me. I would not like to think of you in danger.'

'Thank you, sir. I am grateful.' Her tone was guarded; she had no reason to trust me any more than the monks. But perhaps she would unwind to Mark. She turned back to her patient, who had begun tossing in his fever, threatening to throw off the bedclothes.

'Goodnight then, Alice.'

She was still trying to settle the novice, and did not look up. 'Goodnight, sir.'

I made my way back up the freezing corridor. Stopping at a window, I saw the snow had ceased at last. It lay deep and unbroken, glowing white under a full moon. Looking out on that wasteland broken by the black shapes of the ancient buildings, I felt as trapped and isolated in Scarnsea as though I stood in the moon's own empty caverns.

When I woke I did not at first know where I was. Daylight of unaccustomed brightness cast a leached white light over an unfamiliar room. Then I remembered all and slowly sat up. Mark, who had fallen asleep again by the time I returned from my talk with the novice, had already risen; he had banked up the fire and stood in his hose, shaving at a ewer of steaming water. Through the window bright sunlight was reflected from the snow that lay thick everywhere, dotted here and there with birds' footprints.

'Good morning, sir,' he said, squinting at his features in an old brass mirror.

'What time is it?'

'Past nine. The infirmarian says breakfast is waiting in his kitchen. He knew we would be tired and let us sleep.'

I threw off the clothes. 'We haven't time to waste sleeping! Hurry, finish that and get into your shirt.' I started pulling on my clothes.

'Will you not shave?'

'They can take me unshaven.' The burden of work to be done filled my mind. 'Hurry now. I want to see this place properly and talk to the obedentiaries. You must find an opportunity to talk to Mistress Alice. Then take a walk around the place, look for likely hiding places for that sword. We have to cover the ground as fast as we can, we have a new problem now.' As I laced up my hose, I told him of my visit to Whelplay the night before.