The boy hung his head and Widow Kenney beckoned him toward the door.

"Let me speak with you a moment." She studied me briefly as if assessing the danger of leaving me unattended, then appeared to decide I was harmless. "I have told him, I will not have bloodshed in my inn," she hissed at Humphrey as she ushered him into the corridor, "and you should know better, Humphrey Pritchard." I did not catch his protest but the murmur of their urgent exchange was audible beyond the closed door.

I had to act quickly. Without the need to conceal my movements from Humphrey, I tugged at the loosened end of the knot binding my ankles and it came loose in my hand; shaking my legs free of the cord as fast as I could, I struggled painfully to my feet and hobbled across the room to the small makeshift altar, where the candles had almost burned down to the sticks. With my back to the altar, I tried to position the knot fastening the bindings around my wrists over the flame, hoping it would burn through, but the cord was sturdier than it looked and the flame feeble; though I could smell it beginning to singe, I doubted whether the knot would break before Humphrey came back and caught me. Outside in the passageway, the voices grew louder in heated argument. Because I could not see what I was doing, I kept scorching my hands on the flame and was grateful this time for the cloth in my mouth that muffled my cries as I did so. My greatest fear was that I would knock the candle and set my clothes alight; to escape a burning at the hands of the Inquisition only to bring one on myself by accident would be beyond irony, I thought, as I twisted the cord first one way and then another over the flame, trying to arch my arms as far as I could from my body. The cord crackled suddenly and I felt a rush of fierce heat on my right hand; the knot had caught fire, and I screamed into the cloth as the flame seared my hand and sleeve, but the knot had loosened enough for me to pull my hands out. The flaming coils of cord fell to the floor and I stamped on them furiously, clutching my burned hand to my chest and catching a whiff of scorched flesh as I did so. The voices outside the door silenced abruptly and I knew I would only have one chance at getting past them. Ignoring the pain of my stretched and blistered skin, I grabbed the heavy silver candlestick from the altar, blew out the guttering flame and held it aloft just as Humphrey flung the door open and paused for the briefest moment, his mouth gaping at the sight.

His hesitation was just long enough; before he could raise his arms, I swung the solid base of the candlestick at his temple. My aim was good; there was a sickening crunch and he fell backwards, blood spurting from the gash, matting his fair hair. His large body crumpled to the floor; he appeared to be knocked out cold. The widow held up her hands in fright and shook her head violently, her mouth working in terrified silent protest; holding the candlestick aloft again so that she cowered into a corner, I wrested the knife from Humphrey's belt, threw the candlestick back at her feet with a last warning look, and darted through the door into the corridor. All down the crooked stairs and across the inn yard I fully expected to see Jenkes at any moment and kept the knife levelled in front of me lest he appear, while glancing back over my shoulder to see if Humphrey might have revived to pursue me, but it seemed fortune was on my side at last; I emerged from the gates of the inn yard into the street without seeing a soul. The sky was still dark, etched with streaks of moonlight between the clouds, and I rested for a moment against the wall of a house to catch my breath, realising that in all the frenzy I had not stopped to remove the scarf gagging me. Now I extracted it and, holding one end in my teeth, wrapped it gingerly around my burned hand. The pain made me briefly dizzy, so that I feared my legs might buckle beneath me, and once the temporary exhilaration of my escape had subsided, I realised with a falling sensation that my purse had been stolen and I had no means of getting past the watchmen at the north gate. Worse still, I thought, what if they knew Jenkes well and had been tipped by him to watch out for me? In this city, it was impossible to know who was a friend.

The square tower of St. Michael's church at the north gate rose above the battlements of the city wall, its silhouette a landmark as I crept along under the eaves of houses until I was forced to break my cover and run across the broad street that lay parallel to the city wall. I looked wildly from side to side as I dashed over, anticipating the sight of Jenkes at any moment, but the street was still and empty. At the gate I paused, but could think of no other means of gaining the city again; the wall was far too high and sheer to be scaled and all the other gates would be guarded too at this hour. My only choice was to wait until first light, when the gates would be opened to traders, by which time Jenkes or Humphrey would likely have caught up with me, or to try and persuade the watchmen I had already paid to let me back. I banged with the flat of my good hand on the small door set into the high oak gates but there was no reply. I hammered harder and called out, and at last a bleary face appeared behind the small iron grille. Eventually I heard the scrape of a bolt and the small door opened.

I murmured my gratitude, glancing around again for signs of movement in the dark streets, and as soon as I was out of the guard's sight, I picked up my pace and ran the short way up St. Mildred's Lane, holding tight to the handle of Humphrey's knife. Never had I been so glad to see the tower of Lincoln College looming above me. Gently I tapped on the narrow window of Cobbett's room. After a pause, I tapped again.

"Cobbett!" I hissed, as loudly as I dared. "It is I, Bruno-open the gate!"

I was greeted only by silence. Hoisting myself up to the sill, I peered in and saw the old porter lolling in his chair, his chin slumped on his chest and his mouth gaping, a skein of dribble hanging from his lower lip.

"Cobbett!" I called again, tapping the window harder, but he did not stir. Cursing under my breath, I stepped back and looked up at the college walls; all the windows were dark and I wondered whether I dared risk waking anyone else by calling louder. I did not want to be left in the street outside the college; that would be one of the first places Jenkes would choose to look for me. Then, as the clouds shifted and a thin ray of pearly moonlight broke through, I remembered another possibility and hoped my guess was right. The very furthest window on the west range belonged to Norris's room; though it appeared closed, I managed to jam the fingers of my good hand inside the frame and found that it had indeed been left unlatched. As far as I could see into the darkness, the lane appeared to be empty in both directions. As I heaved myself up and levered myself sideways through the narrow opening, flinching as I scraped my burned hand against the frame, I prayed that neither of the room's occupants had returned during the evening.

I tumbled through the window, landing awkwardly on the large wooden chest beneath. I froze for a moment, listening for the sound of breathing or movement from the bedchamber beyond, but the stillness was that of an empty room, I was certain. The faint moonlight from the window facing into the quadrangle outlined the shapes of furniture. The floor seemed to be littered with debris and after some tripping and fumbling across the surfaces of dressers and tables, I managed to locate a tinderbox that had been left on an ornamental table under the window. Striking it, I lit a stub of candle on the desk and looked around to see the room in a state of chaos, just as Roger Mercer's room had been on the morning he was killed. Clothes had been flung from the wardrobe, books and papers scattered, and all the drawers of Norris's fine writing desk pulled open and emptied. I slumped down on the settle by the long-cold fireplace, its cushions all thrown about the hearth, and tried to make myself breathe calmly for the first time in what felt like hours as I gathered my frayed thoughts. My shoulders ached insistently, my burned hand was throbbing, and the cut at my throat stung, though it was not deep, but now that I was out of immediate danger I found I was able to think more sharply and clearly. Not that the danger had passed, of course; Jenkes had already decided that I knew too much to be left alone, and once he discovered my escape he would almost certainly try to track me down before I could speak to anyone. In case he succeeded, I needed to communicate everything I knew to Sidney as soon as possible. From my conversation with Humphrey, a theory had begun to take shape in the back of my mind about the murders, still hazy, like figures seen through fog. If my guesswork was correct, then I thought I knew where I might find the answers. And if Jenkes was to be believed, I had to get there before dawn, before Thomas Allen was silenced for good.