"Who were the other two?" Harper asked.

"Captain Spencer and Captain Warren."

"What about Reynolds and Miller?" Harper asked.

"No, the abbot hates them. He thinks they're filthy sodomites."

"I see." Harper stood and then rolled Brandson over with his foot. He stared down at Brandson's pale face.

"It was the abbot's order. I had to do it, Harper," Brandson whispered. "Her testimony would have convicted Lord Cedric. It would have been a huge scandal."

"Didn't it even occur to you that Lord Cedric deserves to be convicted? He murdered his niece."

"He never meant to. She fell down the stairs—"

"Her body was covered with months of bruises, Brandson. He was beating her, and she died trying to escape him. Anyone who bothered to look at her could have seen that." Harper crouched down beside Brandson, pressing the tip of his gun against Brandson's chest. "If you fell down a flight of stairs trying to escape me, don't you think I might be to blame for your death?"

Brandson stared at Harper in silence for several moments. Harper didn't know what Brandson saw in his expression, but suddenly Brandson squeezed his eyes shut.

"Don't kill me, Harper. I'll...I'll do whatever you want. Just don't kill me."

Harper looked away in disgust as Brandson begged. He took a deep breath of the cool air.

"Just answer my questions, Brandson," Harper said.

"I will, I swear."

"Where is the abbot keeping Lord Cedric?" Harper asked.

"I'm not supposed to—"

Harper cocked the hammer of his pistol.

"White Chapel!" Brandson shouted. Sweat poured down his forehead. "For the love of God, don't kill me, Harper. Please..."

Slowly, Harper released the hammer. Then he stood up and went to Lucy. She stared at the pistol in his hand, then glanced up at his face. Harper gave her a brief smile. She tried to return the smile, but she was too frightened to be convincing. The gag in her mouth made the expression grotesquely desperate.

Harper sighed and strode quickly to the woman's shabby dressing table. He opened the drawer and dug through her underwear until he found another pair of silk stockings. There was a little pattern of L's decorating the seams. He took those as well as a pair of underwear and a cotton sock.

Harper returned to Brandson. He holstered his pistol and then viciously yanked him up off the floor and shoved him back onto the bed. Brandson gave and absurd cry of surprise. Lucy bounced as the mattress heaved with Brandson's sudden weight.

Harper didn't wait for Brandson to gain his equilibrium. He grabbed Brandson's legs and lashed them to the iron rungs at the foot of the bed. Then Harper sat on Brandson's chest, pinning his cuffed arms under his back. He tied one end of a silk stocking around Brandson's throat like a leash and then knot-ted the other end to the headboard.

"Open your mouth," Harper commanded, and Brandson obeyed.

Harper shoved the underwear into Brandson's mouth, cramming them in until he gagged. He used the remaining cotton sock to hold them in place. After briefly checking his knots, Harper got off him. He walked around the bed and, much more gently, untied Lucy's arms and legs.

He led her by one arm as he picked up Brandson's coat and keys, and then left the room. He stopped in the hallway with her.

"I'm going to take your gag off. But you have to stay quiet," Harper told her.

Lucy nodded. Harper untied the gag, taking care not to pull her hair. When he did, she winced but made no noise. At last Harper pulled the stocking off, and Lucy spit out the wet wad of cloth that had been in her mouth. The sides of her face were red from the tightness of the gag.

"I'm going to let you go," Harper told her. "But you should leave the city if you can. This will help." Harper pulled Brandson's wallet and coin purse out of the coat. Lucy reached out tentatively and took the money.

"You might think of going to the Inquisition to report this," Harper said, "but you should remember that it was an abbot who ordered Brandson to kill another woman for knowing what you just heard. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered quickly.

"He wasn't kind to you, was he?" Harper asked suddenly, remembering how resigned she had been to the bonds and gag.

"Worse than some, better than others." She looked up at Harper. "Can I have his coat? I haven't got one of my own."

"Here." Harper handed it to her.

"Thank you." She put the big black coat on and then headed down the stairs. Harper watched her go.

"Good luck," Harper told her as she turned away. Lucy glanced back up at him.

"Good luck to you too," she said, and then she rushed into the darkness.

Harper turned back to the door. He was glad to have let Lucy go. She was the kind of girl who had seen too many ugly things already. He wouldn't have wanted her to witness what he had left to do with Brandson.

The sun had risen an hour ago, but the sky remained dim. Heavy gray clouds hung above the rooftops and wrapped the tall steeples in thick mist. Harper liked the fog. It suited his thoughts, disguised the stains on his clothing, and hid his features. As the city bells rang out the hour, Harper squinted up the street.

Vendors were already out hawking their goods. Carriages and cart horses tore deep grooves through the muddy roads as the drivers shouted each other aside. The smell of hot bread and piss mixed as bakers opened their doors and women emptied the previous night's chamber pots into the gutters.

Harper sidestepped a splash of fouled water. His stomach clenched at the smell. He had already walked from Lucy's rented rooms on Cherry Row to Brandson's house on Archer's Green Road, then made his way to the walled grounds of White Chapel. Now he strode back along Butcher Street. The muscles of his back and legs burned with exhaustion. His eyes ached from strain and fatigue. His stomach churned in a mixture of hunger and tension. He felt almost certain that the moment he stopped moving he would simply collapse.

"Captain!" a young man shouted.

Across the street, a dark haired youth beckoned him.

"Captain." The young man grinned and Harper recognized him. Harper didn't know anyone else with so many teeth crammed so wildly into his mouth. Harper waved a brief hello. The young man returned the gesture with clumsy enthusiasm.

"Come across, Captain," the young man shouted over an argument between two carriage drivers. Harper waited for a slow moment in the rolling advances of carts and carriages, then rushed across the street.

"Morris," Harper said. "What are you doing down here?"

"Working." The young man held up a dripping broom. "Can you believe it?"

"Street sweeping?" Harper frowned.

"No. I'm just cleaning up in front of the shop." He pointed up to the sign that hung over their heads. Harper glanced up at the painted image of a loaf of bread encircled by patterns of wheat leaves.

"I got an apprenticeship to a baker." Morris pointed to the stained apron he wore. "Mr. Stone's been showing me how to make butter pastries. I baked my first ones this morning."

"That's good. I'm glad things have worked out for you." Harper smiled. Sharp tremors of exhaustion passed through his legs as he continued standing. If he didn't get moving again, he thought he was going to drop.