“No, you don’t see,” I say. “Am I not correct? Are you not meeting someone on a quiet road?”

“I am a smuggler, child. I meet many people in many quiet places. As for my pack and the valuables it contains?” He opens it to reveal fresh fruits and vegetables. “We have had a local outbreak of scurvy. I was trained as a doctor. My studies were interrupted, but I served as a ship’s physician, and so I know how to treat scurvy. It is also a problem in seaside towns, where the diet is rich in fruits of the sea but sorely lacking actual fruits.”

I stare into the satchel.

“Would you like me to empty it?” he says. “Prove there isn’t gold hidden at the bottom?”

I pull myself back. “I did not say it definitely contained stolen goods. I said that was my guess.”

“Is that not what prophecy is? Guesses?” He rocks back on his heels. “I am a man of science. Prophecy is not science. Fortune-telling is not science. They are fakery. I do not doubt that you believe this thing you are saying. Perhaps, in a dream, you saw a man die on a road.”

“A man who looks like you? In North Yorkshire?”

“I am not the only dark-skinned man here, Miranda.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean that I saw you—dressed as you are, right down to that fancy sword and copper-buttoned boots. I saw you on that road. I saw you die.”

When he pauses, I quote another work of Shakespeare. “There are more things in heaven and earth, . . . than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

He pulls back. “Perhaps, but you cannot expect me to believe—” He stops short. “Why am I arguing when the solution is simple? You believe you saw me die on the road where I meet my compatriot. Therefore, we shall not meet there. We are to meet at a crossroads. I will approach from another direction. I may not believe you truly see the future, but why tempt fate?”

He snaps the sword in place. “It is settled. You may rest easy. I will not travel along the road where you saw me meet my fatal end.”

“Good.”

“I will be prepared for trouble.”

“Good.”

“Then allow me to bid you adieu and—”

“No need. I am going with you.”

He raises one brow.

“I know exactly where you were set upon. I can be certain there is no confusion, and I can be there to assist, should anything go wrong. I have a knife. Two, in fact.”

“Naturellement.” He peers at me. “I do not suppose I can dissuade you?”

“You cannot.”

He checks his watch again and sighs. “Then you’ll need to be quick about it.”

“Quick about what?”

“Changing your attire, of course. It is a five-mile walk. You cannot do it in that.” He eyes my dress. “I do not know how you do anything with all those petticoats.”