‘Yes,’ I said guardedly.

‘And the boy took out his own eyes here, at St Leonars, a month after coming to the city.’

Our drinks arrived and the chief fussed with his small tea pot. I stirred my coffee needlessly.

‘What he did,’ I said, ‘what was done to him: that didn’t come from the city.’

‘You sound certain.’

‘I am certain. Compulsion to self-harm, the teeth… there might have been people capable of that kind of witchcraft, once. But you’ve seen them all hang. And I put enough of them in the noose myself.’

‘Good,’ the chief said, ‘then you and the King agree. Tomorrow’s letter won’t just have the King’s seal, but his signature too. Do I need to explain the significance of the King’s personal signature, Morden?’

‘No, sir.’ I sipped my coffee, finding it stronger than I would have liked. ‘But surely there’s someone else? Someone posted that far south?’

‘Sadly, no. From what I hear, the town counts itself lucky to have a constable of the regular kind,’ he said. ‘Of course, there are others I would’ve chosen: Pitchler is younger; Mayr has your experience and grew up in the south; and Ebna, well, she is just better than you.’

I wouldn’t be baited in so obvious a manner.

‘But like you,’ the chief said, ‘I wasn’t asked.’

I thought back to St Leonars, the warden’s own claim of powerlessness, and the eyeless boy huddled in the dank cell. ‘The King’s personal signature?’

‘I know a good framer, if you’d like? It’s quite an attractive signature, really.’

‘Tomorrow,’ I said.

‘You leave as soon as it arrives.’

‘There is no alternative, no escape from this, is there?’ I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

‘No. The King rarely takes this kind of interest in a case,’ he said. ‘Do you want my opinion?’

I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no.

The chief lowered his voice. ‘I know you are not a man of the court, Morden, so I will speak as plainly as is possible with such things. His majesty has been distracted of late. Not himself for some time, maybe even years.’

‘The King?’ I said.

He hushed me, looking about the coffee house. ‘If I were to quietly use words like paranoia, or obsession, or even madness, you’d understand these were just said between two old friends in a very public place.’

‘I see.’

‘Perhaps such words always waft along the corridors of power?’

‘I wouldn’t know, sir.’

‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘Let us be even clearer, then. The King’s attention rests firmly on the south. You are to end this dark business in Drekenford before that attention takes a very physical, very martial form.’

‘War.’

‘Your word, not mine. But we both know what trouble it causes in an investigation.’ The chief sipped his tea. ‘The King chose you personally for this case, Morden, over all others. You look surprised? So did I.’