I presented the summons at the gates, where it was read. And read again.

‘Bad business,’ one guard muttered, showing the utterly functional script to his partner.

‘Excuse me?’ I said.

‘The warden’s in her office, Inspector.’ He waved me through the main gates. He smelled of cooked cabbage and pipe smoke.

I knew the way well enough, through long straight corridors with bars every twenty paces. My summons garnered unfathomable looks of sympathy, at the last of which I snatched the envelope back and demanded the man hurry up. He just shook his head and let me through. All these gateways and checks seemed unnecessary for an administrative wing, but I supposed the warden knew what she was about. She had been there long enough, day and night.

She didn’t look up as I entered her office. I waited as she squinted at letters an inch tall, in a room with more candles than a cathedral. Stacks of papers took up every available surface, including the floor, where there was an obvious path that made me feel like a soaring bird looking down on a mountain road.

‘Special Inspector Morden,’ she said. She carefully signed whatever she was reading, then sat back and took my measure. I shifted, as cattle shift under the butcher’s gaze. ‘How’s Alexsander?’

I shrugged. ‘Busy, I think.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Are you going to tell me why I’m here?’ I said, trying to keep my voice even.

‘You’re here for the same reason I’m here: because you were told to be.’

‘And tonight?’

‘That’s not so good,’ she said softly. She stood, her aches and pains as evident and heavy as the keys around her neck.

I followed her down and down again, deeper into St Leonars than I had ever been before. Despite the warden’s presence, the guards at each gate made no effort to hide their pity.

A narrow staircase led us finally down to a damp, dark corridor. The walls and floor were formed of large, sweating stones, and the ceiling was low enough to force me to hunch uncomfortably. This felt like an older part of St Leonars – a building I’d always assumed had sprung into existence all at once, at the beginning of time when God created man, woman, and prison. There was an unexpected quiet as we passed door after door. Just as I was beginning to think the cells were empty, the warden stopped.

She started to speak, but caught herself. She came to some kind of decision, wincing at her own noise as she whispered, ‘See it first. Then I’ll explain what I can.’

I glanced at the iron-studded door. The boards had warped considerably and beads of water ran down their uneven surface.

‘What—’

The warden took a key from around her neck and, with a rhythm of clunks that sounded like the tolling of a mourning bell, unlocked the cell door.

The room was utterly black. I took a step back.

‘We removed the candle. It only seemed fair,’ the warden said.