“Fair. A little florid, but it will sell. Your invalid lady is not named, but that is no great matter. You paint your highwayman in colors too bright for his craft, perhaps. It lacks moral instruction. Could you add another verse to say that he has gone to the gallows, but that he repented his wickedness at the eleventh hour?”

“With respect, my good sir, I hardly think so. The fellow still lives . . .”

“Too bad. Well, I suppose we must print the ballad as it stands until this man Blythe has been caught and hanged.” Toke rolled the ballad carefully, and laid it inside his mahogany writing box.

“Good sir”—Clent cleared his throat—“the truth is, without this man Blythe we would never have reached Mandelion so soon or so safely. It has been the only stroke of good fortune in a journey otherwise blighted by calamity. To relate the details would be to tell a tale of hazard, indignity, betrayal, and misfortune . . . for which, ah, you are clearly too busy. Suffice to say that since leaving Long Pursing I believe that I have been followed. In Webwyke I heard that a well-spoken man had been asking for me by name, and in Lampgibbet he inquired after me by description. I tried to shake him off by taking the narrow roads, and took lodgings in a dismal hovel stack called Chough, but I fancy he found me out even there. Some gentleman arrived there unexpectedly, I know that much, and spent hours talking with the magistrate. That very afternoon I was dragged from my tea table by a howling mob and clamped into the stocks. If I had not proved ingenious, I think his slanders might have seen me hanged. Master Toke, someone meant to prevent me reaching Mandelion.”

A gentleman arrived unexpectedly . . . Mosca suddenly remembered the conversation she had heard from the dovecote, between the magistrate and the man with the voice like warm milk. But she was already biting her tongue to stay mum and secretary-like, and she wasn’t sure she could capture her tongue again if she stopped holding it.

“Mr. Clent, were the seals on the letters I sent you intact?”

“Letters? Good sir, I received only one letter, calling me to Mandelion and recommending secrecy.”

“Two letters were sent. The second, which gave further details, has clearly been intercepted. I would assume therefore that someone knows all too well why you are here—and that you yourself have not the slightest idea.”

Clent ruefully inclined his head.

“Very well, the reason for summoning you is this. There is an illegal printing press in Mandelion.”