They passed down alleyways, through gardens fragrant with lilac and orange blossom, across shady courts, twisting and turning but always heading west towards the river. Dickie had a mental mapping system to rival that of a pigeon, but he doubted he would ever manage to find his way back out of this medieval maze without a guide. He knew every nook and cranny of the public space of the city, but the colleges were unknown and unfriendly territory. Disconcerting. Was he entering a trap or scuttling into a convenient hole for safety?

Dickie had learned always to be sure of a clear exit from any situation, but here there were no names, no directions, no numbers. If you had penetrated this far, it was assumed that you knew where you were, he guessed. From the clattering of copper pans and cutlery and the steam smelling strongly of frying onions issuing from an open window, he thought he’d located the kitchen, and heavenly voices raised in a snatch of “O Magnum Mysterium” gave away the position of the chapel. Ah well, if the worst occurred and he had to make a run for it, he could probably flee to the kitchen or the chapel and take his escape route from there.

Why the hell had Dickie gone along with this pretence, walked willingly into this situation? Pretended to believe the rubbish Oily had fed him? “All lambs to meet in the marketplace. Slaughter to commence at twenty-two hundred hours.” What tosh! He ought to have made them come to him if they wanted him so badly. Lured them to the marketplace, at a time of his choosing. His own stamping ground. He could have fought back there, might even have engaged an ally to help him out. Solly was a useful pair of fists and always ready for a scrap. In any case, he hadn’t been deceived by any of Oily’s scare-mongering. The thought that Ratty and Herbert would give up a day of their busy lives to answer that summons was ridiculous. He’d met Ratty again during his trip up north to Yorkshire. Quite a swell these days, old Ratty. They’d held a brief conversation. Two strangers who’d had the misfortune to share an uncomfortable experience, that’s all they were. It had changed the shape of Dickie’s life, ruined it, he sometimes said, but Ratty had brushed it all away. He really didn’t seem to remember much of what had gone on. It was an irritating interlude for him, a hiccup in his career, and he wasn’t overjoyed at being reminded of it. There was no way that Ratty would be exposing himself to danger in the middle of Cambridge.