Barak made a sound, a little moan. He was still alive, just. He tried to raise his head but it dropped back to the floor with a crack and he lay unmoving again. Blood still poured from his wrist, and more from the wound in his back, making a dark patch on his shirt.

‘He’s still alive,’ the bald man said with professional interest.

‘Not for long,’ Stice replied. ‘He’ll bleed out soon if nothing else.’ Blood dripped down the hand holding the kerchief to his face. ‘He was once known as a fighter,’ he added, with sudden pride.

I looked at Stice, and spoke savagely, through bruised lips. ‘At least you’ll have a scar on your face to match that ear.’

He looked at me coldly, then laughed. ‘So, you caught Brocket out, did you?’

‘It was me who sent the message.’

Stice smiled. ‘Brocket seemed to have found out something big. I thought it time to bring him in person to my master, so I arranged help to secure him.’

‘So all of you were working together, all the time?’

‘That’s right. All part of the same merry band, working for the same master.’

The fair-haired man, his sword still pointed at Nicholas’s throat, said, ‘He’ll be pleased then? We’ve caught a big fish, as well as this long minnow?’

Stice sat on the edge of the table. ‘Yes. He’ll be keen to find out why he mentioned an Italian.’ He winced at the pain from his face. ‘God’s wounds, I’ll have to get this stitched. But we must take Shardlake to him first. The boy as well. Bind their hands; we’ll ride. I’ll get treatment at Whitehall. He’s waiting there.’

Whitehall? I thought. But the royal family and high councillors had all moved to Hampton Court.

‘It’s past curfew,’ the fair-haired man said. ‘What if the constables see us?’

‘With my seal, they won’t challenge us. Not when they see who we are taking them to.’

There was a sudden bang on the wall separating the house from its neighbour. A man’s voice shouted, ‘What’s going on?’ The voice was cultured and angry, but frightened too. ‘What’s all this noise?’

Stice called out, ‘We’re having a party! Fuck off !’ His confederates laughed. There was silence from the next house. I looked down at Barak, quite still now, blood still flowing from his severed wrist, though less freely. I glanced at his severed hand, lying a foot away on the floor, still holding his sword. ‘Right,’ Stice said decisively. ‘Time to go.’

I said, ‘Who is your master? It’s not Richard Rich, is it? I was at Hampton Court, and saw how you avoided him. Who are you really working for?’

Stice frowned. ‘You’ll find out soon, Master Hunchback.’

The bald man nodded at the prone Barak. ‘What about him?’

‘Leave him to bleed out,’ Stice replied.