There were no street lamps in the alleyway. That convenience had yet to penetrate Albany’s narrow dockside lanes. What illumination there was came from the candlelight that spilled weakly from gaps in a few badly fitting shutters and the pale moon that hung, suspended like a pearl, high above the surrounding chimney pots.

As he stared at the shadowy form before him, Curtiss had a fleeting impression of a dark-haired individual as tall as himself. The captain’s startled gaze flickered across what he could see of the man’s features, to the dark eyes set in a hard face and the two ragged scars that ran in parallel furrows across the upper curve of the man’s left cheekbone.

Curtiss never saw the blow that struck him and thus had no chance of defending himself. One second he was standing in the alley, the next he was coming to his senses, face down in the dirt, feeling as if he’d just been run over by a coach and four – several times.

He raised his head cautiously, and then wished he hadn’t as a sharp bolt of pain lanced through his jaw and speared its way into the backs of his eyeballs. Letting out a groan, he winced and sank down again. Confused by his situation, he lay still for several seconds until the nausea had subsided and then tried again. This time, he made it as far as his knees. He reached up and felt along the side of his head. His hand came away damp and sticky and he stared blankly at the stain on the tips of his fingers. He realized, with some apprehension, that he was staring at his own blood, as black as pitch in the moonlight.

The nausea overtook him again and he reached out with the same hand, pressing the now-bloodied palm against the wall to keep himself upright. As he did so, he had a sudden vision of a dark-clad figure performing a similar manoeuvre not so long ago. He closed his eyes as a fresh bout of dizziness arrived and then, as the moment passed and his mind began to clear, his memory reasserted itself.

There had been a man, he remembered; a stranger, who, using the shadows of the night and the captain’s own footfalls to mask his presence, had followed him into the alleyway; a tall man who had first appeared drunk and whom he had then turned to confront.

After which …

Fuzzy as to the exact sequence of events, Curtiss hauled himself up until he had gained his feet, then slumped back against the wall. No sooner had he done so than he let out a gasp as his spine made contact with the cold hard surface of the bricks. It was then he realized that his memory wasn’t the only thing he was lacking.

His overcoat and uniform tunic were gone, too; which would explain why he was suddenly so damned cold.