‘What’s this?’ asks a folk behind me. ‘A water feature?’ It’s Frederick’s voice. He and Paul are both gandering like me. The sight of Paul gives me a star-shaped flush of anger between my rib bones.

I’ll deal with him after, I tell the great tent. I’ve a killer to catch first.

‘Fountain of wine,’ the fountain carrier tells Frederick.

‘Why, the festivities will be Roman in their decadence!’ Frederick sings out.

‘We got another one coming; can you move it along?’ the fountain carrier says back.

I make my way to the side of the tents close on Frederick’s and Paul’s heels. We come upon Jane and the other painters still at work. Jane’s children run to Frederick when they see him. He gives them a nuzzle, then sends them back to Jane. The elder wants to stay. ‘Shall you be the tiniest mechanical and help us build the stage?’ Frederick tells him. ‘Come round later to the tiring room, and Paul will dress you up as a bear.’

Frederick and Paul continue to one of the small tents attached to the bigger ones. There’s men already at work ferrying trunks and clothing racks into it.

‘We were meant to start at dawn,’ says a clean-shaven man with hair as long as a woman’s.

‘I brought reinforcements,’ Frederick answers.

‘Is that Paul, now?’ says a tall man with a trim, grey beard and booming voice. ‘Haven’t seen you in an age.’ Paul embraces the tall man, then he and Frederick join in the work.

I keep going on to the very back of all the tents, where the field kitchen is. As I walk, I see the richly dressed man who was overseeing things yesterday. He’s got guards with him today.

The pit fires of the field kitchen are already smoking. The boys turning the spits have shed their shirts even though the morning’s still cool. A line of scullions runs between a wagon and a second small tent ferrying linen cloths, plates, and dishes inside. This small tent must be where they’ll plate and dress the food for the feast.

Beyond the field kitchen, I finally find the jakes. They’ve been dug far enough away that the sight and stink won’t bother any of the highborn folk. Far enough away, I hope, that a cry might not be heard in them, especially over the music of a play.

The outsides of the jakes have been hung with cloth to make them seem grander than the quick-made huts they are. Still, they’re large enough for a woman in a farthingale to get into and out of, which means there’ll be enough room for my plan.