After the countess’s cell, the dungeon’s weepy walls disappear in a long, dark curve. There’s a sudden howl, like from an animal, coming from the black that makes my guts drop. What will I find if I go on?

But she’s here. And she’s the only folk I’ve got left.

‘She’s going to the interrogation cells,’ Mouldy Beard says. I hear the sound of Grey Beard’s fist hitting Mouldy Beard’s flesh.

A few paces into the dark curve I see a whisper of light. It’s another several paces before it brightens into a lamp lighting a second row of doors. A low howl comes from the first door. A bitter taste comes up into my mouth as I step to the peephole.

Inside is like a shadow image of a picture I’ve seen before. The Willow Tree, the Queen’s physician, is there. He’s leaning over a bowl of urine, just like he did when he tended to Corliss. But this time he’s next to an ancient, shrivelled woman, and he’s not trying to heal her.

She’s dressed in rags, and her face and neck have small burns and needle pricks all over them. The Willow Tree sniffs at the urine. ‘Inconclusive, again,’ he says. ‘You carry your secrets close, mistress.’ He places the bowl of urine on the cell floor. As he does, there’s a glint from his hand. It’s the witch pricker on the nail of his little finger. He lowers the thick needle towards her. Its tip doesn’t shine because it’s dark with her blood.

I remind myself the old woman may well have made the poppet that was found, the one fashioned to curse a highborn lady with bristles stuck in the belly and cunny. That’s blackest magic. I hurry to the next cell door and look in.

A whimper escapes my lips when I see the Sin Eater. It’s dim in the cell, but I see her nonetheless. She’s sitting on the floor, facing away, hanging over herself. The stones that will press her are in a pile nearby.

I gruff to pull her attention. I sound like an animal, a horse or a cow. But the Sin Eater is as still as the stones. She must be drunk. But no, there’s no drink here. Not in a dungeon. Only cold stones and waiting and the much worse that comes when the waiting ends.

I don’t know what to do, so I wait too. I wait with her. Mayhap my breaths in and out will take the place of words. Mayhap she’ll hear the catches in it and know I’ve come to comfort her. That I’ve given her a name. That I’m sorry. That I miss her.

And then I see the blood on the floor.