Lord Ashcombe clomped upstairs, mud tracking from his boots. I followed, behind the physician. The apprentice was doing what he could to clean up after Dr. Kemp. Though I’d never get the blood out of those sheets.

Simon dozed on his stomach, mouth open, drooling, a heavy bandage wrapped around his chest. Crimson spotted the cloth on his back.

“Chastellain,” Lord Ashcombe said. “Vicomte.”

Simon moaned faintly.

“Did you see who attacked you?”

“Mn?”

“Your attacker. Did you see him?”

“No. Back. Something… hurt.”

“Who might have done this?”

I could think of someone. Someone very likely indeed. “Was it the Raven?” I said. I knelt beside the bed. “Simon? Was it the Raven?”

“Hm?… No.”

“You didn’t see who attacked you,” Lord Ashcombe said. “How do you know it wasn’t?”

“Because,” Simon mumbled, drifting off. “The Raven is dead.”

CHAPTER 5

I STARED AT SIMON.

The Raven—the man who’d murdered Marin Chastellain, Simon’s uncle, Master Benedict’s lifelong friend—the man who’d promised to murder me—was dead?

I couldn’t believe it. “How?” I shook Simon’s shoulder. “How do you know the Raven’s dead? Simon!”

“Here, now.” Dr. Kemp hauled me up by the crook of my arm. “You know better than that.”

“Yes. Of course. Sorry.” The poppy had left Simon in no state to speak. And anyway, he really needed to rest. Master Benedict would have been embarrassed by what I’d done, and that made me ashamed.

“Sorry,” I said again, as much to my master as anyone else. I just felt so confused. All these months, the shadow of the Raven had loomed over me. How could he just be dead?

“We’re expected at the palace,” Lord Ashcombe said, “and we won’t get any answers here today. Let’s go.”

I didn’t like leaving Simon behind, but there really was nothing else that we could do. I nodded, my mind a whirl. I was so out of it, I almost forgot the good doctor’s fee.

“I have a few coins here somewhere,” I said. Actually, I had a lot of them, but they were tucked into the mattress Simon was on, and I didn’t think it prudent to go digging for gold in front of strangers. “I’ll bring them to the Missing Finger.”

Lord Ashcombe overruled me. “Send a bill to Whitehall.”

Dr. Kemp raised his eyebrows, again giving me that bemused smile. I didn’t explain. I did, however, finally remember I hadn’t given him my name. “I’m Christopher Rowe.”

“Very well, Mr. Rowe,” he said, still smiling. “With your permission, I’ll return to care for our patient as needed.”

Lord Ashcombe checked with the King’s Men; they hadn’t been able to find any witnesses to the attack. Leaving one of the soldiers behind to stand guard in case the assassin came back to finish the job, Lord Ashcombe ordered me to take the man’s horse. I collected Bridget, then mounted.

The warhorse made me a little nervous. Tom, Sally, and I had been taught to ride while waiting to return to London, but I’d always practiced on the carriage horses, which were smaller and of calmer temperament. This beast’s power was kind of frightening.