Tom was bigger and stronger than anyone I’d ever met, and he’d improved with startling speed. I’d already thought he was pretty good, considering how little training he’d had. Now there was no debate: He could use a sword, no mistake about it.

I wasn’t such a natural. I’d taken some training with him—the sword, anyway; I didn’t have the strength to handle halberds. But I’d gravitated to firearms instead. After an hour-long lecture from Lord Ashcombe about how gunpowder was not a toy—which I’d thought a bit much, and Tom and Sally not nearly enough—I’d practiced every day with musket, carbine, and pistol. I’d reached the point where I could reliably shatter a bottle at twenty yards—forty with a musket—and, all in all, I was quite pleased with myself.

The King’s Men saw how much I loved the smoke, the kick, and the boom the guns made. So a few days before we returned to London, before I let off my fireworks in celebration, they’d presented me with a pair of pistols. Ignoring Tom burying his face in his hands, and Sally’s look of dread, I’d put them on proudly.

With Lord Ashcombe’s permission, I’d kept them on my belt ever since. I’d also added gunpowder, wadding paper, and shot to my apothecary sash, which had once been Master Benedict’s and which I now wore around my waist, under my clothes. So I had a dozen reloads, if it came to that.

It was no problem wearing the guns in the company of the King’s Men. But here, back in London, Dorothy’s surprise was well founded. As an apprentice, I wasn’t allowed to carry weapons of any kind. I supposed I’d have to put them away. Just as I’d got used to the weight on my belt, too.

I couldn’t tell Dorothy why I was really wearing them; I wasn’t supposed to say I’d been working for the king. I’d told her instead I was going to stay with friends of my master’s in Oxford, to avoid the plague. “Um… yes. Well… the roads are dangerous these days. So I figured… you know.” I changed the subject. “Things look better here.”

She brightened. “So much better. People are back. We even have lodgers again.”

That was nice to hear. “Really?”

“Yes! A wool seller, and a farrier, and a new physician, too! Came a month ago, to help the city get back on its feet after the plague. My father’s been trying to convince him to stay. With Dr. Parrett gone…”

Hearing that name filled me with sadness. Dr. Parrett had given his life for the people of this city—and, more directly, for me. He’d been a great man. I hoped the new physician would be even half as worthy.

“So,” Dorothy said casually, “where’s Tom?”

I smothered a grin. She’d had a thing for Tom for some time. Since we’d been away, he’d grown even taller, which was just ridiculous, and all the training and hard living had melted away any last bit of pudginess in him. With his hair long, he looked like a Viking. She’d lose her mind when she saw him.