She pinched the silver, barely able to believe it was real. Then she hid it away safe in her dress. “Every day, my lord. I promise, no matter what, you’ll see. I’ll bring the best for your sweetheart.”

Tom made a strangled noise.

I flushed. “She’s not my sweetheart.”

The girl gave me a knowing smile. “As you like, my lord.”

Tom couldn’t hold it in any longer. He laughed. Then he sneezed. Then he laughed again.

Everyone’s against me.

At least Tom was in a better mood.

“So what are we going to do with all these—atchoo!” Back in the church, people paused to watch the sniffling giant carrying flowers through the nave. “Give them to the pilgrims and sneeze them to death?”

“I don’t think that’s a verb,” I said. “Well… it is a verb, but I don’t think you can use it that way.”

“I don’t need a grammar lesson. I need a handkerchief.”

“We’ll be rid of them in a second. Pardon me, sir.”

We’d reached the pilgrims praying at Saint Erkenwald’s tomb. They parted, allowing the two of us through to the rail. I began placing the flowers all over the vault.

“In memory of our mother,” I said to a woman looking puzzled. “Let me just make some space.”

I pushed the offerings farther toward the center of the tomb. As the flowers piled up, they blocked everyone’s view of what was already on the stone. Tom, finally realizing what I was doing, stood in front of the pilgrims to help cover me. When no one could see, I reached into the primroses and palmed the note, slipping it into my doublet.

We stepped back through the crowd. Tom blew his nose, a honk that echoed in the rafters. “That was clever,” he said.

I was feeling somewhat proud myself. I pulled the note from my pocket and began to unfold it when suddenly a cry came from behind us.

“Hey! What are you doing? Stop!”

Tom and I whirled. The man who’d shouted was a priest in a cassock, standing near the chapel to Saint Dunstan. I covered my doublet where I’d stuffed the note, feeling—and no doubt looking—absurdly guilty.

But the priest wasn’t shouting at us. He’d stretched out his hand to someone else nearby. This man was dressed in a tight doublet and coat, with a cape and a wide-brimmed hat. His lower face was black, and for one ridiculous moment, I thought he was sporting an absurdly large beard.

Then I realized he was wearing a scarf. The man had pulled it up, covering his nose, concealing everything but his eyes.

And in his hand he held a long, slim dagger.

CHAPTER 29

I STARED AT THE DAGGER, stunned.

But… this is a church, I thought stupidly.

The man stared back. His eyes were cold and empty, the soul of a killer. Still I didn’t understand.

Why?

I had no more time to think. Tom grabbed my collar and yanked me backward—this time, not quite so gently. He literally threw me behind him, sending me tumbling through the pilgrims to sprawl on the floor. The back of my skull hit the railing around Saint Erkenwald’s tomb. The iron—and my head—rang like a bell.