Voice of the Demon

Book 2: The Books of Elita

by Kate Jacoby

Genres: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy

Synopsis

The second in a glorious epic of political intrigue, sorcery and romance: an ancient prophecy and a new evil threaten the country: perfect for fans of Robin Hobb and Elizabeth Moon. The Prophecy of the Key is coming to pass, promising chaos and destruction for Lusara and its people. Robert Douglas, the new Duke of Haddon, has been banished from the sorcerers' hidden colony, for he will neither bow to the will of the ruling council, nor will he use his banned magical powers to overthrow the usurper King Selar. But he cannot hide out at his estate, for his reckless brother Finnlay, believed dead by most of Lusara, has left the Enclave and is headed straight for trouble. And Jenn needs his help again too. She's been learning to live the life of a noblewoman whilst secretly using her own powers to help those fighting the Guide's punitive new laws - but Lusara's queen has asked for her help, leaving her no choice but to call on Robert and the Bond they share . . . And all the while the Angel of Darkness, a sorcerer of immense power, has been using his position as an Alderman close to the usurper king to foment his own dastardly plans for Lusara. Once again, Lusara sits on the brink of cataclysm . . .

Release date: September 19, 2013

Publisher: Jo Fletcher Books

Print pages: 479

Sample

1355

In 1341, Lusara was a strong, independent nation whose wealth was both admired and envied by her neighbours. But she was also a country devastated by civil unrest as the major Houses battled with each other. All of this came to an end when Selar of Mayenne used his brother’s armies to conquer Lusara and make himself King.

Selar swept the old order aside and married Lady Rosalind MacKenna. Daughter of the Duke MacKenna, she was descended from the old royal family and Selar used this to found his own royal line. With ruthlessness and fierce determination, Selar crushed any opposition to his rule and punished the whole country for daring to stand against him.

Of the old Houses, only a few survived with any power. One of these was led by the young Earl of Dunlorn, Robert Douglas. His father had died a hero fighting Selar. Scion of the oldest House and heir to a long tradition of serving Lusara, Robert was forced to hide the secret part of his nature: he was a sorcerer – in a land where such a thing was both feared and reviled – and most certainly outlawed. Robert carried the hopes of his conquered people, but, seeing no other way to help them, he agreed to work alongside Selar. In return for his oath of allegiance, Selar gave Robert the power to help his people. The two men became friends, and for some years a quiet peace flooded a relieved land.

However, this peace was not to last. Jealous of Robert’s influence, the powerful Guilde moved against him. Robert found no support with the King for his defiance and, shattered, he left the court for his home. When his young wife died of a fever days later, Robert left Lusara, planning never to return. Now the people of Lusara had lost their one chance of freedom.

But three years later, Robert broke his self-imposed exile, returning with his most trusted friend, Micah Maclean, at his side. Determined merely to husband his lands, Robert’s plans were abruptly interrupted when he discovered his brother Finnlay had come looking for him. Finnlay demanded Robert act: he should take up the leadership of the secret sorcerers’ Enclave – or failing that, Robert must make a stand against Selar and free their people from tyranny.

For many reasons, Robert had to refuse, but before he could go much further, he was forced to rescue a young girl from Guilde soldiers. Robert discovered that she was one of the children abducted during the House feuds before Selar’s conquest. Her name was Jennifer Ross, daughter of the Earl of Ross – and she was a sorcerer whose powers were far different to any within the Enclave. Robert took Jennifer back to her father’s lands at Elita and continued home.

When Selar discovered Robert had returned to Lusara, he grew fearful and imprisoned the newly elected Bishop Aiden McCauly in order to plant his own man and gain a firm hold on the wavering support of the Church. And the King had a new friend, the Guildesman Samdon Nash, who remained constantly at his side. Then tragedy struck. Robert’s uncle, the Duke of Haddon, was embroiled in a futile rebellion and killed by Selar’s ruthless forces.

Stunned, Robert was tortured by guilt – but he had sworn an oath to Selar and even now could not break that vow. He had to remain constant to his promise never to take arms against the King. He believed that no matter how he tried to help the people, he would fail. This was the only way …

But when he and Finnlay were caught in an accident in the hills above Nanmoor, Robert was injured and lost his memory. Finnlay, using his own powers to try finding his brother, was captured, charged with the heinous crime of sorcery – and word flew across the land. A real sorcerer had been caught, the truth was no longer a secret.

With Jennifer’s help, Robert mounted a rescue and returned Finnlay to the safety of the Enclave, but there were questions to be answered, loyalties to be proved. The Enclave demanded Robert go before their powerful talisman, the Key – the very thing Robert had avoided for most of his life.

The Key took possession of Robert and told all who were witness part of a prophecy which sent a wave of shock through the Enclave. Robert was Bonded to Jennifer. They shared the rare gift of mindspeech. They were called the Enemy and the Ally – and against them was a creature of evil known as the Angel of Darkness.

On the precipice of ignorance, only this Angel of Darkness truly understood the choices before them all and the devastating consequences for Lusara. Linked by a tradition handed down over five centuries, this man harboured a secret ambition. He knew and wanted the Ally, but he was ignorant of the Enemy’s true identity. And unlike the others, he knew exactly what the Bonding meant and the grave danger it was to him. Too late they would come to know him by another name: Samdon Nash.

For Robert Douglas, however, the choices were all too limited. Banished from the Enclave and forbidden by his oath to Selar to help his country, his honour cried out for action. His feelings for Jenn were a sharp confusion that demanded attention, but he was held back, paralysed by something he’d kept concealed all his life. This one factor alone, which he’d fought to deny, to avoid, to conquer, dominated his actions in a way nobody could have foreseen – nor even have understood – for it was at the heart of the prophecy the Key had given him as a child, the part of the prophecy the Key had kept secret from the Enclave. It was destiny, fate, something he had no choice but to obey.

In the silence of his own mind, Robert gave this curse another name. He called it the demon.

Excerpt from The Secret History of Lusara

Ruel



‘I need not tell you how the divisions among us hurt not only our mother Church, but also the welfare of our state. It is at times like this that we must show our unity to the country. These debates and whisperings must stop. Dissent is our greatest enemy, my brothers. We must be of one mind. With all of us working together we can overcome these small difficulties and once again take our place among the leaders of our country.’

As Bishop Brome paused to take a sip of wine, Deacon Godfrey drew in a deep breath and held it, trying to stifle another yawn. The Bishop’s Palace was one of the oldest parts of Marsay and even though it afforded a magnificent view of the Basilica, most of it – and this room in particular – also drew the afternoon heat. Beads of sweat gathered in a minor conspiracy and trickled down Godfrey’s back. He didn’t dare shift, not even to move a hand to fan himself. He had to stand as still as his brethren, all gathered before Brome as he ate dinner.

Over the last year Brome had displayed an enormous appetite for the finer aspects of his position. In summer he almost always ate here, in the small hall where tall windows faced west to catch the evening light. Ancient oak beams stretched high between walls of grey stone from which hung a collection of six silk tapestries, a gift from King William over a century before. It was said the gift had been more a bribe to gain the support of a Church set against William’s marriage to the widowed Lady Jardine.

Godfrey’s attention was drawn back to Brome as the Bishop resumed his discourse in between mouthfuls of roast beef steeped in a sauce so full of peppercorns Godfrey could smell them from where he stood. Beside him were others of his rank, while in front, Archdeacons Hilderic, Francis and Ohler waited patiently. Or rather, Francis and Ohler appeared patient. Hilderic gave the impression of something quite different.

‘We have had a difficult year,’ the Bishop continued, ‘with that foolish rebellion from Blair and his cohorts. Thankfully we no longer have to deal with the financing and administration of the hospices. Our brothers in the Guilde have assured me that the work we began in that area over a thousand years ago will continue under their beneficence.’

Godfrey swallowed against a sudden dryness in his mouth. Hilderic, no more than three feet in front of him, had abruptly stiffened. His shoulders appeared hard as rock and his head had come up. Godfrey could just imagine the expression on his face.

‘Which brings me to the reason I called you here this afternoon.’ Brome put down his knife, pressed his fingers against a stiff linen cloth and picked up a jewelled goblet. He leaned back in his seat, his watery eyes scanning his captive audience but meeting no gazes. He had never been an attractive figure, but now, approaching his fiftieth year of soft living, fat had begun to obscure the lines of his face, almost swallowing up his small mouth and round nose.

‘I am aware that the Guilde’s investigation at Kilphedir is still to be completed and there is, at this time, no absolute evidence that sorcery is once again alive in Lusara. I’m sure that, given time, Governor Osbert and his assistants will divine truth from lie. However, I also feel it is fitting for us to communicate to the Guilde our full support both for the investigation itself and for whatever actions they deem necessary as a result of their findings.’

‘Forgive me, Your Grace.’ Hilderic almost pounced and Godfrey’s stomach clenched in horror. ‘But surely that’s a little presumptive. Until Governor Osbert returns with some conclusions, we don’t know what action the Proctor will take. How can we condone something we know nothing about?’

Brome’s eyelids flickered rapidly, but his voice was steady. ‘We don’t need to know, Archdeacon. Guilde business is Guilde business – and it’s exactly that kind of dissent I was referring to. My sainted predecessor, Domnhall, though gifted in many ways, did to some extent damage our relations with our traditional allies. Surely you can see that my desire to support them on this matter is a small attempt to heal the rift which has developed between us. I know not whether the rumours of sorcery hold any truth any more than I know for certain whether Finnlay Douglas is at the heart of them. What I do know is that the eradication of sorcery has always been the responsibility of the Guilde. It’s up to us as spiritual caretakers to support them in such a difficult and dangerous task. They’re well suited to it – much better than we. Our support will be much appreciated by the Proctor.’

‘I wonder if he’ll appreciate it as much as the handover of the hospices together with so much Church land,’ Hilderic growled. Godfrey tried to edge forward, but couldn’t do so without drawing attention.

Brome, however, got to his feet. His attendant pulled the grand chair back from the table, but Brome didn’t go far. ‘That is not a matter up for discussion. Hilderic, you will draft a letter pledging our support for the Guilde.’

‘I, Your Grace?’

‘Of course. You performed such duties for Domnhall – or would you rather I placed the task in the hands of someone else – along with other duties you feel you’re no longer able to perform?’ Brome drew himself up and clasped his hands together, affecting piety. ‘I did not bring you all here in order that you might question my authority. We will send a letter pledging our support for the Guilde and we will send it today. I will see it on my desk by sundown, Hilderic. That is all.’

*

Father John crossed the busy street and headed down the old alleyway to the Almsgate. Waving a greeting to the brother on duty, John continued on past the refectory and into the cloister. Here in the vaulted shade it was not so hot, but the cooler air did little to stifle John’s agitation. The conversation with Murdoch and the rumours flying around the capital for the last week had spoiled his sleep, his appetite and his work. If John didn’t find some calm from somewhere, Hilderic would begin to notice his distraction – and begin asking questions.

Was it possible that Finnlay had been caught? Murdoch seemed sure. But the damage of such a revelation on a country so encompassed by a hatred of sorcerers would bring doom upon them all. Both he and Murdoch would have to be very careful – at least until Osbert came back with his report – and until they were sure no suspicion was directed at either of them. As John turned into a corridor towards Hilderic’s study, he sent up a silent prayer that the Governor would find nothing at all.

The corridor wasn’t silent. John was alone, but he could clearly hear voices from behind the study door. Hilderic was there and . . . Deacon Godfrey – and Deacon Godfrey was very angry.

John approached the door with caution, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was behind him.

‘You have no idea of the problems you cause us all! By the gods,’ Godfrey’s voice seemed to smack against the door, ‘do you want to end up in a cell beside McCauly? At least he’s committed no real treason – but you? If you don’t learn to keep your own counsel they’ll find some excuse to execute you! Damn it, Hilderic! Are you even listening to me?’

‘You’ve turned, haven’t you?’ Hilderic snapped back. ‘Too many years as Chaplain to the Guilde. You side with them – and that worthless snake, Brome. Well, I won’t! Somebody has to stand against them and if I have to do it alone, I will!’

‘But you’ll achieve nothing but your own demise! There are other ways to help McCauly, Archdeacon. Quiet ways. I beg you, please refrain from this open resistance.’

John swallowed and strained to hear Hilderic’s response, but there was nothing more than a muffled echo through the door. After a moment, John reached up and knocked confidently, as though he had just arrived. A single word from Hilderic bade him open the door.

The two priests stood at either end of the room, the working table a wall between them. John swallowed and tried to look like he’d heard nothing of the argument.

‘Ah, Father John,’ Hilderic grunted. ‘Good. Take a seat. I have a letter to draft for the Bishop. Thank you, Deacon. I’ll consider your advice.’

Godfrey’s jaw moved a fraction, then his mouth came together in a thin line. With a short sketch of a bow, he turned and left the study, closing the door behind him.

John took his usual seat at the table and laid out his paper, ink and pen. When he was ready he glanced up at Hilderic, who was watching him with thundercloud eyes.

‘To be addressed to the Proctor,’ he began with precision. ‘From our beloved Bishop. All the usual titles.’

John nodded and bent his head to his work. Hilderic continued dictating, pausing every few words for John to catch up. His tone was thick with irony, clipped and hard.

‘Suffice to say, my dear Proctor, we will of course do our utmost to aid whatever slaughter you see fit in the wake of your investigations. I hold no fear that you will act precipitously, and that all hands and heads cut off as a result of your greed and fear will have at least a token crime manufactured for them. By all means, shed blood with our blessing and know that in all matters, we grovel at your feet for any little trifle you care to toss in our unworthy direction.’ Hilderic took a deep breath and turned back to his desk.

John finished scratching down the last few words and managed to hide his shock. Was the Archdeacon serious? Did he really want this letter written out for the signature of the Bishop?

‘There’s no rush, Father,’ Hilderic murmured without turning around. ‘Brome merely wants to read it over his supper. You may deliver it yourself. I trust you to give him a faithful copy.’

‘Of course, Archdeacon.’ John rose to his feet, gathering his things with trembling hands. Hilderic had as much as signed his own death warrant.

He was outside in the corridor again before he dared glance at the words he’d scrawled. He couldn’t give Brome a letter like this! But John didn’t have the authority to change it.

Taking a deep breath, John turned and walked down the passage until he reached the tiny chapel of Saint Catherine. The door was open and inside, seated on a chair before the altar, his head in his hands, was Godfrey.

John should have moved on. It wasn’t polite to disturb a brother’s prayer – but he couldn’t. There was something of desperation in Godfrey’s demeanour, worn frustration and weariness. For someone so competent and brilliant, Godfrey looked to be facing the end of his world.

After a moment, John moved and Godfrey glanced up. Their gaze met for a long minute, then, straightening up, Godfrey waved John into the chapel.

‘How bad is it?’

Without hesitating, John held the page out and watched Godfrey read. The Deacon reached the end of the page, then came to his feet. He crossed to the votive candle suspended above the altar and touched the paper to the flame. As it took light, Godfrey glanced back at John. ‘The first draft is never the best, is it, Father?’

‘No, Deacon.’ John sighed with relief. ‘Never.’

*

The Guilde Hall echoed with the clamour of a hundred voices. The noise rose to the vaulted roof and rattled around, gaining strength, before descending again. Vaughn raised his hands and came to his feet. Slowly the noise diminished as all attention focused on the dais. Vaughn clasped his hands together and gazed across the vast room at all the faithful faces turned towards him. They were afraid and shocked and completely unready for what faced them – but face it they would.

‘It should come as no surprise to you that we might find sorcery again within our shores.’ Vaughn lifted his voice above their heads, clear and full. ‘Five hundred years ago we stood alongside the old empire and battled against the evil that had worked its way into our lives. We won that war, defeating our enemy. We chased them across two continents and dedicated our sacred duty to the complete eradication of all those who dabbled in the arcane. Why do you find the prospect of a similar battle horrifying? Have we grown weak over the centuries? Is our sacred duty less than that of our ancestors?’

Vaughn put his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. ‘The Guilde never made the assumption that we were successful in our bid to destroy every single sorcerer. Certainly the people believed it, but we’ve all heard the stories of reputed sightings a century and more ago. Hope would have us believe that there are no more sorcerers – but simple sense insists we must expect some survivors, perhaps even a whole community of them!’

The Hall erupted. Guildesmen rose to their feet and cried out, but Vaughn didn’t hear the words, just the sentiment. This time he raised only one hand and allowed them to see a smile. And why shouldn’t he smile? In weeks, perhaps even days, he would have the evidence he’d been waiting years for. Evidence so he could prove to everyone that sorcery was real – and that Robert Douglas was guilty of the most awful of crimes. How delicious, too, that young Finnlay should be the one to be discovered, that he should be the instrument of his own brother’s downfall. Years before, when Robert had been on Selar’s council – already an enemy – Vaughn had paid particular note of young Finnlay as he visited his brother in Marsay. It hadn’t taken Vaughn long to work out that he was a sorcerer, but Robert had stopped him before he could do anything about it and cast some evil spell on him. Vaughn had found himself unable to speak of the incident since, which only fuelled his hatred for Robert Douglas. But this was something different entirely and Vaughn had no trouble speaking it aloud.

‘We will be facing evil in its darkest form, but we are not unprepared. We will find a way to identify those sorcerers amongst us and how to fight them. When the time comes, we will make our stand once more – and this time we will triumph completely!’

Applause burst across the Hall. Vaughn smiled, nodded, and sank back into his seat. He steepled his fingers together and glanced to his left and right, collecting the gazes of his board of Governors. Only Osbert was missing. Osbert – and Nash. Samdon Nash, Alderman and favourite of the King. Perhaps already the most influential man in the country.

Yes, Vaughn nodded as the applause died down. It was definitely time to do something about that.

*

Godfrey felt quite naked without his clerical robes. The old shirt and worn tunic felt ridiculous and uncomfortable – and one of his boots had a stone in it. How had he ever worn secular clothes happily? Had so many years as a priest spoiled him this much?

He felt like such a thief, sneaking into the old tavern deep in the bowels of Marsay like this, a hood pulled up around his face. It was more to hide his tonsure, but still he cringed beneath the smelly hessian. It was no act, shrinking down inside it. It made his flesh crawl.

But at least Payne was there, waiting for him, dressed casually in nondescript clothes. Payne was a good man, like Duke Donal McGlashen: Lusaran born and true. Between them they were the only two such left on Selar’s council. His face might be known, but nobody would expect a high ranking Earl – a member of the King’s council at that – to frequent a place like this. A place where no questions were asked, where even the innkeeper didn’t look up when the door opened.

‘I thought you’d changed your mind,’ Payne murmured as Godfrey sat down. Their booth was well back from the pathetic fire and, despite the warmth of the summer evening, Godfrey shivered.

‘I was detained.’ A jug of ale landed on the table, making Godfrey jump.

‘Relax; you’ll make yourself noticed with all this twitching and shaking. Try to look as if you were born in those clothes.’

‘One would hope by now that I had done something to get out of them.’ To hide his discomfort, Godfrey pulled the jug closer and peered over the lip. Even in the dim rushlight he could see grease marks and breadcrumbs floating on the surface. With a sneer of distaste, he began to push the thing away.

‘Take a drink,’ Payne grunted. ‘You’re supposed to be used to this.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ Godfrey hissed, but took a mouthful anyway.

‘If we’re going to meet like this again you’ll have to learn to be more flexible about small details like a clean cup. You should remember that most of the people in this country live like this all the time – many more now than ever before. You’d be surprised how quickly the finer things in life disappear under such circumstances.’

Godfrey forgot his ale and gazed steadily at the handsome young man. It was amazing how, even in these blighted surroundings, Everard Payne still managed to look at ease. Had he done this kind of thing before?

‘Tell me,’ Godfrey left his hands around the jug of ale, ‘when you took my letter to Robert last year, did you see any possibility then that he might decide to do something?’

‘About what?’

Godfrey dropped his voice. ‘McCauly.’

‘Would you have him storm the dungeons and wrest the man from Selar’s hands?’ Payne leaned closer. ‘Why this sudden interest in Robert? Is it because of the rumours?’

‘No, my interest is in McCauly.’ Godfrey frowned. ‘I fear I may have a problem developing and I just don’t know what to do about it.’

Payne sat back again, once more relaxed. ‘Hilderic?’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Oh, this and that. He’s becoming noted for his outspoken opinions – none of which do his reputation any good.’

‘He won’t stay quiet. He blames himself for McCauly’s arrest. If he’d not told Selar about Robert’s return, Selar wouldn’t have felt so threatened.’

‘Selar would have found out sooner or later.’

‘But that’s just it – the timing. Hilderic believed that passing on the news would distract Selar from McCauly, but it achieved the opposite. Now Hilderic’s obsessed with getting McCauly free, but because he has no means to do so, he takes out his frustration on Brome. I fear for his life, Payne.’

The young Earl folded his arms across his chest and glanced around the room. Nobody was paying them any attention. The tap room was half-full of grim individuals, all hunched over their own greasy mugs, while an extraordinarily bad fiddler was groaning away in the corner.

‘I can’t promise you anything,’ Payne said after a moment. ‘And even if I could I wouldn’t advise you to tell Hilderic a word about it. Nevertheless, I’ll have a word, see what we have before us, test out the possibilities. I believe we have the time. No move against McCauly has been made in months and I believe the King is content to leave it as such. He’s voiced no plans to the council.’

‘But do you think you can do something?’ Godfrey’s voice was hushed against Payne’s confidence. ‘You won’t risk your own position, will you?’

He received a charming smile in response as Payne leaned forward and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll risk nothing until I know what we’ll be up against. Drink up, we’re supposed to be having a good time.’

*

Vaughn waited until the supper plates had been cleared away. Then he rose from the table and crossed the room to take his favourite seat beside the fireplace. There were no flames glowing on the hearthstone. Only the light of a few candles warmed the room, occasionally flickering in the gentle evening breeze.

He glanced back at the table to where Governor Lewis still sat. ‘Come, find yourself a comfortable seat. I have a small job for you.’

Lewis looked surprised at the invitation but as usual, he said nothing. Instead, he joined Vaughn in the chair Osbert would normally have taken. Vaughn wanted to smile.

‘How do you think my speech went down this afternoon?’

‘Well,’ Lewis spread his hands in a noncommittal gesture, ‘you’ve given us all something to think about. I suppose you have plans already prepared for when Osbert returns with his findings?’

‘A few thoughts, nothing more.’ Vaughn waved his hands and studied Lewis carefully. The man had none of Osbert’s illicit brilliance, nor any of his charm and personality. They’d both been made Governor at the same time and yet, while Osbert had shone in the position, Lewis had rather faded. He was a fair administrator, but lacked the initiative necessary for leadership. He was also uncommonly easy to ignore, while, at the same time, remarkably pedantic about details.

The perfect man for the job.

‘What do we know about Alderman Nash?’

Lewis glanced up with a frown. ‘Nash, my lord?’

‘Yes. I’ve been reading his entry records. They state he was born in the west, in a town I’ve never heard of. His parents are deceased and he appears to have no other family. His means are limited, his education adequate, and yet we find he has eclipsed us all in gaining the friendship of our beloved King. At all times he exhibits nothing but the deepest humility and still manages to rise to the highest levels – without, it appears, a grain of ambition. Don’t you find that a little odd, Lewis?’

‘Odd, perhaps, but not impossible.’

‘Not impossible – for a saint. But is Nash a saint?’

Lewis didn’t answer that and Vaughn continued, ‘Nash’ is in a unique position – and he knows it. Selar depends on him more and more as each day goes by. Soon they’ll be as inseparable as Dunlorn once was with the King. We know the damage the Earl caused – dare we allow the same risk, even with one of our own?’

Lewis looked surprised at this. Obviously the thought had never occurred to him. ‘Do you suspect any treachery, my lord?’

‘Of course not,’ Vaughn shrugged, feeling a great calm descend upon him. ‘I merely wish to know more about Nash, about his activities when he’s not directly involved with the Guilde. I want to know with whom he associates, who his allies are. After all, when you think about it, there’s even a possibility that Nash could have very powerful friends. Friends such as the Earl of Dunlorn – but of course, I should call him the Duke of Haddon after his uncle’s tragic demise.’

‘Dunlorn?’ Lewis struggled to his feet. ‘You believe Nash is in league with Dunlorn? But what about the business at Kilphedir? Nash went there with Osbert to investigate! If Dunlorn’s brother was indeed the sorcerer arrested, then . . .’

Vaughn waited for the awful possibilities to sink deep into Lewis’s limited imagination. Then, moving slowly so Lewis could keep up, Vaughn began, ‘I realize this sort of thing usually falls to Osbert – but as you know, he’s otherwise engaged at the moment. I want you to quietly go about learning as much as you can about our Alderman Nash. I want you to subtly pass some of your current responsibilities to your staff and take care of this matter personally. Be discreet. We don’t want Nash finding out what you’re up to – he might well be offended. You won’t need to watch him every hour, just keep an eye on him and those he associates with. Share your discoveries with no one but myself. Tell no one about this. Can you do this for me?’

Lewis’s eyes bulged, but he nodded slowly. ‘Of . . . of course, my lord.’

‘Excellent!’ Vaughn beamed. He reached out and took Lewis’s arm, steering him towards the door. ‘Now you go and get some sleep. Goodnight, Lewis.’

‘Goodnight, my lord Proctor.’

Vaughn closed the door behind Lewis and turned the key in the lock. He leaned his back against the door and surveyed the room.

It was unlikely there was any real connection between Nash and Dunlorn. Nash had come to court a year after Dunlorn had left the country – but then again, that was no reason to assume Dunlorn ha