Alyce stared into the cold, soot-stained hearth in Solomon’s bedchamber. He had offered to light the fire, but that was the last thing she wanted. The skin on her face was still pink and tender, and now and again she would catch a whiff of her own burnt hair.
‘Well, that’s proof, then. That witchfinder was dead. Now he’s alive. Mary Stuart really can do what she promised.’
‘Are you sure you killed him? People can survive a knife wound, you know.’
‘I’m sure. I waited. Right until the end.’ The memory of it was a weight she felt like she always carried. More than a weight. A stain too, a black stain.
‘Tip of the cap to your feathered friend, though. He did a good job.’
Alyce smiled despite herself. ‘Yes.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Did your mother ever have a familiar?’
‘A familiar?’ said Solomon, sitting at the desk and thumbing through the pages of the Arcana. ‘No. I never thought they existed, to be honest. Having an animal companion that just follows you around, doing your bidding. Sounds a bit fanciful, doesn’t it?’
‘You’ve picked the wrong time to start being a sceptic, Solly.’
He turned a few more pages.
‘Well. There are lots of nice pictures of animals in here, but nothing about familiars,’ he said without looking up.
‘He was trying to find me all along,’ said Alyce distantly. ‘Even on the night I escaped from Bedlam, he found me. He’s been watching over me ever since. In fact . . .’
She paused.
‘What?’ he said.
‘I think he’s been watching over me since even before that.’
Solomon’s puzzled expression turned suddenly to dismay as there was a tapping at the door.
‘Hide!’ hissed Solomon. He looked around frantically. ‘In the chest? Can you fit?’
But Alyce was not in the least concerned. The tapping and scratching continued, and small clusters of shadows shuttled back and forth across the gap at the bottom.
‘What if it’s them?’ Solomon was throwing the remaining contents of the trunk on to the floor. ‘What if it’s Doctor Dee?’
‘It isn’t,’ said Alyce, rising from her stool next to the dead fireplace to investigate the source of the noise. ‘Unless he’s shrunk a lot since I last saw him.’
‘It’s him. I know it.’
She slowly drew back the bolt and opened the door a fraction.
Solomon grabbed her shoulder. ‘Alyce . . .’
A polished black beak appeared through the crack, and two mismatched eyes. The raven bristled, and then forced its bedraggled body into the room, where it flapped in a couple of frantic circles and settled on the candelabra. Its plumage was more of a mess than ever, and Alyce couldn’t help laughing. It was a wonder the animal could even fly, given how disordered its feathers were.
Solomon looked pained. ‘It can’t stay in here! I’ve already taken in one too many guests!’
‘I thought I told you to wait outside?’ said Alyce, speaking to the raven. She tentatively patted its head, and it croaked back at her.
‘How did it even know we were here?’
‘He, Solomon. It’s a he.’
That afternoon, when they had reached the palace, Alyce had tried to tell the raven to stay around the park and the stables, so as not to get them into trouble, and had felt more than a little foolish as she did so. But the bird seemed to understand, and had perched above the palace gate and watched them go with his clever little eyes.
But he obviously hadn’t been able to keep away. And regardless of the mischief he might cause, Alyce was glad he was here. Only now did she admit what she’d suspected all along, ever since she had seen him battling Martha in the alleyway. How many ravens could there be with one black and one white eye? And of such monstrous size?
‘So you know him?’ said Solomon.
Alyce blinked, forgetful of where she was. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You were saying something, before we were interrupted. Something about seeing him before you got to London.’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just coincidence.’ But she knew it wasn’t.
‘Go on . . .’
‘When I lived with my mother, there was a raven that used to come to the cottage. She used to feed it scraps. Sometimes it would come with us when we went walking in the woods. It was exactly like this one.’ She pointed at the bird, who flew down to investigate the pile of Alyce’s old clothes, nipping them with his beak. ‘Pecke. That was what my mother used to call him. Master Pecke.’
The raven suddenly cocked his head and croaked. He grew perfectly still and stared at her with his one white eye.
‘Well, that settles it then,’ said Solomon. ‘It is him.’
Alyce continued to look back at the bird. His gaze pinned her to the spot.
‘Maybe he’s my mother’s familiar, then, not mine.’
‘Perhaps she told him to protect you if she was killed. Perhaps that makes him yours now.’
The ghost of Ellen Greenliefe flitted briefly before her. She remembered her sitting outside their cottage at dusk, waiting for the raven to appear, a spirit from the woods come to receive her offerings. Alyce had actually been frightened by the sight of him gliding out of the darkness – she used to go and hide inside the cottage while her mother chatted with him. She never considered that they were actually having a conversation, though.
In the familiar’s tiny marble eyes, she felt as though it were really her mother looking at her. Judging her, even. Her mother had died for her, been burnt alive, and never called out for mercy or offered the witchfinders anything about her daughter. She had allowed her to escape. And what was Alyce doing in return? There was a reason she was in London. Was she really going to give up, go into hiding? Pretend the whole thing wasn’t happening?
‘I don’t know what I’m doing here, Solly,’ she said morosely. ‘What’s our plan?’
‘Well, I was thinking, maybe you could try and join the Sussex’s Men. I can talk with Master Adams. Then you can come touring with us. It’ll at least ensure that you’re clothed and fed.’
‘Um. Solomon. You know I’m not actually an actor? Or a man, for that matter? Have you been fooled by your own disguise?’
‘I know, but there are other things you could do besides acting. Making costumes, scenery, that sort of thing.’
She smiled at him sadly. Going on the road with a company of players was the last thing she wanted to do, and it was hardly a solution. Yes, it would get her away from the witchfinders – possibly – but it wouldn’t answer any of her questions. That damned letter. Why couldn’t her mother have just written it in plain English? Why couldn’t she have just told her everything when she had the chance?
She hadn’t even realized she was crying.
‘Sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I just wish she were here.’
She glanced at the chest. It was only the briefest of glances, but she knew Solomon had seen it.
‘I know,’ he said.
‘Very well then,’ said Alyce, trying to change the subject. ‘You may as well ask if I can join the company. At least then I won’t have to stay locked up in here all the time. And I can watch you working your magic on the stage.’
She curled up on the bed, and Pecke flapped across the room and settled on one of the bedposts
‘I’ll see what I can do in the morning,’ said Solomon. ‘But now you should rest.’
As Alyce closed her eyes, she saw him open the chest, take out the Necronomicon, and hide it under a pile of his clothes.