Hiding the scourge in the folds of his robe, Stephanis unlocked the door to Garnetta’s cell and slipped inside. As his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he saw her sitting on a pile of straw, a stillness about her that spoke of deliberation. Her bare feet protruded from the bottom of her shift. How narrow and fine those feet were. For a moment he wavered in his purpose. She looked more glorious in the creased and grubby shift, than many a woman would look in cloth of gold.
‘What do you want?’ she said calmly, her metallic grey eyes alight as if they contained some arcane knowledge to which he would never be privy.
‘I am found guilty of lustful feelings, unclean actions,’ he said. ‘For this I have done penance, but it is not enough. I come to beg for your help. The hex you have put upon me is strong and enduring.’
Her self-possession was almost unearthly. ‘Whatever it is that I am, I am no witch, Stephanis. You are deluded. This suffering of yours is your own doing.’
The lie stole his breath. Oh, the trickery of this temptress. Was there nothing that could prompt her to admit her foulness? Before he lost the courage he pulled his habit over his head, then fumbled with the twine around the hair shirt. In a moment he was naked, save for the rope around his genitals. Garnetta watched in silence, the chains at her wrists and ankles clanking together as she changed position on the straw. It seemed to Stephanis that he could feel the weight of her regard. The dread of it was delicious. Hands shaking slightly, he placed the scourge on the stone floor. Slowly he turned his back, crouching down, so that his chest brushed the cold floor and his bare rump was held up in the air.
Clenching his teeth upon a blissful rush of shame, he advanced backwards, towards her. He imagined her looking at his mortified flesh, feeling respect for his noble suffering. How could she not be impressed by the rope which compressed his stones and staff of Adam? The ache in his belly from the constriction was present night and day. The badges he wore on his skin were many. The hair shirt, compressed by twine, had scraped a raw trough around his waist. The rough fibres in the cloth had abraded the weals on his shoulders and back, irritating the flea-bites which peppered his torso. Many of the wounds were suppurating, but he had resisted putting any salve on them.
When Garnetta still did not speak – no doubt out of awe – he waggled his rump helpfully. ‘As you were once a child of God, I beg you to do me this service,’ he said, his voice hoarse with need. ‘Because of you I have fallen. I have been beguiled, tempted, bewitched. Cleanse me with the scourge. I beg you.’
‘Oh, do get up,’ she said. ‘If you could but see yourself. You look . . . ridiculous.’
A deep flush crept up Stephanis’s face. She must agree to beat him. His balls contracted against the rope with mortification. ‘Please,’ he murmured, his belly cramping with a rush of pain.
‘Enough! You sad, pathetic creature. Master your own lusts. Do not rebuke me for your failings!’
Her words fell on him like blows. Slowly Stephanis rose to his feet. He felt stripped to his bones, exposed in a way that no man ought to have to endure, especially before a woman; that creature inherently flawed by her sex. An abiding anger curdled in his stomach. Trembling with emotion, he pulled his habit back on. It was as if scales had fallen from his eyes. He flashed Garnetta a look in which there was hatred now instead of longing.
Her face was implacable, a slender oval in the gloom. ‘You look at me with the face of honesty at last. I never was saint nor demon. What I am is something set apart from you and perhaps all others. A man finer than ever you’ll know is my maker. He saved me from death by ceding me a dark gift. And God help me, I am proud of that at last! For my lord is an honest rogue. He hides not behind lies, repressed desires, and false piety – as do you!’
Stephanis’s skin shrank against his skull. ‘Blasphemy!’ he hissed. ‘God made the world and all in it, madam! Speak you not of this Other, whoever he may be.’ Only now, did he see her clearly. Her beauty had always been something otherworldly. Garnetta had no need of a grimoire, a toad-familiar, or wax manikins. Like Eve she had embraced the serpent. ‘So, you are beyond help,’ he said evenly. ‘Your own words condemn you. When you are put to the fire, I shall be there to watch.’ At the cell door he fitted the key in the lock, then glanced over his shoulder. ‘It is still possible to repent. God’s mercy is great. Shall I kneel with you now and pray?’
She turned her face to the wall and would not look at him. He heard her say softly, ‘It is passing strange that every act in this world, both good and bad – merciful or evil, is done with the blessing of the Lord.’
‘What you plan to do holds much danger,’ Gunter said to Karolan. ‘You do know that you’ll be arrested, your house and lands confiscated, the proceeds going to swell the church coffers? No one can wrest a heretic from the clutches of the church and escape censure! Then again, you being a lord – there’ll have to be a hearing . . .’
Karolan looked up from the book which was spread open on the table, his eyes flashing wickedly. ‘Did you know that there are seven kinds of fever, Gunter? Putrid, hectic, tertian, quotian, quartan, ephemeral, and sinochus?’
Gunter slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘This is no jesting matter! You are not listening to me!’
‘Mistake me not, Gunter. I am. It is just that you are such good fodder for bait! To be serious. Directly I leave your house I’m away to my manor. I must give instruction to my steward, Romane. There are . . . well, many things I have no wish for the watch to see, should they decide to search for fugitives.’
Gunter looked at Karolan sharply. ‘Incriminating things? Ach, a charge of witchcraft against you would indeed put your vassals at risk.’
‘You amaze me, Gunter. You suspect me of being an adept of the black arts, yet still you wish to help me?’
‘Of a surety I bloody do!’ Gunter growled. ‘I don’t care if you sup with Old Nick himself – ’twould not surprise me too much if you did! A man does not come easily by skills such as yours. You know a great deal about the world and its secret ways. More than I, and I’ve travelled more extensively than most. You speak with authority of science and forbidden things. Then there’s the fact that you’ve seen more of the sickness than is wise or even foolish, but you’ve taken not a moment’s illness.’ He paused, his blue eyes intense with emotion. ‘All that, I care nought for. You saved my father’s life. For that, I call you friend. There’s passage abroad the Helga for you. You’ll need it, if you truly are set on the course of a madman.’
Karolan slapped Gunter on the back. ‘That’s the most I’ve heard you say at one time! But thank you. I shall need your help to escape once I have Garnetta.’
Gunter groaned. ‘I ought never to have told you about the woman they’re holding over at Holy Penitence. I had only a garbled story from a half-crazed lad who I found begging by the side of the road. This lad, Clem, told me such a story of brigands and virgins, truth and betrayal, spilt blood and spirits and errant monks, that it ought to be written into a mummers’ play!’
‘He told the truth, my friend. Don’t ask me how I know that Garnetta’s being held at Holy Penitence. I just know. I have to go and fetch her.’
Gunter scratched his head. ‘Well, if you must, you must. Should you need some extra muscle when you go to face the abbot, I’m your man.’
Karolan nodded shortly, ‘Good man,’ he said, closing his book. ‘I’ll let you know. Now, I must take my leave. As you have seen fit to remind me, my time is suddenly grown short.’
Romane watched calmly as Karolan put a leather bag of coins onto the table in front of him. ‘Must you leave England and become a fugitive?’ he said. ‘You could petition the king for help. You have served him well in the field.’
‘That would take time. Something Garnetta does not have.’
Romane looked at him gravely. ‘This woman has brought you much trouble, but you value her highly indeed if you are willing to endanger yourself. I never did believe your tale about Garnetta being a runaway wife. Whatever she is, she is something fine and rare. As you are, my friend. I hope you will be happy together.’
Karolan grinned. ‘Oh, I intend to make certain of that. But time is of the essence. I regret that this final visit must be brief. This money is for you. Here are signed documents, freeing all those under my protection. It is the best I can do for you all.’
Romane smiled sadly, the lines cutting deeply into his face. His silver hair looked thinner, his stoop more pronounced. In just a few weeks Romane seemed to have aged, but his loyalty was as steadfast as it had always been.
‘There seems little to discuss,’ Romane said. ‘What can I add but my regrets? As for myself, I have made provision. I shall do as you ask for your vassals, but they will fare well enough. Whoever comes to take your house and lands will need workers. The machinations of lords and churchmen affect those who till the land less than you might think.’
Karolan smiled at the old man with affection, knowing that he was right. Romane’s wisdom, his knack of doing the right thing without stopping to question or condemn, had served him well over the years. He could still remember the skinny, lame boy who had been so eager to please, the light of intelligence bright in his narrow face. He was tempted to confide fully in the steward, but thought better of it. Romane had his suspicions, let them suffice. He knew nothing that would incriminate himself were he to be questioned by the church council.
‘Where will you go?’ Romane said.
‘To Flanders. A friend has offered Garnetta and myself ship’s passage.’
Romane’s faded blue eyes were blurred with emotion. ‘Then I wish you God speed. I do not expect we’ll meet again in this world. It has been a singular experience to serve you, Karolan.’ The two men embraced.
At the door which led to his tower, Karolan turned and waved. ‘Fare you well, dear old friend,’ he said under his breath.
Even as he took the stairs two at a time, his thoughts were moving forward a few hours to when he must return to the town. Every instinct screamed for him to hurry to Garnetta’s side, but first he must destroy everything in the laboratorium. Romane was only partly correct. The new owners of his lands would need his peasants to labour for them, but if it became common knowledge that their lord had been a heretic and necromancer, then the lives of everyone who had ever known him would be endangered.
After stoking the furnace, he moved around the laboratorium, gathering together all the things which must be destroyed. The flames licked greedily at the parchment, vellum, and other written materials which he heaped upon them. It took a long time to rip apart the great tomes with their covers of leather decorated with silver wire and gems. All must be destroyed; the drawings, rich with symbolic imagery; the ledgers with their countless columns of figures and computations; the complex scientific diagrams. The rare and ancient works, which he had brought from the Holy Land, must also be burnt. He could not suppress a pang of sorrow as he unrolled a scroll covered with beautiful flowing Arabic script. He had killed Nasibia and Harun to obtain those works, unwittingly setting in motion the string of events which led ultimately to his transmutation.
Well it could not be helped. Any one of the tracts was enough to incriminate him, lay suspicion upon Romane and others of his household. Once alerted, the church was ruthless in its efforts to root out those it regarded as enemies of Christendom. Yet for all of his feelings of regret, he felt little grief. This work could be begun again. He had done it before. He was sweating by the time he began breaking apart the wooden racks which held alchemic instruments. He consigned them to the flames, then emptied the glass bottles which held the preserved babes – some so ancient that only a revolting soupy sludge emerged. The sad little relics, mementoes of his abortive attempts to get normal women with child, sizzled and melted in the furnace. He hardly dared allow himself to think about the possibility of having a child with Garnetta. That was something for the future – for when they were far from this place. Finally the laboratorium was empty of anything incriminating. He gathered together the few items he had set aside. There was one final ritual he must perform before he left this place for ever.
Stripping off his garments he poured water into a vessel and added a combination of pungent oils. After washing himself all over, he went to the four corners of the laboratorium and said an invocation. In the centre of the chamber, he drew a circle on the floor and within that a five-pointed star. After final preparations, he sat cross-legged in the centre of the star. On the floor in front of him he placed an uncut emerald, as big as the palm of his hand. Emptying his mind, he put himself into a trance. For almost an hour he sat as if frozen, a faint sheen of sweat pearling his limbs.
Gradually the walls of the chamber darkened and drew inwards. In the near distance a faint glow appeared, which grew brighter and took on the form of a window. A greenish light, pale and murky, flowed out of the window. Karolan watched as the window grew bigger. Now he found himself looking through the opening onto a seashore, where sluggish grey waves crashed upon a beach of black sand. At the horizon a diseased, purple sky met the water, spreading a violet glimmer on the monsters that churned and boiled in the seething waves. The wind shrieked and howled, gusting sickly, yellowish sea-spray against spikes of rocks.
Now he could see the sheer side of a cliff face, the dark openings of many caves. Nothing moved upon the shore. Piles of weed, black and slimy-looking gave out a faint phosphorescent glow. There was a fetid smell of salt and rotting things. The very air was dank and oppressive. He sensed that there was a powerful presence in one of the caves. Emanations of great age and a stolid, deep intelligence impressed themselves upon him. ‘I bid you come forth,’ he said, his voice commanding but respectful.
There was a movement from deep within the cave. He heard a sound as of wet coils unwrapping, then a heavy body dragged itself over the sand towards the cave entrance. ‘Who calls upon me?’ The voice was low-pitched, rasping, painful to his ears. ‘Are you one who comes to gaze upon my beauty?’
Karolan did not answer, but waited patiently. In a few moments a huge shadow emerged from the mouth of the cave. It was so dark and dense that it seemed as if the night itself had emerged and was seeping like ink up the cliff face. Karolan fought down his terror, gazing at the diva with awe. This was the first time he had dared to converse directly with such a being. All his previous rituals had concentrated on calling upon lesser elementals. It was only his desperate need to bind the Fetch into his service that gave him courage to ask a diva for help.
The window was almost blocked by the huge form that reared up before him. Now he could see details of the being’s form. In the violet tinted light of the shore, the scales covering the lower body of the woman glistened wetly. There was a clashing sound as the iron-hard scales rubbed together. As the diva swayed back and forth, Karolan could see the gaping sexual aperture at the underside of her tail, where her belly melded into the greyish scales. The thick, leathery sex-lips opened and closed, making greedy sucking sounds. A noxious, grey-brown slime trickled from the aperture. Karolan’s gorge rose. He fought against his revulsion, concentrating on holding himself in the trance. As long as he stayed within the pentagram he was safe.
Slimy green strands, in which were threaded shells and human bones encrusted with limpets, framed the woman’s face. Hanging from a hook in one of her ears was the rotting corpse of a drowned man. Thousands of tiny crabs and shrimps moved over the woman’s face and body, their claws busily grooming her. She lifted pincer-like hands to push the green strands back from her face and turned her sharp beak nose and gaping fish eyes upon him. The dark power rolled off her, spreading towards him like the waves breaking on the fetid shore behind her.
‘Who calls upon me?’ she said again.
‘One who asks for your assistance,’ Karolan answered.
‘Give me your name,’ said the diva, her lipless, facial orifice opening to show a fringe of waving, crab-like mouth parts.
Karolan was not so foolish as to name himself. ‘I am a traveller come seeking one of your kin. I seek an undine – a water sprite.’
‘Ah, a son of the higher realms, you are. By what right do you come seeking one from my domain?’
‘By the right of blood and flesh. The sprite is bound to me,’ Karolan said. ‘I wish to command it to come forth into my realm. But it has hidden from me.’
The diva grinned, her waving mouth parts clicking together with a sound like the chittering of a monkey. As she tossed her huge head, the bones in her hair clacked together. Crabs and shrimps were sent flying in all directions. ‘If I give you this sprite, what shall you give me in return?’
Karolan picked up the emerald and held it out, reaching through the window. His hand looked very small against her monstrous shape. He was careful not to over-balance. ‘I offer you this bauble which is the colour of the sun on water.’
‘Come closer, son of the upper reaches. I cannot see you clearly.’
‘But I can see you, great one. Your beauty holds me in thrall,’ Karolan said, holding his position although his muscles ached with the strain. The arm which was extended through the window was growing numb with cold. The diva hissed her displeasure. He thought he had failed and made to withdraw his hand, when she slithered across the sand towards him, her tail humping in muscular spasms. The stench of her grew stronger. He almost gagged at the penetrating miasma of rotting fish and decay. Reaching out one of her pincers in a surprisingly delicate movement, she took the emerald. Karolan steeled himself not to recoil or show any sign of weakness.
The diva’s lidless eyes studied him for a moment. They were filmed and milky. He heard the wet rasping of her breath, felt the chill emanating from her cold-blooded flesh. ‘Seeker of my lesser kin, you are passing ugly,’ she said with a rich chuckle that set her mouth parts waving and threshing. Giving a satisfied nod, she slipped the gem beneath one of the scales in her tail. ‘The one you seek is in a place far from here. Watch and behold.’ Turning her back she dropped down onto the sand and began slithering and humping her way back to the cave.
Karolan withdrew his arm and allowed himself a sigh of relief as the huge shadow faded into the distance. Inside the window, the seascape faded. The sky grew lighter. He found himself looking down onto a scene of rolling green hills. Strange trees, tall fern-like plants bordered a waterfall, which foamed and boiled over great slabs of limestone rock. Within the flow of water, he saw pale elongated forms. Some of them resembled young men and women with sharp features and long hair, while others were four-legged and had the appearance of delicate hares and fawns.
All of the sprites were laughing and dancing in the water. He saw how they changed form, the hares becoming women and the fawns becoming men. So rapidly did they change shape that the whole mass of them seemed to glisten and pulse. Glimmers of silver light speckled the sprites and their tinkling laughter rang out on the water-scented air. Karolan waited for them to notice him. It did not take long before one or two became curious and edged towards the window. Colours of pale blue, grey-green, and a delicate hue like the inside of a mussel shell, glowed softly within their forms. Others followed the first curious beings. Soon he found himself being observed by many of the slender creatures. Their faces were vague and misty with the mere suggestion of eyes above noses which were no more than indentations. In the region where the heart might be there was a certain pulsing, glowing denseness in their fabric.
Karolan recognized the sprites as the Fetch’s kin, but he could not tell which of them was his familiar. Then he noticed that one of them had held back and was sheltering within the waterfall. He hid a smile. ‘You were never so chary of drawing near to me when you dwelt in my world,’ he said. ‘Come forth now and return with me. Your master has need of you.’
There was consternation amongst the other sprites. They began to chirrup in high voices. He caught the odd phrase amongst the rustles and cheeping.
‘It speaks, says I . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘Nor I. Beware . . .’
The sprite, which had been sheltering within the torrent of water, flowed with the stream down over the rocks and emerged onto a moss covered mound. Stepping free of the water, it resolved into a shape Karolan recognized. Now he saw that the Fetch looked markedly different from its kin. In this, its home dimension, it was made of ethereal, spirit material – yet its form was denser than that of its kin, the outline of skull and limbs more pronounced. The Fetch’s eyes were dark, greenish pools, wide and tilted at the corners. The nose was a small bump and there was an impression of nostrils and a mouth. Its limbs were slender, but where those of its kin ended in an amorphous smudge, the Fetch had faint fingers and toes.
Karolan noticed that the Fetch wore an expression of sadness. Within its form the colours were tainted, the blue and green muddy and dull. He understood. The sprite had been changed by its association with himself. Having experienced the doubtful pleasures of the upper realms, it had been tainted as well as enriched. It had tried to return to its own world, but it no longer truly belonged. Just like it did not really belong in Karolan’s world. For the first time Karolan realized that he and the Fetch had something in common. They were both set apart from their own kind.
‘How now, upstart sprite,’ he said not unkindly. ‘You must return with me.’
The Fetch gave a bleat of alarm, capering back and forth across the rocks. The other sprites made way for it, keeping their distance, glancing suspiciously at the window. ‘Be calm. I am not angry with you any more,’ Karolan said. ‘I know where Garnetta is. I need your help to release her.’
‘Not angry, with I?’ the Fetch whimpered. ‘The female you have?’
Karolan nodded. ‘I know you lied and played me false, but that does not matter now. I forgive you. Come with me. There’s much to be done.’
The Fetch took a final look around. The other sprites kept well back from it. For a moment an expression of anguish passed over the Fetch’s face, then the faint glow in the region where its heart might be began to pulse. ‘Forgive I? Then come with you I will, Master,’ it said. ‘My place, it is, to be beside you. Serve you well shall I.’
‘That you will,’ Karolan said sternly. ‘There will be no more fleeing back here. I’ve wasted valuable time coming in search of you. If you ever do this again, I swear I’ll ask the diva who lives by the sea to collect you – personally!’
The Fetch gave a squawk of alarm. ‘Will not come back – ever! No pleasure here for me. Not pain and suffering enough to bathe in. Too, too bad.’
Karolan suppressed a grin. ‘Good. Then draw near. Enter the upper world.’ The Fetch moved close to the window. ‘Hurry now,’ Karolan said, feeling exhaustion creeping over him. In a trice the Fetch had jumped through the window. Karolan was aware of it as a ragged shadow hovering around the edge of the chalk circle. The sweat ran down his face as he began backtracking through the ritual. He had been dangerously weakened by his encounter with the Diva, but his concentration did not lessen for even a moment. His muscles jerked with tension as the bright square of the window shrank and grew dark. The vista beyond faded, then there was nothing but darkness.
Karolan continued to sit upright only by a supreme effort. He clasped his hands to his solar plexus, holding the energy within his body. The walls of the laboratorium came into view. Karolan said the words of ending, then slumped forward, his face grey with exhaustion. The Fetch darted back and forth, crooning softly at the edge of the circle as Karolan retched and gasped. It was some time before he felt strong enough to crawl across the floor until he was outside the circle. Immediately cool fingers stroked his skin and ruffled his hair. He smelt the faint odour of licorice and almonds. ‘Tired are you from travail. Rest you must.’
Karolan had not the strength to resist as hands began massaging his shoulders. He groaned with pleasure as his tired muscles relaxed. The spirit flowed back and forth over his skin, its touch warm and soothing. He found himself wondering at these caring actions. Had the Fetch learned to be unselfish at last? He closed his eyes as fingers massaged his calves and feet, absorbing the tension and exhaustion. Gradually the bone weariness faded. He had begun to think that the Fetch had indeed learned a lesson in chastisement, when its touch underwent a subtle change.
The caresses grew languorous, more intimate. He sensed the Fetch’s growing hunger. After its self-enforced exile, it simmered with the need for its preferred sustenance. He suppressed a grin, as his familiar began acting true to type.
‘Stop that. We must go to find Garnetta. There’ll be fuel enough at Holy Penitence for you to enjoy your doubtful pleasures!’ The spirit’s hands were withdrawn, reluctantly. He sensed that the Fetch was sulking and laughed aloud. ‘Well, upstart sprite. At last you do my bidding,’ he said, rubbing the sweat from his body with his shirt. ‘If you had done so earlier, much suffering might have been avoided.’
‘Never too much suffering,’ murmured the Fetch.
Karolan ignored it. ‘Still, it was perhaps time for us to move on. Romane has grown old. I need to seek out someone else I can trust. We shall start again, in a new country, this time with Garnetta.’
‘Ah, the female. Much pain has she suffered. Gorgeous is her distress. Passing sweet her pleasure,’ the Fetch crooned, lost in erotic imaginings.
‘Don’t tell me what you know of that now or I’ll lose my newfound patience with you!’ Karolan rapped. ‘All I care about is finding her again. You shall help me.’
‘Find her. Help you. Yes, Master.’ The spirit subsided into silence, subdued colours of purple and indigo flickering within its shadow form.
Dressing quickly Karolan buckled on his sword. ‘Stay close to me,’ he said to the Fetch as he secured a hooded cloak around his shoulders and knotted a leather purse at his waist.
At the stable, Darkus pushed his nose into Karolan’s hand in welcome. Karolan stroked the palfrey’s velvet cheek, before mounting and riding out of the yard. He was conscious that the Fetch had taken him at his word. It was a faint, reassuring presence next to his right shoulder. Bound now by a single purpose, he urged Darkus into a gallop and headed for the road leading towards Chatesbrook. He did not think to look over his shoulder for a final glimpse of the manor where he had spent the past thirty-five years.
Gunter waited for Karolan on a stretch of common land outside the town’s postern gate. For some time he had been watching the trickle of people coming to the St John fair. Jugglers and tumblers rubbed shoulders with pilgrims coming to kiss the reliquary which held the fragment of Our Lady’s fingernail. Drovers came with sheep and farmers with crates of chickens and poles strung with conies.
Gunter wished he felt more cheered by the sight of so many visitors. But he knew that it was not simply that the pestilence’s strength was abating or that tradition was stronger than fear. It was something far more base. He did not relish telling Karolan the news that the crier had given out yestermorn.
Still, it was a plain fact that with so many travellers arriving, it would make it far easier for Karolan to enter and leave without attracting undue attention. Shading his eyes as he caught sight of a horse in the distance, Gunter scrambled to his feet. He waved and stood by as Karolan pulled Darkus to a halt. ‘Well met, my friend,’ Karolan said, slipping out of the saddle. ‘You look troubled. What’s amiss? Have you had second thoughts about letting an erstwhile felon on board your ship?’
Gunter laughed shortly. ‘Never, but I bring bad news. There’s to be a hanging on the morrow on the eve of St John’s fair.’
‘I suspected something of the sort,’ Karolan said, glancing at the postern gate which was blocked by two women arguing about the ownership of a goose. ‘The promise of such entertainment is what draws a crowd. But that could aid our purpose. We’ll not be noticed amongst so many. Who’s to be kicking air? Looters?’
‘Aye, but that’s not the whole of it. It’s Garnetta. She’s been found guilty of heresy and moral corruption. They are going to burn her after the hanging.’ Karolan was quiet for so long that Gunter did not think he could have heard him aright. ‘I doubt the Devil himself could get to her now,’ he said gently. ‘There’s such a huddle of church dignitaries in the monastery guesthouse. The whisper of heresy brings them scuttling like rats round a sewer.’
Karolan only nodded, his face blank and unreadable. Gunter was alarmed by Karolan’s lack of response. He had always seemed in control of any given situation. Now his self possession seemed to have deserted him. It pained Gunter to see his friend staring fixedly at the brightly painted cart holding mummers’ costumes, whilst the actors walked by its side.
‘You cannot set foot inside Holy Penitence and demand her release now,’ Gunter said. ‘It’s too late for that. I hesitate to suggest this, but I thought . . . that you or I might be allowed into her presence. We could make it a quick and painless end for her. Leave her as if sleeping . . .’
Karolan turned to him then. Gunter felt a flicker of alarm. For a moment he thought his friend truly mad, for his eyes were wild with excitement, his mouth was curved in a grim smile. ‘Come, Gunter. There’s work to do if I am to cheat death again,’ Karolan said. ‘Oh, we’ll give them a spectacle to remember and no mistake! What was that you just said?’
‘Ach. Nothing at all,’ Gunter said, dazedly. Had he heard aright? Karolan spoke of cheating death, ‘again’?