a man dying of the fever at Archer’s Hope, and they sent a boat for him. He won’t be back until afternoon.”

I hurried past her back to the stable. Black Lamoral was saddled, and Diccon held the stirrup for me to mount.

“Good luck with the vermin, sir!” he said. “I wish I were going, too.”

His tone was sullen, yet wistful. I knew that he loved danger as I loved it, and a sudden remembrance of the dangers we had faced together brought us nearer to each other than we had been for many a day.

“I don’t take you,” I explained, “because I have need of you here. Master Sparrow has gone to watch beside a dying man, and will not be back for hours. As for myself, there’s