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nothing to say it was the same day she died.’
    Michael scowled at him. ‘You are splitting hairs and missing my point – which is that it has gone, and you have no idea where.
     And you are sure your students did not take it?’
    ‘They say not, and there is no reason to doubt them.’
    ‘Then it was stolen by someone else,’ concluded Michael. ‘But, as you have just pointed out, no one outside Michaelhouse has
     access to my storeroom.’
    ‘Then I recant that statement. We often have visitors, and there are always tradesmen arriving with deliveries. Meanwhile,
     we pay our servants a pittance, which means they do not stay long and owe us no loyalty. I barely know some of the staff these
     days. Perhaps one of them took it.’
    ‘I keep the door locked at all times.’
    ‘Rubbish! You often leave it open while you run to the library to check a reference or fetch water from the kitchen. Besides,
     locks can be picked. And if this pennyroyal oil is as dangerous as you claim, then I am perturbed by the notion that it is
     unaccounted for. I want answers, Matt – not only as your friend, but as Senior Proctor, too.’
    ‘But who would want to harm Joan?’ asked Bartholomew, unhappy with the way the conversation was going. ‘She has not lived
     in Cambridge for years, and no one here knows her.’
    ‘Then you had better question your students again.’ Michael’s expression turned from severe to worried. ‘But do it discreetly.
     That business earlier in the year has not been forgotten yet, and your reputation is …’ He waved a plump hand, unable
     to find the right words.
    But Bartholomew knew what he meant. A magician-healer called Arderne had raised doubts about his abilities in the spring,
     and this had been followed by a frenzy of superstition in the summer, during which many of his patients had been quite open
     about the fact that they believed he was good at his job because he dabbled in sorcery. They did not care, as long as he made
     them well, but that was beside the point: it was unsafe for a member of the University to be seen as a practising warlock.
     Bartholomew had kept a low profile since then, shying away from controversy, but people seemed unwilling to let the matter
     rest, regardless. He hoped it would not dog him for the rest of his life.
    ‘You will have to find it,’ Michael went on. ‘The pennyroyal, I mean. It cannot stay missing, not if it has the power to
     kill.’
    ‘And how am I to do that?’ asked Bartholomew tiredly.‘Besides, as I told you, it is not rare or unusual – lots of homes keep a supply of it.’
    Michael regarded him worriedly. ‘If you say so, but I have a very bad feeling about this.’
    So did Bartholomew, although he was reluctant to admit it, even to Michael.
    That afternoon, Bartholomew conducted a thorough search of his storeroom. The missing pennyroyal was not there, although the
     hunt did warn him that he was running alarmingly low on a number of essential ingredients. He sent Tesdale, Valence and Risleye
     to the apothecary to replenish them, using most of his October wages to do so. When they returned, he summoned all his students
     to the hall.
    ‘
I
did not take the pennyroyal,’ declared Risleye angrily, before the physician could tell them what he wanted to discuss. ‘I
     never touch anything on that top shelf, although I think such a precaution is unnecessary at this stage of my training. I
     do not see why
I
should be penalised, just because everyone else took part in that silly joke with the igniting book.’
    ‘I did not take it, either,’ said Tesdale, alarmed when he saw he was the only other suspect. ‘And nor do I leave the room
     unattended.’
    ‘Yes, you do,’ countered Risleye spitefully. ‘You never remember all the ingredients you might need for a remedy, and often
     have to go out to fetch something.’
    ‘Well, you are guilty of that, too, Risleye,’ said Valence, who had been the ringleader of the exploding-book