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behind, at a much slower pace, uncertain whether she would be welcome.
    Just inside the great oak door way, a uniformed constable stood. At his feet lay an injured young man. Will was already bent over him, checking his wounds. She could hear the injured man groaning pitilessly.
    ‘He was attacked walking home from the Golden Hind last night. Whe n they called me in, I recognised the wound, and brought him directly here, before anyone got a good look at it. Did you have any… problems here last night?’ The constable was saying.
    ‘No. But you were right to bring the lad here. We’ll take care of him. We’ll have to find whoever did this before they leave the area. There were no other reported attacks in the preceding nights?’ Byron sounded tense, but in control. This situation was not new to him, she could tell. Somewhere, there was a madman running loose, attacking people. And the police had known exactly where to come.
    ‘ No, which probably means either the culprit is on the move, or he has companions who have kept him contained, up until last night.’ The constable removed his helmet, and ran his fingers through his greying ginger hair.
    Byron looked around , and saw her standing there. Then he took in the newly arrived maid and a large buxom woman, dressed as a cook, who seemed to have materialised out of thin air.
    ‘Y ou two do what you can for the lad,’ he ordered the women, avoiding eye contact with Phil.
    ‘Will, get the horses. We have an investigation to carry out. Time is of the essence.’ Will was out the door before Byron’s last words were said.
    ‘We’ll ride back with you,’ Byron said to the constable, as he headed out the door with the discomforted man.
    Phil stood, undecided , as the people around her went into action. She felt as if she was a ghost. No one seemed to notice her presence. Each person seemed intent on carrying out their assigned task.
    ‘Infirmary,’ the cook directed, as Jasper and the little maid lifted the lad between them , and with their shoulders under his arms, dragged his barely conscious body through the foyer, toward the back of the Keep. The cook followed along in their wake, tutting loudly.
    With nothing else to occupy her, Phil followed along , too. She was curious about the lad’s wounds. What made them so obviously the work of a madman that the constable would recognise them immediately?
    At the end of the hall, young Jamey, who had been in the lead, opened the door to a small room not much larger than a cupboard. In it was a cot and shelves stacked with all manner of bottles and boxes.
    The room was too small for everyone to fit. Jamey, once he’d done his duty by opening the door, took one guilty look at Phil, bobbed his head in acknowledgement, and dashed away. Jasper lowered the injured lad onto the cot , and then backed out of the room, to leave his care to the two women.
    He stood with her at the door, watching the proceedings.
    ‘If you are squeamish, you might want to leave. This will not be pretty.’ Jasper looked at her with that raw pain in his eyes once again. What hell did this handsome young man live in, that his eyes contained such ever-present pain?
    ‘ I’m not squeamish. I nursed my mother while she was dying of consumption.’
    His startling blue eyes became filled with compassion, and he nodded. ‘I am sorry you have had to suffer so.’
    ‘Everyone suffers.’ She smiled at him sadly, acknowledging her own pain , as well as his. She was rewarded with a sad smile in return.
    A loud cry of agony had Phil refocusing on the wounded man on the cot. The cook was cutting the clothes from his torso , and gently pulling it away. But the dried and congealed blood tore at the wound, and fresh blood started to seep from the gashes across his belly.
    While the maid selected items from the shelves, the cook worked on. Then Jamey was back with a jug of hot water , and he passed it to the maid, who then poured it into a tin bowl. She poured