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intelligence. ‘It means he was allowed to “escape” and return to his old ways. In return for his life, he will betray his fellow conspirators.’
    ‘Precisely. But Williamson does not trust him, which is why he wants you involved. Leving will introduce you to the Fifth Monarchists as a man who knows gunpowder. You are to meet him tomorrow at noon in Muscut’s Coffee House on High Holborn.’
    It was a reckless plan, and Chaloner heartily wished he had been at their meeting to suggest some sensible alternatives. ‘Williamson told me to investigate the murder of a courtier, too,’ he said, in the hope that the Earl would be annoyed by the presumption and would withdraw the offer of help in tackling the Fifth Monarchists. His heart sank when Clarendon nodded.
    ‘Yes, he did mention it. I told him you would be delighted to oblige.’
    Chaloner tried again. ‘It seems unfair that you will be paying me while he reaps the benefit.’
    ‘But I will not be paying you,’ said the Earl with a seraphic smile. ‘You are dismissed, remember? There will be no salary until the matter is resolved – we must be convincing, as your life may depend on it.’
    Chaloner shot him a sour look, not such a fool as to believe that the decision derived from concern for his welfare: the Earl was notoriously mean. ‘Very well. But if I am no longer in your employ, how am I to visit White Hall, to ask questions about this murder?’
    The Earl’s smile turned rueful. ‘You will be far more popular as my enemy than as my retainer – most of the Court will welcome you with open arms. But Williamson neglected to tell me who has been killed. Was it anyone I know?’
    ‘Paul Ferine.’
    ‘Well, well! In that case you certainly must probe the matter. I did not like Ferine. I invited him to dine not long ago, and he made a terrible fuss because three candles were lit – he said it was a bad omen, and that someone in the room would die. It unsettled my other guests, I can tell you! However, he was a royal favourite, so we must have a culprit.’
    ‘It may transpire that he was killed by another courtier,’ warned Chaloner. ‘Are you sure you want me to investigate, sir?’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ replied the Earl airily. ‘None of my friends are murderers, so the killer will be among my enemies. How can I refuse an opportunity to strike a blow at one of them?’
    A muted roar woke Chaloner that night. He started up in alarm, but it was only rain drumming on the roof. He lay back down again and forced himself to relax. It was pitch dark, but an innate sense of time told him it was nearer dawn than dusk, and that he should get up and begin his enquiries. Yet he was loath to leave his warm bed for the foul weather outside, so he decided to reflect on what he had been charged to do instead.
    He was not surprised to hear that there was another rebellion in the making, because the King had not endeared himself to his subjects during his four-year reign, thanks to his dissipated lifestyle and wanton companions. Folk who had been happy to see him return were having second thoughts, while those who had opposed him were defiantly open in their dissatisfaction.
    Chaloner winced when he thought about the Earl’s plan. The Fifth Monarchists were unlikely to welcome a conveniently available ‘gunpowder expert’ into their midst, and any effort to win their trust on such terms would almost certainly fail. But then he brightened: he had spent the last decade and more prising information from those who did not want to part with it, so even if the rebels did reject his offer to blow things up, there were other ways to learn their intentions. He would look on it as a challenge to his talents.
    He turned his mind to Ferine. He had passed the previous afternoon loitering in White Hall, listening to gossip about the dead courtier, most of which revolved around Ferine’s ability to produce uncannily accurate horoscopes. Chaloner decided to visit the man’s parish