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ever.
    A man moved out from the shadows, blocking Owen’s access to the abbey infirmary. Owen cursed silently; when he’d entered the abbey grounds through the postern gate he’d thought he was alone. Drawing out his dagger – for it might be the would-be murderer intent on finishing his work, Owen called out, ‘Who goes there?’
    The man moved closer so that Owen could see his hawk-nosed face. ‘It’s George Hempe.’
    Relieved, Owen said, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Hempe was a city bailiff, and the very one Owen would have sent for. He’d disliked Hempe until they had been thrown together in an investigation the previous year and he’d learned that the man’s intentions were good despite his stubborn and brusque manner, that he earnestly wished to bring criminals to justice. Bailiffs usually saw their duties as keeping the immediate peace, not preventing future trouble. Hempe was not so short-sighted.
    ‘Have you seen the pilot?’ Owen asked.
    ‘I had a glimpse of him as they carried him into the abbey grounds. But that is all. I’m not as welcome in here as you are. I can tell you he looked near death.’
    ‘How could you not be welcome? Were you not sent for?’
    Hempe laughed. ‘I was, yes, but as soon as he saw me Abbot Campian made certain I understood that the man had fallen from the abbey staithe, not the city staithe, though it was possible he’d been attacked in the city. I’d been called upon to keep the peace among the city folk, not to interfere in abbey concerns. He sent for you as well?’
    ‘Yes. I might have avoided it, but my son Jasper was in the crowd of scholars at the staithe.’
    ‘Has Jasper an explanation of what happened?’
    Owen was shaking his head as they came upon the outcast of the evening, Nicholas Ferriby.
    ‘Captain Archer, Master Bailiff, I must speakwith you.’ The schoolmaster’s deep voice trembled. ‘I am condemned of a crime that did not happen.’
    ‘Calm yourself,’ said Owen. ‘From what I’ve heard you did nothing wrong tonight.’
    ‘But the crowd out on Marygate,’ Nicholas gestured towards the abbey gate, ‘they accused me. Their voices were so angry. I wasn’t at the barges, Captain. I don’t know why they would even connect me with that man.’ He paused to catch his breath.
    ‘You are safe here in the abbey grounds,’ said Hempe.
    Owen was impatient to move on, but he could imagine how unsettled the man must feel. ‘Some quiet prayer in the abbey church will calm you, Master Nicholas. Now I fear I must leave you. I’ve been summoned to the infirmary.’
    ‘Why?’ Nicholas asked.
    ‘To see Drogo’s wounds.’
    ‘The wounds – they complicate the story,’ said Hempe, considering Master Nicholas. ‘You swear you had not been seen with Drogo earlier in the afternoon?’
    ‘I swear!’ Nicholas cried, then groaned. ‘Even you?’
    ‘You are not in danger here,’ said Owen, shaking his head at Hempe to quiet him. He had no time to calm the schoolmaster. ‘Abide in the hospitium tonight, Master Nicholas.’
    ‘By morning the crowd will have forgotten you,’ said Hempe.
    ‘I pray you are right,’ said Nicholas. ‘But what if the man dies?’
    ‘Then we have much work to do,’ said Owen. ‘I must pass now.’
    The schoolmaster stepped aside. ‘I shall go pray for his recovery.’
    ‘And I’ll see that the crowd has dispersed,’ said Hempe.
    Inside the warmly lit infirmary, Owen found Brother Henry bent over an ailing monk, and he left him in peace for a moment. Scanning the room for Drogo, he was startled by memories. The hanging herbs, tidy rows of pallets, indeed the smell of the room reminded him of many visits with Brother Wulfstan. Owen had seldom come here since his friend’s death three years earlier. Brother Henry was capable, but not gifted like his predecessor; neither Lucie nor Owen came to him for advice.
    ‘Drogo lies over near the brazier,’ Henry softly called out.
    Owen pulled himself back into the