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and damnation.’
    â€˜Thank your lucky stars he hasn’t had you closed down altogether,’ the constable growled, jerking Luka towards a set of narrow, dark stairs.
    â€˜Where would he lock up all his prisoners if he did?’ the innkeeper cried, opening a drawer and taking out a ring of jangling keys. ‘I’m offering a community service, I am, and for precious little reward too. Where does he think I get the money to feed all these gaolbirds he keeps dragging in off the street? Where am I meant to put them? We’re bursting at the seams as it is!’
    As he grumbled, he led the way up the stairs and the Finch family were pushed along after him.
    â€˜It’s on the orders of the Lord Protector,’ said the constable. ‘Haven’t you heard the young gentleman Mister Charles Stuart has set a price on Cromwell’s head? They say Old Ironsides dare not sleep without his armour on, in fear of secret assassins.’
    At the mention of the young king-in-exile, Charles Stuart, Luka began to listen with closer attention.
    â€˜One of Mister Stuart’s men has been seen here in England, in disguise,’ the constable said. ‘The Duke of Ormonde!’
    â€˜No! Really?’ the innkeeper said, fumbling at the lock of a thick, wooden door. ‘Dangerous job, spying for the young king … I mean, tyrant. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes if Cromwell’s spymaster gets hold of him.’
    â€˜That thief-taker Coldham is in Kingston searching for him. It’d sure be a feather in our caps if we helped capture the Duke of Ormonde!’ the constable said.
    Luka was pushed through the oaken door, almost stumbling over the uneven step. Beyond was a roughly furnished room. As the guard took down their details and confiscated their weapons and money, the innkeeper and constables continued to chat.
    â€˜I heard Old Ironsides took his daughter’s death badly?’ the innkeeper asked.
    â€˜Couldn’t even make her funeral yesterday. He’s still here, at Hampton Palace, they say, and sure his darling girl was murdered or bewitched. It’s all a Royalist plot, I’ve heard. Pick the Cromwells off one by one.’
    â€˜But why kill his daughter, or his little grandson?’ the innkeeper said with a snort of disbelief. ‘Old Copper-Nose, aye, I can see them wanting him dead. What did that mad Leveller, Sexby, write? Killing him would be no murder? But little Betty Cromwell? What would they gain?’
    The constable shrugged. ‘Beats me. Revenge? That young gentleman in France must hate all the Cromwells.’
    â€˜Did you know we have a Leveller in here now? They brought him in this morning, charged with conspiracy.’
    â€˜The pastor’s bent on cleaning up the whole town,’ the constable said rather dourly. ‘He’s working us to death. He sees rebels and devils and witches under every rock, and it’s us that has to go and dig them out.’
    â€˜Oh, well,’ the innkeeper said. ‘I guess he wants to put on a good show for old Copper-Nose. Can’t be easy having the Lord Protector right across the river, breathing down your neck every day.’
    â€˜I’d rather have Cromwell breathing down my neck than Pastor Spurgeon,’ the constable said. ‘He’s a cold fish, that’s for sure.’
    The innkeeper nodded, looking uneasy.
    â€˜He’ll be here soon,’ the constable said, ‘to gloat over his prisoners. I’d best be getting on.’
    â€˜Time for a quick ale?’ the innkeeper suggested. ‘Hot and thirsty work, rounding up rebels and spies.’
    â€˜That it is,’ the constable agreed, and together the two men went out the door, slamming it behind them.
    Luka heard the key turn in the lock and gritted his teeth together angrily. Mimi sobbed beside him.
    The guard ushered them through another door, and Luka saw that one whole side of the inn was