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sell those. They are illegal,” she said, her chin thrust out, her eyes snapping with fire.
    Mary might be a gentle soul, Kate thought, but she had a streak of determination hard as iron.
    When Kate did not correct her, Mary asked, the harshness of her tone softened, her eyes once again soft and moist, “Where will you look today?”
    “Maybe down by the docks. The Hanseatic Merchants League. They might have heard something.”
    “Some ting.” The boy nodded, his face grown suddenly as solemn as the two women he trusted.
    But Kate turned her back. She could no longer bear to look at him. She opened the door and headed out to begin her search as she had each day for two weeks. The sharp March wind bit her neck, forcing her to pull up the squirrel-lined hood of her cloak. There was no such protection for the cold that squeezed at her heart.

    Kate learned nothing about her brother from the Merchant Adventurers at the Steelyard except how widespread the sweep had been.
    “What about the shipment from Antwerp?” Kate asked the sergeant at arms.
    “Ruined. It was off-loaded while the carrier was still out to sea, but don’t worry, mistress. There’s more where that came from. Print and paper are cheap. Lives are not.”
    “Will there be no other shipment, then?”
    The merchant grinned. “There’s already another on the way. By the time it gets here in late April, the king’s men won’t be watching the Bristol docks.They’ve already caught Garrett. He’s in a cell at Ilchester in Somerset, poor sod.”
    “But won’t they want to know his source?”
    “The king doesn’t want any trouble with the German merchants.” He grinned. “He wants good English wool on the backs of rich burghers on the Continent. He’ll not be looking to break the trade agreement. Unless we rub his nose in it, he’ll just go after the English smugglers and distributors.”
    “Who will meet the next shipment with Garrett arrested?”
    “Some of the booksellers are meeting it directly. If you find your brother, and he’s still got the stomach for it, tell him to check in with Sir John Walsh in Little Sodbury.”
    “If I find him.”
    “Don’t worry, mistress. They’ve just cast a broad net. They’ll let the small fry go—sooner or later. The jails are already full. I heard they’ve even got some of the Oxford students who bought from Garrett locked in the fish cellar beneath Cardinal College. They’ll put the fear of the pope into them all and send them home.”
    “What about Master Garrett?”
    “Well, now, they may be more reluctant to let him go. He’s considered a major distributor—and somewhat of a preacher. And he’s already been warned. Once you’ve been warned . . .” He finished his sentence with a shrug.
    Now John will have been warned, Kate thought. But she couldn’t think about what that might mean. First she had to find him.

    The fish cellar stank. And not just from its name, the aptness of which lent sufficient foul odor, but also from human excrement and mold clinging to the damp walls and something else he could not name. It might be fear, his good sense said, the collective fear oozing from the pores of himself and the five other fellows from Cardinal College who had been detained on suspicion of possessing Lutheran books. John Frith recited Homer in the original Greek—aloud—to keep from going crazy in the filth and the darkness. But this last week his able chorus had fallen off.
    “My God, man, will you give it a rest. Clerke is sick,” came a voice from the darkness.
    “I know. I smelled it. I’m sorry. But we can’t give in. They
will
let us out. Even Dean Higdon can’t keep us in this stinking cellar without a trial! He’s just trying to frighten us. Let us ripen a little.”
    “He’s doing a damn fine job, then.” Sumner’s voice. It was Sumner he worried most about. He’d been sickly before they were locked up.
    “We must keep faith,” Frith said, trying to sound assured.