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the ice-slick steps, groping for the rail with reddened, nerveless fingers. As they emerged into St Olave’s Street, she gave vent to the irritation that had been gnawing at her all the way from Seething Lane.
    “Why Raleigh, of all people?” she asked of the night air. “That pompous, arrogant, narrow-minded… heretic!”
    “You don’t approve of our captain?”
    “No I do not.”
    “But he’s one of the heroes of the age,” Mal said. “He’s been to the New World and back, quelled the Irish, fought the Spanish–”
    “Hero of the age indeed! He’s naught but a pirate with charming manners.”
    A trio of drunken tanners staggered across the street towards them, the stink of their trade unmistakable even in the chill air. Mal threw back his cloak to reveal the hilt of his rapier and they backed off, swearing.
    “What reason have you to dislike him so?” Mal said, when the tanners were out of earshot.
    She sighed. “Perhaps you don’t remember. No reason you would, it wouldn’t have mattered to you.”
    “What wouldn’t?”
    “About three years ago, before we met, Raleigh was very active in Parliament. He’s a member for Devon, you know.”
    “So?”
    “So there was a motion to grant wider privileges to the immigrant communities in London. My people were overjoyed to be accepted at last, to have the same opportunities as native-born merchants and craftsmen, to be able to own their workshops and join the city guilds. Little things, perhaps, but they meant a lot to us.” She drew a deep breath. “Raleigh spoke against the bill.”
    “Oh.”
    “It did him no good, of course. Parliament was united in favour. But it made Raleigh’s name a byword for prejudice in our community. He hates the Dutch, the Jews, everyone who is not English.”
    “And the skraylings?”
    She shrugged. “I cannot suppose him to be a friend of the skraylings, for all his travels in their country.”
    “Why did you not mention this to Walsingham?”
    “We need to get to Venice, don’t we? My dislike of Raleigh is neither here nor there.”
    “But you think we should keep an eye on him.”
    “I think we would be fools not to.”
    She quickened her pace. If only Mal had not had that ill-fated dream, they would be back home in Provence now, snug in their respective chambers. Not running around Southwark in the cold and the dark, and certainly not chasing skraylings to the far side of Christendom.
     

CHAPTER V
     
    The next morning, Ned was surprised to be asked to ride out to Hampton Court with Mal.
    “Not taking Hendricks with you?” he asked as they set out for the livery stables.
    “He’s taken against Raleigh,” Mal said, “and I want to give a good first impression. It’s a long voyage to Venice.”
    “You’re too soft on the boy.” He glanced at Mal sidelong. “Always were.”
    Mal said nothing, but his jaw tightened in that way Ned knew so well. The conversation was at an end, for now at least.
    The snow flurries of the previous night had given way to a crisp, clear morning, every fencepost, roof-tile and blade of grass limned with frost. Bankside stood silent, its inhabitants huddled in the warmth of their beds. Ned envied them, and cursed Hendricks silently. If not for the boy’s sulks, he could have stayed snug in his own bed, at least until Gabriel had to leave for the playhouse.
    At the livery stables Mal chose a bay gelding for himself and the most placid pony they could find for Ned, who still wasn’t used to riding. It was occasionally useful in his work, though, so he had had to learn. Truth was, he’d had to learn a lot of new skills in the last year.
    There had been a time when he resented playing the servant, tagging along at Mal’s heels and deferring to him in public. But Baines had taught him the importance of invisibility. No one paid attention to servants, so they could eavesdrop on their betters in places other men could not go without comment, and pass unnoticed even in the halls