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music of the breeze in the elms. His vision closed in until all he could see was the coroner’s supercilious expression.
    ‘That is not enough, Master Swyfte. In matters of law, only facts can be considered, not suppositions.’ Danby gave a shrug and began to walk towards the path back to Deptford Strand and his waiting coach. ‘The matter is closed. Master Marlowe’s body will be consigned to the earth this afternoon.’
    Will recoiled. ‘So soon? No pomp or ceremony?’ Marlowe’s fame as a playwright would have excited the interest of many. Even in the desperate atmosphere of the plague-ridden city there should at least have been an adequate announcement so the crowds could gather, not to mention an invitation to dignitaries, a procession and a full service.
    ‘He is just a man,’ the coroner said.
    Will was stung by Danby’s dismissive tone, adding insult to the raw emotion he already felt at his friend’s passing. Kit was being discarded by the authorities, despite his years of sacrifice and service to the Crown.
    ‘This is to do with the accusations of atheism?’ Will grabbed the coroner’s shoulder. Danby recoiled at the outrageous lack of respect. The spy didn’t care.
    ‘I would not know. I do not make these decisions. I only investigate—’
    ‘You answer to the people who make such decisions. In the circles in which you move you are privy to knowledge that is denied to the rest of us.’
    Scared, Danby backed away a step.
    ‘Who took the decision to bury Kit without ceremony?’ Will pressed.
    ‘I cannot say.’
    ‘You do not know? Or you refuse to tell me?’
    ‘I … I …’ the coroner stuttered, his eyes darting.
    ‘Tell me,’ Will snapped.
    A tremor crossed Danby’s face, the muscles twitching as if they could not decide which expression to sport. To Will’s astonishment, the coroner broke into a broad grin and then began to laugh. At first it was just a chuckle, but it rapidly transformed into a breathless bark. Yet Will could hear no humour in that sound and the coroner’s eyes were still scared and flecked with tears. A shadow of confusion crossed the man’s face as if he couldn’t understand his own strange response, and then, still laughing, he turned and almost ran across the garden to the path.
    Will had never seen anything like it before. The Queen’s foremost coroner had acted like a madman, caught up in inappropriate emotions beyond his control. Was it fear of discovery? Fear of his masters? A passing lunacy?
    Concerned, the spy made his way across the now-deserted garden. Before he reachedthe path, he glimpsed movement, high up on the lodging house. Spinning round, he looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare. Not even a bird flapped on the brown tiles, but Will was convinced he had caught sight of something large hunched on the edge of the roof, watching his passage.
    Something inhuman.

CHAPTER NINE
    THE FUNERAL PROCESSION ARRIVED AT DEPTFORD GREEN TO A chorus of hungry gulls sweeping low overhead. While the coffin rested at the lychgate, a young man stepped up to Will, glancing around, a sack clutched to his side. The spy recognized the red, tear-stained face.
    ‘Tom, I am sorry we meet again under these circumstances. We have both lost a good friend.’ Will went to shake the hand of Marlowe’s companion, but the man was racked by a silent, juddering sob of grief.
    When he had recovered, Tom thrust the sack into Will’s hands. ‘Kit bid me give you this,’ he hissed. ‘I have spent two days searching for you, but you are hard to find.’
    ‘By design,’ the spy replied.
    ‘The last I saw of Kit, on the banks of the river near Baynard’s Castle at dawn, he … he was not in the best of humour. He feared for himself … feared that to be with me would bring about my death. I should … I should have known. Helped.’ The young man swallowed noisily.
    ‘Do not punish yourself. We can never know what is to be.’
    In one tearful look, Tom