corridor. Anxious, he noticed all the candles had been snuffed out. At the far end of the corridor, the scarred man glimpsed a ghost, a whirl of pale yellow skirts, gone in an instant.
‘Alice?’ Carpenter called. His voice rustled along the walls and disappeared into the dark.
He felt his skin prickle with apprehension.
His chest tightening, the scarred man raced along the inky corridor to where he had seen the pale form. He skidded to a halt next to the steps down to the kitchens, smelling the spicy aromas of that evening’s pork.
Grasping a candle in its iron holder, Carpenter lit it with his flint. Apprehensively, he watched the flame dance as he held it in front of the draughts rising up from below. He could hear no sound. Drawing his rapier, he descended.
He wanted to call Alice’s name, but resisted. Better to go stealthily, he thought. Refusing to think about what might be ahead, he settled into his five senses, the grip of cold steel in his hand, the echoes of his footsteps, the dancing shadows, the rising scents of baked bread and strawberry wine, and the taste … the iron taste of fear in his mouth. But not for himself.
In the caverns of his mind, her name rang out: Alice … Alice … and the echoes of promises made in the dark.
Waves of heat from the crackling ovens washed up the stairs. With sweat beading his brow, the spy eased into the echoing kitchens, looking all around. Shadows drifted across the brick-vaulted ceiling. A row of trestles ran down the middle of the chamber, still streaked where they had been wiped down by the kitchen workers after the meal. Sacks of flour lined one wall. Fragrant cured hams hung from hooks overhead. One swung gently from side to side.
At first the spy refused to accept what his eyes told him. ‘Let her go,’ he whispered. Tossing the candle to one side, he tore off his blue mask and set it on the end of the trestle.
In front of the ovens, the black-cloaked man in the devil mask held Alice with one arm around her waist, the other holding a dagger to her neck. His angel wings cast a grotesque shadow on the orange bricks behind him. Alice’s mask had fallen away, and she stared at the spy with wide, terrified eyes.
‘It is me you want,’ Carpenter urged. ‘You have used Alice to draw me out, and now you have me. Set her free so you can complete your vile business and loose all hell upon this place.’
‘No, John!’ the woman cried, tears burning her cheeks.
His head spinning from fear for his love, the spy forced himself to remain calm. Making a show of it, he sheathed his rapier, but inside his cloak his left hand closed on his dagger unseen. ‘See, I am unarmed,’ he said. ‘Set her free.’
Carpenter’s eyes locked intently on Alice’s.
Keeping the dagger pricking the woman’s neck, the devil-masked man unfurled his other arm and beckoned for the spy to step forward. With a shudder, Carpenter saw a droplet of blood appear on his love’s pale skin.
The scar-faced man stepped forward, presenting his chest for the blade. ‘One final time: set her free now, or so help me I will carve you like those hams above.’
‘John, go now,’ Alice cried. ‘If you die, I do not want to live.’
‘Hush. Your life has more value than mine.’ Carpenter fixed his gaze on the slits in the devil mask. The eyes within were tinged with madness.
Sobbing, Alice was barely able to catch her breath.
For one long moment, two pairs of eyes were locked in concert. Then, fluidly, the devil-masked man hurled the woman aside, thrusting his dagger towards the spy’s chest.
Alice screamed.
Lurching away, Carpenter sought to bring his own blade out from beneath his cloak, but he was an instant too slow. He sensed death’s cold breath on his neck.
And then the spy felt Alice’s hands thrust him aside.
Stumbling to one knee, Carpenter jerked his head up to witness the devil-masked man’s blade plunge into Alice’s heart. The black stain spread too fast across her pale yellow dress. For one moment that seemed eternal, Carpenter was locked in hell.
Alice had given her life for his.
His love’s startled eyes fell on the spy, and a final, sad smile sprang to her lips. As she slipped to the floor, pulling the dagger from the hands of her murderer, the spy caught her and cradled her in his arms. Tears seared