Barak blew out his cheeks. 'Shit.'

Grey swallowed. 'He's crowing, crowing like he's cock of the roost already.' He stared at the closed inner door a moment, then got up, knocked nervously and went in. A few moments later he reappeared.

'Lord Cromwell will see you.' We walked to the door, my heart sinking with dread at the thought of the mood he would be in now.

Cromwell sat in a large office whose walls were lined with shelves and drawers, behind a desk covered with a clutter of papers. I saw he had a magnificent globe, showing the New World with its indented coastlines and empty interior where monsters roamed. He sat very still, his square heavy face strangely expressionless, eyes fixed thoughtfully on us as we bowed low.

'Well, Matthew,' he said quietly. 'Jack.'

'My lord.'

He wore a plain brown robe today, his gold chain of office the only colour in his costume. He fiddled with the chain a moment, then reached for a quill, a pretty green peacock's feather with swirling colours that made the shape of an eye. He toyed with it, looking at the eye, seemingly lost in thought. Then he smiled bleakly and nodded at the door.

'Grey says the duke made an exhibition of himself out there.'

I could not think how to reply. Cromwell went on in the same reasonable, quiet voice. 'He came to demand I release Bishop Sampson from the Tower. I shall have to, he couldn't be got to confess to any plots even when they showed him the rack.' He looked again at the eye in the feather, then began pulling it to pieces. 'The papists are craftier than the most cunning fox, they keep their conspiracies so close I've nothing for the king that would turn him against Norfolk's party. Not even murmurings.' He shook his head, then said mildly, 'Jack here tells me you have been busy on a case against the Bealknap man. You were visiting a property of his when you were attacked.'

'Yes, my lord.'

His tone stayed quiet, but when he spoke again his eyes were full of anger. 'You waste time on trifles while the one thing I have to keep me in the king's favour, Greek Fire, remains lost and the thieves slaughter all those who know of it under your very nose.'

'We managed to get to Goodwife Gristwood and her son, and the ex-monk-' I said.

'And little they had to tell.'

'We've been working hard, my lord,' Barak ventured.

Cromwell ignored him. He leaned forward, pointing the mutilated quill at me. 'One week only until that demonstration is due. The king's insisting on a divorce from Queen Anne now and I'm the one who must find the way. Then he'll marry that little whore Catherine Howard and Norfolk will never be out of his presence, telling him he should have my head for tying him to that German drab. Greek Fire's the only leverage I have now – if I can give him that he'll keep me in his service. Perhaps then I can turn the tide before the Howards have us back under Rome.' He laid down the remains of the quill and leaned back. 'Perhaps, then, I will be allowed to live.' His heavy frame seemed to quiver slightly as he uttered the last word. 'The king does know gratitude,' he muttered softly, as though to himself. 'He does.' I realized with a sinking heart that he was almost at the end of his resources. He blinked, then stared at me again.

'Well? Is there any more news? Have you achieved anything apart from landing me with that menagerie of scared fools?'

'I needed to discover what they knew, my lord.'

'You didn't believe in Greek Fire, did you?' he asked bluntly.

I shifted my feet nervously. 'I needed to trace the matter back to its source-'

'Do you believe in it now?'

I hesitated. 'Yes.'

'So what of the suspects, the people who matter?'

'They all say they know nothing. Lady Honor I have questioned closely.' I repeated all she had had told me.

He grunted. 'She's a fine woman. Pretty.' His hard eyes bored into mine. I wondered if Barak had told him I liked her. I remembered Cromwell was a widower now; his only son Gregory was said to be, like Henry Vaughan, a poor sort of fellow.

'I intend to check her story with Marchamount.'

'Another one who still maintains he knows nothing. Bealknap makes a third.'

'Bealknap has questions to answer. I have found a way of bringing pressure on him, by threatening to expose some of his ill dealings. I shall see him this afternoon.'

'Expose him? To the Inn authorities?'

'Yes.'

He nodded approvingly. 'You do mean business then.'

'I will question him on his involvement with Richard Rich.'

Cromwell's face clouded at that name. 'Yes, you have added him to our list of possible suspects, Barak tells me. Him and Norfolk.' He gave a sudden furious glance at the closed door. I shuddered at the thought of what he would do to the duke if he had him in his power.

'Bealknap and Marchamount are under their respective patronage.' I hesitated. 'I saw them together this morning, at Barty's. I wondered whether they might be plotting some thing together.'

'Everyone is plotting. All my protégés are falling away, becoming spies and enemies, making shift to protect their places on the council if the tide turns against me.' He looked at me again. 'If Bealknap told Rich about Greek Fire, Rich could have told Norfolk.'

'It is all guesswork, my lord.'

'Yes, it is.' He nodded grimly.

'I learned they are digging up the graves of the monks at Barty's,' I said, 'and planning to start on the graves from the hospital. It struck me that the old soldier might have had Greek Fire buried with him. It would be a way for us to get hold of some. I thought I might speak with Kytchyn.'

He nodded. 'It's worth a try, I suppose. If I had some, at least I could tell the king we might be able to make more. Do it, but don't let Rich know what you're about. Ask Grey for the address of the house where I've put Kytchyn and Mother Gristwood. Grey's the only one who knows it. Almost the only one who's safe now. And see Bealknap soon. Solve this, Matthew,' he said with sudden passion. 'Solve this.'

'We will, my lord,' Barak said.

Cromwell was thoughtful a moment. 'Did you see the Holbein mural on your way in?' he asked me.

I nodded.

'I thought that would catch your eye. Realistic, is it not? The figures seem as though they could walk out into the hall.' He picked up the quill and tore at the remaining vanes. 'The king magnificent, calves thick and strong as a carthorse. You should see him now, his ulcerated leg so bad that sometimes they have to wheel him round the palace in a little cart.'

'My lord,' Barak said quickly, 'it is dangerous to speak thus-'

Cromwell waved a hand. 'It relieves me to talk, so you'll listen. It's my belief there'll be no more little princes – he's so ill I don't think he's capable. I think that's why he was so shocked when he saw Anne of Cleves – he realized he couldn't raise his member for her. He hopes he may with pretty little Catherine, I'm sure, but I wonder.' He pulled the last of the vanes from the quill and threw down the bare stalk. 'And if he can't, then in a year or less the fault will be Catherine's as now it is Queen Anne's. And then Norfolk may find himself out of favour once more. I want to survive till then.'

I felt cold, despite the warmth of the room, at the coldly calculating way he spoke of the king. And to say the king was incapable of fathering more children was bordering on treason. Cromwell looked up, his face grim.

'There, that's unsettled you, hasn't it?' He looked from one to the other of us. 'If you fail and that demonstration doesn't take place you can expect harsh deserts. So don't fail.' He sighed deeply. 'Now leave me.'

I opened my mouth, but Barak touched my arm and shook his head quickly. Bowing again, we left. Barak closed the door behind us very gently.

Grey looked at us anxiously. 'Are there any instructions?' he asked.