’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. I can’t help it. Now do you see?’ Melusine frowned. She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. A bad man, in fact. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. “I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything.
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