The Blackthorn Key

“I don’t know,” I said. “The ice will have melted by now. If water got through the grease, the ink will have run.” I looked out the window. “I honestly don’t know.”


The Archangel’s Fire. I’d been trying not to think about it. I’d been trying not to think about anything that happened that day. All I really wanted was my old life back. Days working next to Master Benedict, hearing the sound of his voice. Nights reading by the fire. This shop. Our home.

I looked around me. The shop was almost the same as when we’d fled from Stubb and Wat that terrible night. There was a patch of black where I’d started the fire, and a few more footsteps through the scattered ingredients. I didn’t even want to see the mess in the workshop. But the place was still standing. Maybe some of the ingredients, the equipment, could be salvaged. I could buy more goods to replace what was wrecked, too. Then everything could be back the way it was.

No, I thought. Not everything.

I looked behind the empty counter, where I’d hung my master’s sash. My eyes stung.

I still miss you, I said in my heart. But I kept your secret. And I stopped your killers. Did I do all right? Are you proud of me?

Something tapped on the window.

I turned. Outside, on the sill, a plump salt-and-pepper-speckled pigeon paced back and forth. She bobbed her head, pecking her beak against the glass.

I ran to the front door and opened it. Bridget hopped down from the windowsill with a grand flapping of wings and marched inside.

She cooed at me. I scooped her up and held her against my cheek. I felt the softness of her feathers, the beating of her tiny heart. I turned so we could see our home, and called to him one last time.

Thank you, Master.





A FEW MATTERS OF HISTORICAL NOTE


In Christopher’s time, English spelling wasn’t standardized. So, for example, it would be common to see “Clerkenwell Green” spelled “Clarkenwell Greene,” or “Clerkenwelle Grene,” or any other variation the writer might have thought correct. In this book, English names, titles, and places are spelled according to modern rules. (Many of the locations in this book still exist, by the way, so if you ever find yourself on the (no longer cobbled) streets of London, why not go discover some of Christopher’s old stomping grounds?)

A further change has been made to the calendar. In 1665, England was still using the old Julian calendar (introduced in 46 BC by Roman general and statesman Julius Caesar) while much of the rest of Europe had switched to the newer Gregorian calendar (introduced in AD 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII, and the calendar we still use today). Though nearly identical, there were two significant differences. First, in England, the Julian calendar year started on March 25, not January 1. Second, the way the Julian calendar added leap days meant that, since its inception, it had fallen behind the Gregorian calendar by ten days (e.g., the summer solstice on June 21 would have been on June 11, according to the Julian calendar).

Needless to say, these differences could lead to quite a bit of confusion. For example, a traveler could take a four-day sea voyage from Rotterdam to London, departing the Netherlands on (Gregorian) March 28, 1665, and arriving in England on (Julian) March 22, 1664—more than a year before he left! To avoid any such confusion, and to match our current calendar, all dates in this book are reported according to the modern Gregorian system.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


A lot of magic happens behind the curtain. I’d like to say thank you to the following wizards:

To my agent, Dan “The Lion” Lazar, and to Cecilia de la Campa and Torie Doherty-Munro.