He didn’t notice him at first. He’d been looking for a tall man ever since the Judas had told him, reluctantly at first, soon not reluctantly at all, everything; volunteering a babble of words, mostly pathetic pleading but some of it interesting. Including the name of someone who was hunting a murderer among the Saints— a man who could be a butcher or a surgeon.
Then he’d realized that the fellow lurching along Thames Street to All Hallows was tall, indeed very tall, but only when he’d noticed how contorted the man had made himself, bending so at the middle that his nose was close to the cobbles, at which he shouted every few paces. Indeed, like most other good citizens, he’d immediately glanced away from the ranting drunk in distaste. Besides the height, the traitor had told him that his
