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"Not for several days now."

"Then I'll continue calling you Sheriff. The alternative is too unpleasant to contemplate."

He ushered us inside and shut the door.

"This way. And please, for the love of God, try to walk like clerks."

I followed him into the passage.

I'd walked those corridors hundreds of times during my years at Nottingham.

I knew which floorboards creaked, where the stone dipped outside the counting room, and which corners were poorly lit.

What I wasn't prepared for was how unfamiliar the castle felt.

Every few minutes, we passed a guard I didn't recognize.

Men wearing Nottingham's colors who'd never served under my command.

I knew Fitzwalter had replaced much of the garrison, but seeing those strangers inside the castle unsettled me more than I expected.

Robin stayed close. She didn't say anything, although twice she rested her hand against my back when she sensed my discomfort through our bond.

Both times, the brief touch helped.

Peverel led us into a narrow scribes' gallery overlooking the undercroft passage.

Several broken desks had been pushed against the walls, and a long opening allowed clerks to pass documents down to the rooms below.

From there, we could see the entire route between the staircase and the courtyard door.

I turned to Peverel. "The letter."

He nodded. "I have it."

For a moment, I could only stare at him. "You have it?"

"Yes, Sheriff."

He reached inside his cloak. "Lieutenant Reyner managed to pass it to me before they took him down to the cells."

"How?"

"They brought him from your chambers with four guards. He had something clenched in his hand, and when they turned the corner, he pressed it into mine."

Peverel produced a folded piece of parchment.

"He told me to go and be a clerk."

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

That sounded like Hugh.

"They searched him afterward," Peverel continued. "Twice. Even made him remove his boots."

"And they didn't search you?"

"They did."