With no inns open on the Sabbath, the best time to find villains of any kind on Sunday was early in the morning. They’d be sleeping after a night of thieving or drinking, and the thumps and kicks on the door would rattle them into scared consciousness. He’d used it often before. It served to remind them who wielded the power in the city. So far it had worked perfectly. Two of them had still been addled on ale, ready to agree to anything as long as they could return to their beds. Martin Grover had looked so guilty that he’d have said yes to carrying the devil around on his shoulders if only the Constable’s man would leave. A couple had taken some persuasion, but reminders of the offences they’d committed, including the ones they thought no one knew about, had quickly convinced them. He knew Nottingham was out too, using exactly the same methods, pressuring people to join him, with no refusals allowed. This was going to be the biggest thing they’d attempted, and he only hoped it happened.
