Snoball had growled angrily at Hook’s impudence, but Lord Slayton had betrayed his amusement with a sudden grin. “Out!” he commanded now, “all of you! Get out, except for you, Hook. You stay.”

Lady Slayton watched as the men left the hall, then turned and vanished into whatever chamber lay beyond the gallery. Her husband stared at Nick Hook without speaking until, at last, he gestured at the gray-feathered arrow on the oak table. “Where did you get it, Hook?”

“Never seen it before, my lord.”

“You’re a liar, Hook. You’re a liar, a thief, a rogue, and a bastard, and I’ve no doubt you’re a murderer too. Snoball’s right. I should whip you till your bones are bare. Or maybe I should just hang you. That would make the world a better place, a Hookless world.”

Hook said nothing. He just looked at Lord Slayton. A log cracked in the fire, showering sparks.

“But you’re also the best goddamned archer I’ve ever seen,” Lord Slayton went on grudgingly. “Give me the arrow.”

Hook fetched the gray-fledged arrow and gave it to his lordship. “The fledging came loose in flight?” Lord Slayton asked.

“Looks like it, my lord.”

“You’re not an arrow-maker, are you, Hook?”

“Well I make them, lord, but not as well as I should. I can’t get the shafts to taper properly.”

“You need a good drawknife for that,” Lord Slayton said, tugging at the fledging. “So where did you get the arrow,” he asked, “from a poacher?”

“I killed one last week, lord,” Hook said carefully.

“You’re not supposed to kill them, Hook, you’re supposed to bring them to the manor court so I can kill them.”

“Bastard had shot a hind in the Thrush Wood,” Hook explained, “and he ran away so I put a broadhead in his back and buried him up beyond Cassell’s Hill.”

“Who was he?”

“A vagabond, my lord. I reckon he was just wandering through, and he didn’t have anything on him except his bow.”