It turns up in a book I hadn’t opened in some time. It slips out from between two pages, and flutters its way to the carpet before I can catch it.

It’s a scrap of squared paper, a leaf from some old notepad from my previous life, carrying an ugly yellow logo and covered in many-coloured scribbles.

First of all, written in blue ball-point pen, a snippet of dialogue between Kit Marlowe and Thomas Walsingham… Continue reading →