The crowd in the streets is thick at midday, but you follow the banks of the Thames toward the London Bridge. You can hear fishermen showing off their hauls at the docks and sailors calling out from boats on the water. People on the docks are gathered around makeshift tabletops on barrels, openly gambling or listening to astrologists tell their horoscopes. “Protect your neck, little boy?” a woman calls out to you, holding up a necklace with a small ringing bell. “Or maybe your mum’s? Guaranteed protection against the Plague, helped hundreds survive last year…”

You turn away and push past a crowd watching a display of bear-baiting. You know it’s a popular sport here in town, but it’s still scary to you and you look away. When the bear roars in pain, the crowd starts laughing and cheering. You walk faster.

When you finally get to the bridge, it’s hard to imagine a script could still be here. This is the only bridge connecting north and south London, so it has a lot of foot traffic. Also, the heads of traitors to the crown peer down from spikes today. You can’t imagine Henry wanting to stay here for any length of time.

Towards the far side, you start to notice small pieces of torn-up parchment on the bridge. Maybe it’s the script! You gather them all up, and try to sort them out.

where could Henry have gone after this?