‘Alexsander, don’t do this.’

‘That’s what I said!’ Marcus crowed.

‘Let your night-brother handle his business.’

‘“What happens at night is none of my business,”’ I said in fair imitation of Mr Hennig, which was lost on them. ‘But it is our business, is it not?’

They looked uncomfortable at that as both considered their respective siblings.

‘I’ve seen enough prisons and hangings and the like to know the importance of harmony.’ I held up a hand to forestall Marcus and said, ‘Not just through my night-brother’s eyes. I don’t mean to cause him any difficulties, quite the opposite.’

‘And what if the very thing he requires is your inaction?’ Marcus said.

‘Then so be it, let him say so. Otherwise, I will help his investigation.’

‘That’s very brave of you,’ Rebecca said softly.

‘Come now, Rebecca! I imagined you able to talk him away from this ridiculous notion.’

‘I saw the horse,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see the woman in the prison, or your own constable, but I saw the horse for myself. I hadn’t grown fond of it the way my night-brother had, but still. To know that can be done to a living creature… How can I do nothing?’

*

We all made attempts, in our own ways, to rescue the day after that. We laughed too hard. Drank too quickly. Pursued arguments too readily. All in vain, of course. Long before sunset we made our excuses and said our goodbyes.

Rebecca lingered at the bottom of Marcus’ steps. She started to say something, and then stopped.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.

‘Be careful, Alexsander.’

‘Rebecca, wait—’

But she hurried along the street. The hood of her coat was pulled up despite the mild afternoon. Even I, in my wine-soaked state, could tell she’d said all she had to say on the subject. Perhaps that was the best I could hope for – that my decision gave no more need for discussion or cautionary words.

Feeling sorrier for myself than I had before arriving at Marcus’, I took to the streets again. At least Christophor’s notoriety hadn’t denied me the run of pavements and parks and the shops. I was drawn to the smell of a bakers but for some reason found the abundant stacks of ruddy, wholesome loaves in the window too much. I needed somewhere to match my darker mood. As I passed sweetshops, toymakers, florists, jewellers, and the like, I wondered if Drekenford had been transformed into some benign idyll before my very eyes. Or had it always been so jolly?

I found a kind of grim safe haven in a curio shop. With windows almost entirely blocked by displays, and an apparently miserly approach to lighting their oil lamps, the shop was as gloomy and dusty as a church. The proprietor was a small, disinterested woman with glasses that could serve as wagon wheels.

Every surface undulated and churned, a sea of porcelain and wood and imitation gemstones. It hurt to look at for long, the gaze could not find anywhere comfortable to sit; it slipped and fell among cut-glass and tarnished silver. I made the mistake of hoping to touch something, anything, to stop the sense of rolling waves. My fingers came away dusty and confused.