‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked.

‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I’m looking for a gift for my night-brother.’ I had not realised that was really the aim of my wandering until I said the words aloud. I wanted something to accompany the note I would write to him.

‘A gift, for an occasion?’

‘More of a peace offering.’

‘Good gift-giving,’ she said, warming to the subject, ‘requires some thought.’ She tapped her lips, which sent her bangles into fits. ‘What was the nature of your falling out?’

‘Oh, well, I’m not sure he would see it as such. We’ve simply had a differing… direction, over the years. Different priorities.’

‘Interesting.’

I stared at this singular shopkeeper, who courted the air of a fortune teller or seer.

‘Your night-brother, does he have any vices?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘You answered rather swiftly.’

‘Of our differing directions, his was virtue.’

‘A religious man?’ she asked.

An impression flashed before me of men on horseback, fields blazing behind them, all inexplicably inside Drekenford’s own church. I felt the weight of his crucifix on the back of my neck. He had a bible locked in a drawer – locked away by a sense of terror as much as wards and cylinders.

‘It’s complicated,’ I said.

‘It often is.’ She gestured around the shop. ‘If not vices, and not virtues, what else?’

‘He does collect…’ I didn’t know how to say it without sounding ridiculous. In truth, I didn’t know the correct terminology.

‘Yes?’

‘He collects eggs. But not the kind you eat,’ I added quickly.

‘Blown eggs. Well, why didn’t you say?’ She turned and began moving boxes and crates crammed behind her small station. Finally, she placed a velvet-lined tray on top of the counter. I looked down at perhaps fifty eggs of various sizes and colours, feeling as lost as I ever had in my life. I made a noise to that effect. ‘How long has he been collecting?’ she said.

‘Since we were boys.’

She gave me a look of incredulity. Well, did Christophor know what strings I employed on my lutes? What reeds I favoured? What varieties of red or white I would or would not drink?

‘That one looks nice,’ I said, pointing at a large egg with reddish speckles.

She ignored me. ‘You won’t find anything here that a man collecting for so long doesn’t already have.’

‘What is the use then?’

‘He will appreciate the thought, I’m sure.’

‘Are you,’ I said.

‘Even if he already has a set they may be of lesser quality that he hasn’t managed to replace. Here,’ she said, lifting a little tray from within the tray. ‘Bullfinches are common enough, but he’d have been lucky to find better than these.’

‘They’re very pretty.’

‘I imagine you have no idea which nesters he favours?’

I shrugged helplessly.

‘Well, the engravings on the bottom there will mean something to him I imagine.’

‘I’ll take them,’ I said, and did my best to remain impassive as she conveyed their price. I had been in the wrong business all this time. She packaged them with appropriate care and asked if there would be anything else. I cast my gaze once more around the flotsam and jetsam of the shop. I wondered if I should find a gift for Rebecca, but was exhausted by the thought of having to choose. And then a thought came to me.