The paper parted to reveal books. Books, bound by string and still layered in dust along the tops. Books no one read, only referred to. And yet, there was one page clearly marked by an incongruously clean, white slip of paper.

He placed this book reverently to one side and examined the rest. These he had not requested, but seemed to know. The names on their covers, Poul and Hendricks and others meant nothing to me. In none of the texts were there signs of tampering or censorship, for which he was glad. Even as a Special Inspector of the King’s constabulary some knowledge was forbidden to him. He knew his limits, his boundaries. In some ways enjoyed them.

The slip of white paper was like a beacon.

He opened the book on that particular page. He read lines that were familiar to him, but made little sense to me. Did they reassure him? I could not tell.

‘Stone cannot move on water,’ Christophor said firmly. ‘Hearts do not bleed gold.’

Cannot and do not. And yet he knew otherwise.

He added layers of uncertainty and doubt to the treacherous geography of this case. It was that geography, and not the streets of Drekenford through which he drifted, that he concerned himself with that evening. He needed to take some air and to be away from the books he had waited so long for.

Just when he was beginning to understand this case, another complication appeared. He was confident of the arrest and exile of Jan Harsson – of the reason given and the real reason behind it. But that knowledge begot more questions, the most pertinent of which being: who engineered the situation? Mr or Mrs Eder, the parents of the girl Jan was consorting with? A serving boy was obviously not a good match for their eldest daughter. But then neither was a tribesman. Or was it Olesca, the young man who was himself betrothed to that daughter? He did not have the same sway with the local authorities, but his motive was just as strong. Motive: that was Christophor’s word. In this instance, it could have been jealousy, combined with fear of losing his match with a northern noble woman. Or perhaps there was the young woman herself? Louisa, having grown guilty or tired of her own infidelities endeavoured to have them sent away. And last of the immediate suspects was Victor, who by his own mother’s admission was responsible for catching the boy’s thievery. What did he know of his older sister’s indiscretions?

This was what occupied Christophor as he lost himself in unfamiliar streets. That, and a book I did not understand.

28th October 1721

I surprised Marcus by arriving at his doorstep before midday. When he opened his door he was working his mouth in the way of a man just woken; a man just woken from a chair, fully clothed, and surrounded by empty bottles if I had to guess.