‘I enjoyed talking to her when we had the chance,’ I said. ‘But I think we were both a little bemused by the romance our friends were planning vicariously.’

‘We become children again at our age, don’t you think?’ As if to demonstrate, Rebecca sat on a low wall by the side of the road, her heels knocking against the stone. I joined her and we watched the sporadic comings and goings of the road into Drekenford in a companionable silence.

She looked west towards the sinking sun. ‘How long do we have left?’ she said.

I had no answer, but I took her hand in mine.

Christophor was feeling pleased with himself. He had a plan, a way forward, and perhaps for the first time in his investigation, a sense of progress. He had been inspired in no small part by the boy, Victor. While I largely found the Eder children unnerving, Christophor had a kind of affinity with them. One which, I believe, was born of respect.

He hurried downstairs and into the largely empty common room. Even in Drekenford most people did not drink on the Sabbath, at least not in public. The one occupied table stopped their conversation and watched him. The woman, the stumpy one I could never remember the name of, was behind the bar busying herself with something.

Christophor ordered a bottle of ale, the smallest she had.

The woman raised an eyebrow at that. He was not one to drink much at any time of night, let alone so early. It was noted, logged in whatever system of gossip she had. And she was smug about it too.

He left the common room as swiftly as he could. Once out in the street, he emptied the ale into a gutter. This now empty bottle he clutched like some hard-won trophy.

He crossed town with little heed of anything or anyone. At the base of the Eder track he stopped and made sure he was alone. Then he lit a shuttered lamp – clouds dominated the night’s sky – but he kept the shutters largely closed. He just needed enough light to not break our neck.

All his previous concerns and doubts were gone or, if not gone completely, then superseded. As he walked he looked to the forest and felt no apprehension. The lights of Fort Seeben could be seen from across the valley. He hoped his efforts would soon bring some relief to the remaining soldiers of the King’s Dragoon Guards. They deserved that and more.

He stopped short of the Eder house, at an approximation of fifteen child-length paces, and entered the forest. He let the shutters up a little to see his way.

‘Victor?’ he said with a hushed urgency. ‘Julia?’ He stopped, held his breath, tried to listen harder. He would not be surprised to find the children had slipped out of Father Popov’s sabbath service to continue their work. But there was no reply, no sound from the forest at all. Just the all-encompassing smell of pine. The air was so thick with it Christophor could almost see it, like a kind of smoke. He peered through that smell at every tree he passed, searching for the mark he made with his own knife. Searching for the children’s observation post. But the trees defied him by looking so similar and by giving him no discernible landmarks. He soon came to know he’d gone too far and decided to turn back; in doing so his foot caught on something and he almost tumbled to the ground.