‘I…’

‘Your position, sir. Your duty.’

‘I must have known,’ Channock whispered. And perhaps he did. Or was that, in some strange manner, the easier dereliction of duty to swallow? Rather than admit you were entirely ignorant. How easy it is to deceive ourselves, either way.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Mayor Eder said. He was removing a napkin from his shirt collar as he entered the hall. ‘How fortunate you caught me before I left for my office.’

Mrs Eder was a few paces behind, in shadow. But the mayor could clearly sense his guests’ attentions were directed at her. A flash of concern crossed his face, or so I thought, as he turned.

‘Margarete?’

‘Don’t worry yourself, dear,’ she said. ‘And whatever happens, don’t make a fuss.’

‘What—’

Mrs Eder stepped forward. She looked beautiful, that night, in a modest dark-green dress with a silver locket about her neck. Though favouring her hair pinned up, rather than the loose locks of her day-sister, gave a severe edge to her. I found it uncomfortable to see her so, but Christophor considered this the truth of the sisters. Hard. Calculating. Intelligent, in a cruel manner.

‘Inspector?’ she said. Did she raise her wrists ever so slightly?

‘Mrs Eder, with Magistrate Channock as witness, with God as witness, and with the power vested in me by the King of Reikova, I am placing you under arrest for the charge of witchcraft.’

‘Witchcraft,’ she said, calmly, as if she had expected nothing else. For Christophor, this was confirmation. For the mayor, it was too much.

‘Just— Now, hold on— You just wait one minute,’ Mayor Eder stammered.

Margarete passed him, arms extended, ready for her manacles.

‘No!’ Eder said. ‘I demand to know on what grounds this charge is made.’ He threw his napkin to the floor, as a gentleman might a glove by way of a challenge.

‘The inspector assures me he has a weight of evidence,’ Channock said.

‘Show me.’

‘This is not the place, sir.’ Christophor produced the handcuffs from his coat. They were loud in their workings, locking with clinks and clanks that tolled there in the hallway.

‘Show me.’

‘I said no fuss, Edward,’ she said without looking at her husband. Her gaze was fixed on my night-brother, but not defiantly. She wasn’t angry, either. He couldn’t read her expression. ‘It was clear this day would come, clear from the beginning.’

‘I demand—’

Christophor silenced the mayor by drawing his small knife. With some care he took Mrs Eder’s right hand and pressed the tip of the knife to her finger. Everyone but she leaned closer in a morbid kind of fascination, caught by the moment – by its audacity as much as its strangeness.

‘No blood,’ Christophor said.

‘Inspector, really!’ Mayor Eder said, but he didn’t stop looking at his wife’s finger.

The knife was withdrawn, leaving behind a dry cut no longer than a quarter inch. Of all the things my night-brother and I had seen – the horrors of St Leonars prison, the apocalyptic visions, what befell Constable Webber – this cut-without-blood was, in some ways, the most disturbing of them all. Small, simple, yet utterly unnerving. So, I had some sympathy with Magistrate Channock, who was unmanned by the sight. He fled the Eder’s hall and house. His parting words were jumbled, half-muttered, but to the effect that he should be sent for if there were a trial.