‘Will there be a trial?’ Mrs Eder said. ‘Will you prick another of my fingers for all the town to see?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Christophor said, as if explaining a common matter. ‘It is preferable, but on occasion the King’s Justice must be administered swiftly, with just cause.’

‘Justice?’ Mayor Eder said.

‘For Gregory and Jan Harsson. For Constable Webber.’

‘You believe I killed them?’

‘No, Mrs Eder. Not killed, not the Harsson boy.’ From his coat of many tricks, he took out a sturdy length of black silk. ‘If you please, Mrs Eder?’

She gave the slightest of nods. ‘But not the front door, if you please, Inspector. For propriety’s sake.’

Christophor half turned to share a knowing look with the magistrate, before remembering the man had gone. ‘I could remove the apotropaic.’

‘The side door,’ she said firmly. He considered arguing but found no value in it; her insistence only reinforced his theories. Behind her, he raised the gag and tied the silk tight. Her cheeks blanched, though she stood still and stoic.

‘This is an outrage,’ Mayor Eder said, but his earlier bluster was all but gone. He stared at his wife’s un-bleeding finger.

‘Does your wife have a hooded coat, sir?’

‘A coat?’

Christophor should have waited before gagging Mrs Eder. ‘A hooded coat.’

After more explanation and effort than should’ve been necessary, a servant was sent to fetch a suitable coat. It was a small mercy, little more than a gesture to forestall the gossip of the town. But the story of Mrs Eder, gagged and bound in her own hallway, would spread faster than the pox – starting with the wide-eyed young girl who was now clutching a fur-lined coat. My night-brother draped it over Mrs Eder’s shoulders and lifted the hood. He led her through her own house, down her corridors lined with portraits and the Eder stag, and to the side door. They saw no more servants or staff or family. The children’s absence was a blessing, or so he thought. But a blessing for whom? Victor and Julia had played some part in this, and would those children have wept for their mother? Perhaps their parents were saved the embarrassment of their dry eyes and knowing looks.

The three of them stepped out into a still night. I had wondered, silly as it was, just how Mrs Eder’s coat and hood would fare in the howling gales. But there was not even a breeze to stir a leaf. There was no sound but their own as they walked around the house and onto the track. Christophor glanced towards the trees. Fifteen paces, Victor had said. If the children were in there, Christophor couldn’t see them.

Mayor Eder started to speak more than once as they walked but stopped himself each time. In all the talk of coats, he hadn’t thought to find himself one.

And so they made quite a sight for anyone on certain streets that night. Two men well-known to the town, and between them a hooded woman. Later it was said her hands were bound in front of her. Some said she was being carried. Others said she wore a mask. What kind of mask? A goat, a demon, a season’s reveller. A woman gagged.