The bear was Rebecca’s favourite.

Christophor made his way along the bridge at the pace of the crowd, pausing briefly at each marionette, but all the while looking for the white horseman. When he reached the other side, he saw more horsemen than he required. In the distance, far along the valley, many lights were wending their way along the road and up the track to the fort. The second regiment of the King’s Dragoon Guards had arrived. Did they know what waited for them there? Regardless, he had to finish his work before they began their offensive. Nothing disrupted an investigation like war.

He turned back to the bridge and thought he caught a glimpse of white heading towards the town square. He tried to push his way through, against the flow of people, but the going was hard. He made it half way back across the bridge, when he heard it.

A crack, so loud it shook the stars.

The silence that followed was fleeting but total. No one – not child nor adult – knew what to make of such a sound. The only response was to be still, every muscle tense, and wait for what was to come. It was like a warning shot from the sky. Christophor was not the only one to look to the heavens.

He saw clouds gathering on the side of the valley, above the Eder house. Clouds that moved too quickly, that were being pulled down, down, down to the house itself. There, they made a tornado. Flashes of soundless lightning fractured their inky darkness. On the bridge they heard no thunder. But there was another cracking sound, closer, something heard by the few, not the world. Then another, and another, more cracks and creaks. And then a scream – small, not far from him, as much surprise as terror.

One of the black cloths over the statues moved.

Cries and shouts went up, seemingly from all directions, and the crowd rolled and roiled. The air was thick with panic.

Beside Christophor, a woman moved to shield her little girl. He took a step forward to do the same, purely on instinct. Then, a stone seal tossed aside its cloth and, with a lolloping leap, crashed onto the bridge. It slapped its flippers together, sending dust and chipped stone over Christophor and the woman, barked silently, and then charged. He was quicker than her.

He met the stone seal in a kind of crouch. He tried to grab its flank, roll it back over away from the crowd, but it wriggled and squirmed as if made of slick, wet flesh. It bit and snapped at his face, narrowly missing his cheek. They wrestled like schoolchildren – the stone seal and the Special Inspector. Even on such a night, it was an unusual enough a sight to stop many in their tracks.

If winning were possible, perhaps Christophor was. The seal was nearly back to its plinth. But then it grew frenzied. It swung its flipper like a highwayman swings a cudgel, connecting heavily with our side. Another crack joined that night. He gritted his teeth against the burst of splintering he felt in our ribs, against the pressure of a compressed chest, and against the air there that pushed its way free. His vision clouded. The seal stood on its hind quarters, poised. And then something hit it. A body. Someone. A woman, Christophor thought. A woman he knew – that much came through the pain. He helped her but—