When I emerged from the station’s corridors into the stables, a sturdy brown mare was one of two horses in the many stalls. The other held a princely white horse being saddled by a young man. He tied an expensive-looking bow of white wood behind the saddle and wore a quiver across his back. I watched him for some time before he noticed me.

‘Inspector,’ he said by way of greeting; evidently he knew me, though I was at a loss as to who he was.

‘Long ride ahead?’ I said.

‘Could be.’

‘I’m travelling south.’

The man grunted and went about checking his saddle straps.

‘Do you own that horse?’ I said.

He looked over the saddle at me, his head and shoulders cast like a bust of an ancient conqueror. ‘I don’t come from here,’ he said, ‘but our countries share much. And then there is much for the taking.’ He flicked a coin, which I only just caught. A heavy gold crown pressed with a likeness on one side, a tower-like building on the other. I recognised neither.

‘What is this for?’

But he turned back to readying his horse and I felt as dismissed as if I were boring the King himself. I hefted the crown in my palm as I wandered to the mare I assumed was for me. The mare made the same assumption, standing inert as I secured my bags to the old saddle. She remained docile even as I tried to lead her out of the stall. Docile and immovable. I pulled and yanked, clicked and cajoled, and soon was reduced to cursing.

A sharp whistle sounded and the mare stepped forward, almost sending me tumbling. Righting myself, I saw the young man silhouetted in moonlight, now mounted at the open end of the stables. I thanked him and he turned away and was lost to the city. I felt a sadness I could not explain, except that I knew worse nights were to come.

*

The mare responded calmly to my every command, as if the whistle had awoken this princess from a spell. Riding through the city was a disconcerting experience, so rarely had I been at such a height: the cobbled streets and low pavements were transformed, alleys were elongated in their darkness, and I found myself shying away from even familiar routes like a scared child. I couldn’t help but stare down into the dimly lit rooms I passed, seeing more of people and their lives than I had any business to.

I had one stop to make before I left the city. A ritual of mine was to begin each investigation by visiting Esteberg’s cathedral. Or, more specifically, the library beneath it. I often found the information it held helpful, and on occasion crucial, to the hunt.

The cathedral was just as imposing as St Leonars prison, though the two could not be more different in their architecture. The cathedral was blessed with a multitude of high, thin windows. Beside them were similarly shaped recesses full of saints worked in stone. Saints stacked one on top the other from the ground all the way to the heavens – or so it seemed as I looked upwards from the hitching post. The mare took to this latest station with a respectful bow of her head. I told her I would not be long.