After half an hour or so ignoring shadows and avoiding loose rocks, the track wound down to join the road at the bottom of the valley. There was a strange marker at the crossroads: a kind of tiny house made of stone. It had a definite roof – there was a clear impression of tiles carved in its top – but instead of walls there were four tall columns at each corner. Only one sign gave any direction, along the road to Drekenford.

The road was more open than the track, though trees still lurked on either side. I picked up my pace when the lights of the village became clear in the distance. Rarely before had the thought of a soft bed and a warm meal so spurred me onwards. I had been spoiled by my years in Esteberg – as a younger investigator I had travelled, understood and withstood its demands. Three nights and I was longing for old comforts.

As I drew nearer the village, the road rose to form a bridge over what I presumed was the eponymous ford. I glanced behind me, noting that the Dreken river oddly did not meet the road again as far as I could see. Instead it was lost, like so many things, among the trees.

I imagined I could walk away from the road, the village, and into the trees myself, never to be seen again. Here, so far from the chief inspector’s reach and the King’s seal, no one would stop me and no one would particularly care. Perhaps such a course would be preferable to Alexsander. He of all people might prefer the great unknown to the slow death of a provincial village. But I could still feel the ghost of the boy’s teeth on my fingertips, and still see the burning vision at the gates of Esteberg. The resolution I made there, to pursue the King’s Justice in this case, held firm.

I checked my pistol, still loaded from the strange encounter on the track to the fort. I decided it was best kept so until I had a better sense of the place. Pulling my cloak tighter about my shoulders, I walked on with Tabitha.

The bridge was long and lit at intervals by ensconced lamps, above which were animals carved in stone. A large cat, a bird I took to be a raven, a fish, and many more exotic animals, their likenesses very good. I gently brushed the broken fang of the cat; some of the animals had weathered better than others. The lamps gave a number of them a sinister character.

‘They come alive on All Hallows’ Eve,’ someone said.

I flinched at the sound. There was no one on the road. I peered into the shadows between the lamps and found one shadow more solid than the others: a boy.

‘The animals come alive?’ I asked, glancing at their well-defined stone muscles and claws.

‘Don’t look so scared,’ the boy said. ‘The adults use marionettes for the festivities, that’s all. Anyone can see the strings.’