Locking the bedroom door behind me, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. The room appeared unchanged. I checked all my belongings, all through the wardrobe, under the bed, and in the desk. In the bottom drawer I found the King’s Bible. I recoiled, as if from the serpent himself. I closed the drawer, only to open it quickly once more. I took the bible out and placed it squarely on the desk, though I could not bring myself to look inside.

20th October 1721

An agreement was made with Mr Hennig. Alexsander was to play three times a week. Whatever the crowd asked for, he was to play. If the room was empty, he was to play. Mr Hennig didn’t like sad songs but, and he shrugged expansively, if that was what the crowd wanted. Mr Hennig helped plenty of men and women drown their sorrows; some nights he drowned his own – just not in sad songs.

Alexsander went walking again. When he passed the painter’s balcony he waved up to Marcus, but didn’t stop to talk. He wasn’t in the mood for talking.

Heading south he admired the stone animals of the bridge. He had to wait as two carts carefully manoeuvred past each other. For no reason he could understand, he shivered at the sight of the carts. I understood. He watched them both, going in different directions, until he could see neither. The sun came out and that warmed him.

Fearless, he walked into the forest. He breathed in deeply, actually enjoying the pine-laden air. There were no paths to follow, no signposts, and no signs of anyone having ever walked there at all. He strode confidently in no particular direction. He touched tree trunks, scuffed fallen needles with his boots, stopped to listen to the birds sing. When he grew hungry he ate from the small pack he’d brought.

At one point, perhaps it was midday, he sat against a tree and took out his fiddle. He practised for a long time. He played all the happy songs he knew, and all the songs he’d expect a small town’s common room to call for. He practised the best drinking songs. And, when the sunlight turned softer with the afternoon, he played one or two sad songs – the kind Mr Hennig would shake his head at. By this time Alexsander had cleared the nearby forest of song birds and there was silence in the breaks between his playing. He enjoyed the silence, strange man.

I was glad to find myself back in the bed at the Horse and Hound, and not lost somewhere in an endless forest. Twilight had already descended, but the room’s fire had been lit and provided ample light to wash by. I could only assume such a consideration was the work of Mrs Lehner, though I was slightly perturbed by the thought of her laying a fire in my room while I lay there sleeping. I would write to Alexsander and ask him to use a lighter dosage of ettiene for the duration of our stay.