I had a little time before my appointment with Mrs Harsson, so I made my way towards the manor where her son had purportedly worked. The same house from which he had stolen the silverware. Not the crime that I was investigating, but perhaps the catalyst for the crime that I was. I only had to ask directions once for the Eders’ home and it was not difficult to find, being set high on the valley side. In front of the handsome house the trees gave way to a manicured garden so I stood, hands-on-hips, and admired the view as I recovered from the climb. The cold air did little to help the burning of my lungs, though the calm of what spread down the valley below was a greater aid. The warm lights of Drekenford proper and Fort Seeben on the opposite side, the dark glitter of the river, the blanket of forest – it was all quiet, all still.

Fort Seeben was particularly well-lit, with what I took to be a sizable bonfire. In my dullness it took me far too long to realise what the fire was for, but when I did I turned away sharply. Was there something sickly sweet on the air? With something bitter and ashen underneath? I brought my handkerchief to my face, hoping its perfume would rid me of scents and thoughts of charred, pox-ridden bodies. A quarter of the fort would go, so the cart driver had said. A fourth, so Death had said.

As feelings of my own uselessness rose I reminded myself that I had been given a task and I was carrying out that task to the best of my ability. A task given by the King, no less. I was no plague doctor. But I could not shake the feeling of responsibility, that I could somehow be the cause or to blame for what was afflicting the King’s Dragoons.

The wind rushed through the trees and cut me down where I stood; merciless and unheeding of cloak and breeches alike it set my teeth chattering. And, perhaps more chilling, it brought the sound of laughter.

Shrill and hollow and strangely innocent, it echoed about the manor garden. I cast around for the source but I was alone and the house stood silent with only the porch lamp lit. The laughter grew in volume and hysteria. Beneath my cloak, I put a hand on my pistol but before I could make any efforts to load it I found there would be no need.

The two children, Victor and his sister Julia, came running around the corner of the house. I judged Julia to be chasing her brother and holding something disreputable in front of her. They both skidded to a halt as they noticed me.

‘Hello,’ Victor said, clearly embarrassed to be caught at play.

‘What is in the jar?’ I said, nodding towards his sister.

‘Leeches,’ she said defiantly.

‘Another experiment?’ I asked. I hoped that would dispel some of the boy’s chagrin, but instead the colour of his cheeks darkened.