I readied myself for sleep as best I could and chewed my ettiene for Alexsander’s sake, but sleep would not come. I lay awake with the window still open despite the chill and stared up at the ceiling. Events had moved so quickly since I was called to Jan and Gregory Harsson’s cell in Esteberg: travelling with the dragoons, the pox that afflicted them, my visions of the horsemen, the murder of Constable Webber, and now the infernal letter. I wondered, then, were they all connected in some manner – above my own direct or indirect involvement? Could the same dark arts that killed the constable have brought down a pox on the King’s soldiers? As I considered their connection, I recalled the figure of Death on her way to the fort. It was her presence that led me to believe the pox was no normal, unfortunate affliction, but some part of a larger design. I couldn’t help but think, once again, that the visions of the horsemen may have been warnings. Warnings against my interference. How many people had been harmed or killed because of my investigation? How many more would suffer?

But it was too late. I had no option but to continue through to whatever bloody end awaited me. Awaited us. I fell asleep apologising to my day-brother.

22nd October 1721

Tired, but not angry, Alexsander had some understanding of the events of the night before. Some understanding of their significance and their dangers. Ultimately, that was his relationship to my work and he’d learned long ago not to probe too deeply into its darker aspects. So, instead he ate a lavish breakfast that he told Mr Hennig I would pay for. I couldn’t deny him that.

He didn’t have to play that day; a small mercy. He made and discarded plans as he finished his coffee. It was a beautiful day, judging by the sunshine that invaded the doorway of the inn whenever a new patron came in, squinting left and right as they did so. One such patron was a friend of his friend: one of the women he’d spoken to. The more attractive of the two. She had a strongly defined jaw and rather flat set to her lips, though this effect was softened somewhat by loose locks of hair that appeared to have free reign to do as they pleased. She took a table right where he’d played the day before, and kept glancing at him, her thoughts as plain as if she’d shouted them across the common room. He could take only so much of that strange tension.

He walked over to her and she became flustered. His smile held genuine warmth as he apologised, he wasn’t to play today. He distrusted the disappointment this news appeared to bring.

He was, however, going to take a walk. Perhaps she might join him? He needed a guide in this new town.

I knew that to be a lie, but she did not.