He washed, taking extra care with our hair. He worried at the darkening bags under our eyes but had not brought anything to cover them. My fault. Chewing fresh mint, he dressed in one of our finer coats and descended to meet that day’s audience.

Two men were sitting at the bar, where Mr Hennig was pouring one of them a drink. The rest of the room was empty. Alexsander ate breakfast, remaining hopeful. One of the men left. The other followed suit when Alexsander began tuning his lute.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked Mr Hennig.

The innkeeper shook his head.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Some days are just like this,’ Hennig said.

Alexsander slumped onto a stool at the bar. ‘You’re lying to me,’ he said. ‘Though I’m not sure why.’

‘It’s idle talk, that’s all,’ Hennig said. ‘Idle talk of superstitious folk. Won’t last.’

‘About my night-brother?’

‘We just don’t get many of his sort, this far south, not this far from the capital.’

‘We’ve been to remote towns and villages before,’ Alexsander said. ‘Drekenford can’t be so different.’

‘Can’t it?’ Hennig said. ‘If you ask me, and you are, I’d say it’s something about the shape of this town. Huddled in a valley as it is, tall, dark trees on either side. That gets to some folk. Even so, they’ll get thirsty soon enough.’

‘But what are they saying?’

Hennig looked uncomfortable, almost squirming, under Alexsander’s gaze; it was strange to see such a large man act so. ‘Just that he’s bad luck, is all. That he went to see the constable and now the constable’s dead. That sort of thing. Don’t you pay it no mind.’

‘They’re right,’ he said. ‘My night-brother is bad luck. And I get the worst of it.’

‘I won’t be putting you out,’ Hennig said. ‘Just maybe not asking you to play, not until things settle a little.’

‘And if I play in the square, will that empty too?’

Hennig shrugged.

Alexsander walked out of the inn, his instruments left behind. It was a grey, dull day, and there Rebecca was: sitting on a bench directly in front of the inn. She smiled and he forgot many of his frustrations.

‘May I join you?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. They say you’re dangerous.’

‘Only when made to play the harp,’ he said.

‘Oh?’

‘It is a sound that cannot be unheard.’

‘I like the harp,’ she said.

‘You were waiting for me.’

‘So were they.’ She nodded towards the inn where a handful of men were scurrying inside, each glancing at Alexsander as if he might try to stop them.

‘In a larger town such a reputation would be a boon,’ he said. ‘I’d be an attraction.’

‘Are you used to those things? Reputations? Attractions?’

‘I have some understanding of them.’

‘And turnips?’ Rebecca said.

‘Turnips?’

‘They’re a kind of vegetable.’

He laughed. ‘I’ve eaten one or two – never cooked one, though.’

She lifted a basket to her lap. ‘My confession: I was really waiting for the market.’