The men press close as they go around me. Cleric collars. Smooth hair. Clean skin. Moustache or beard. Shiny shoes. They pass like crooked ships on a grey sea. A young minister’s eyes slide over my body with thoughts impure as any. I know what lays in his trousers damp and feeble as a mouse. That thing will only stand on end for cruelty. Heat on my temples. I could easily stake him! Shoes click on the cobbles. One by one they disappear into the City Chambers up ahead. The speech crier calls out.

– Evil walks among us!

I step forward.

The spires at St Giles’ Cathedral rise up.

Gargoyles crane their necks out bug-eyed to stare.

Edinburgh seduces with her ancient buildings. She pours alcohol or food down the throats of anyone passing, dangles her trinkets, leaves pockets bare. She’s a pickpocket. The best kind of thief, one you think of – most fondly.

There is a cage around my heart – made of bone, bone, bone.

I must appear not to see.

Not to know.

Rub my foot against my leg. Check the bit of paper again. The drawing has the entrance to No. 10 Luckenbooth Close clearly marked but I am told nobody can ever find it. Ignore the cathedral and the cobbled heart. I walk by the entry to the close three times before I take a few steps back.

Turn down into a shady narrow street.

The sounds of the city quieten.