A tug on her sleeve. Vinegar and rot.

‘It will not work.’ Sophey’s voice is all sadness. Lisbet’s annoyance fades as she looks the old woman in the face. The cloth pressing her sore tooth ludicrously encircles her face.

‘I must try.’

Sophey sighs, and hauls herself up before the reins. ‘Mathias will watch the children. You untie the horse. My fingers cannot manage the knots.’

•

The approach to the city is nightmarish even in full daylight. They reach a blockage, a place where the number of carts and people back up and halt. Lisbet leans carefully out, and spies Hilde Lehmann darting through the turmoil, her face dirtied with ashes and palm outstretched. Hilde sees her and weaves toward her.

‘Any coin?’

‘None,’ says Sophey, but Lisbet searches her pockets.

‘Where is Daniel?’ she asks.

‘Not home since last night,’ says Hilde, and points to the snarl of people ahead. ‘My mother is dancing.’

Lisbet stands in the stationary cart and sees a woman stained in dust jigging up ahead. It is Frau Lehmann, and her husband is beside her weeping enormously loud, though in the bright, early morning sunlight Lisbet can see no tears on his cheeks as he holds out his hands to passing gawkers.

Hilde ignores her. ‘Are the musicians still at your house? If they are, we could cut them in, if they could play while she dances.’

Lisbet waves her away sharply. ‘Tell your mother to stop. If the Church finds her falsifying—’

‘Daniel works for the Church now,’ says Hilde primly. ‘He hooks the dancers.’

‘I—’ Lisbet stops herself from saying I know.

‘Have you coin?’

‘Only a little.’ Lisbet gives a meagre piece, and Hilde snatches it before running to the next cart. They inch forwards, past Frau Lehmann, who now affects a lewd shake that makes the onlookers jeer. Lisbet looks away queasily.

They approach the horse guild, Sophey whipping the reins and pulling the mule around the line of bystanders, taking them in a long loop to the gaol. As they pass the open doors Lisbet sees the women wheeling inside. There is none of the calm she felt the other night: in daylight they look gaunt and haggard, lifting their feet like mules on their way to the knacker’s yard.

Sophey’s cheeks are sucked between her teeth: from the motion of her jaw beneath her swaddling cloth Lisbet knows she is chewing on them, pausing only to spit blood in the dirt. Lisbet thinks she had the measure of her mother-in-law wrong all along. She was not indifferent, only terrified. She is terrified still, and yet here she is beside Lisbet, passing through this tumult.

The gaol is built along the outskirts, siding the river, so they follow the road that hugs the city walls. At each turn comes the sound of musicians playing, occasionally broken by the bells ringing for blessings. Lisbet wonders how anyone sleeps. The baby stirs, and she imagines it raising its arms in answer, knowing music in the way all people seem to from birth and before. They reach the tanners’ guild, similarly thronged. There is a stage at the mouth of the guild, and Lisbet spies Frederich, feet planted wide, striking his drum. The commotion is extraordinary: it batters at her ears and shakes the baby with its beat. It is the first time she has seen him since learning what he is, but she feels nothing but glad of the sight. With a gasp, she hauls on Sophey’s arm to stop.