‘Yes.’ Lisbet reaches out and squeezes his hand. ‘We are.’

‘Frederich?’

He is there. Lisbet could weep at the sight of him. Eren, standing in the doorway, backed by fast-fading light. Frederich rises, and goes to his friend. Eren embraces him like a brother, and hushes him, frowning at Lisbet. She shakes her head in response. She doesn’t know how to begin to explain.

‘Outside,’ she says at last. ‘Ida’s children are sleeping.’

•

They sit in the dusk, Ulf and Fluh trotting over to sit beside Eren while Frederich and Lisbet parcel out the events of the day, passing the story between them like a hot coal, neither willing to speak more than a few sentences of the horror, the strangeness. When they are done, they sit in silence a long while. Lisbet watches Eren’s shape in the growing dark. She wants to lean against him, feel his precise frame measured out against hers, stretch herself bodily as a canvas across it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, his voice a comforting burr. ‘If I had known—’

‘What could you have done? We did all we could.’

‘Of course,’ he soothes. ‘I only mean . . . I wish I could do something.’

Lisbet nods. The sky over their heads is the same darkening blue as the bruise on Ida’s forehead, as Nethe’s eyes. She wants them home. But what awaits them? Plater, his fury stronger than ever. She would not be surprised if he meets them at the shrine and drowns them in it.

‘And this makes sense of the news I was given today,’ says Eren, and his voice becomes graver still.

‘Please,’ groans Lisbet. ‘No more news. My mind is full.’

‘The Twenty-One have a new approach to the plague.’ She hears him swallow. ‘They no longer require our services. In fact, we are blamed for the worsening of the mania.’

‘What do you mean?’ says Lisbet, her voice traitorously high.

‘I heard about the ruckus at the gaol. I didn’t know the circumstances, of course. But it seems some of the men involved were rebels, returning to the city under the guise of musicians. At least that is the story being put about.’

‘I thought the quality of playing was poor,’ says Frederich, a half-hearted attempt at mirth.

‘So what will they do?’ whispers Lisbet.

‘We are banished,’ Eren says, simply. ‘Every musician must leave the city and its surrounds, tonight.’

Lisbet’s stomach plummets. ‘No,’ she says. ‘You cannot go.’

‘We must,’ says Eren. He will not meet her eye. ‘It is not a request.’

Frederich sucks air through his teeth. He looks down at his finger, the pale skin where his band once lay. ‘Tonight?’

‘Do not risk it,’ says Eren. ‘Guards are already stationed at each gate. They are beating those musicians that will not leave.’

Frederich nods and sighs. ‘Very well.’ He looks at Lisbet. ‘Your mother-in-law will be glad, Frau Wiler. I do not think she ever liked us.’

Lisbet is worried if she so much as breathes she will speak her mind. You can stay. Please, don’t leave me.