‘What happened,’ says Lisbet at last. ‘Who did this?’

‘A boy,’ says Sophey. ‘Nethe saw him.’

Nethe nods. ‘He was stealing the combs.’

‘Badly,’ says Sophey. ‘He left as much as he took, and ruined more besides.’

‘A boy?’ A crack of alarm shakes Lisbet’s voice. ‘What did he look like?’

Nethe shrugs. ‘A boy. Dark hair, skinny. They all look the same at that age.’

‘Dark hair,’ repeats Lisbet. ‘How tall? This?’

‘About that.’

‘Blue eyes? Set far apart? Sallow-skinned?’

‘I told you,’ says Nethe impatiently. ‘Could have been any number of children. He had a mouth on him though. Seemed to think he had a right to be there.’

Lisbet falls back in her chair. A fear is gnawing at her, a suspicion.

‘What is it?’ says Sophey, eyeing her beadily. ‘What do you know?’

‘Nothing,’ says Lisbet, a little too quickly. It is the truth, but she suspects.

‘One of your alms brats?’ presses Sophey, and Lisbet flinches because she has struck so near the mark.

She remembers the boy at Plater’s side, wielding a hook, the boy who saw her at the guild with Eren. Who maybe saw Ida and Nethe dancing.

Daniel Lehmann.

His family is certainly desperate enough. And what Nethe says, about believing he had a right to take the combs – could he have thought to hold what he saw over them in exchange for silence? She hopes not, for Nethe has already broken any such accord before it was begun.

‘There are a great number of needy,’ she says, with as much authority as she can summon. ‘The Twenty-One has driven half the city onto the streets since the dancing plague began.’

‘It is true,’ says Eren, but Sophey doesn’t look at him. Her newfound tolerance for the Turk clearly does not extend so far. ‘All the taverns have been closed, and the boarding houses.’

‘Nearly all,’ smirks Frederich, and Eren makes a convulsive gesture that is unmistakeably a kick under the table, aimed at his companion’s shin.

Sophey cradles her cheek. It seems to be growing more swollen by the minute. ‘We will need protection,’ she says after a moment. ‘More than those useless dogs. They only began barking when you shouted, Nethe.’

‘Protection?’ says Nethe. ‘Of what sort?’

‘Men,’ she says, and Frederich puffs out his chest. ‘Strong men.’ Frederich wilts.

‘Surely you know that means Plater’s men?’ says Lisbet, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice. ‘He controls all the brutes in the city.’

‘Whatever we must do,’ shrugs Sophey. ‘We cannot have another theft.’

‘Plater seeks to aid such theft,’ says Lisbet hotly. ‘Was that not the purpose of his letter? What should Henne think—’

‘He should thank you for showing respect to his mother,’ says Sophey, all warm feeling forgotten. ‘I’m to the empiric tomorrow as it is, to have this tooth pulled. I’ll speak with Plater then.’

She pushes herself forcefully to her feet, and stomps from the room.

Frederich blows air noisily between his lips. ‘Drummers are strong, you know.’