A stick of wood hits my forearm. The sweets man raises it up to strike me again. I slip behind a goodwife just as he lets it go, and it hits her in the belly. The goodwife cries out, and the sweets man curses. Then the pickle man yells for the constable, and I go off behind some other folk, a cackle coming out of my lips. It’s nerves, not pleasure, the laugh. I get out of the marketplace before the constable comes round. I can still feel the sweet of the suckets in my ears.

And now I would like some shoes. Proper corked ones, so my feet don’t bruise with every stone on the road. I make my way to the lane where I found Paul begging. I recall it had a cordwainer’s shop on it.

Inside, there’s a maid speaking with the master of the shop. ‘A pair in white leather. And if you give her cowskin for calf’s, you’ll not get a groat from my lady,’ the maid orders.

A journeyman at work carving a heel block is the first to take notice of me. He drops his knife to the floor with a clatter. I’ll need to choose quick. I bustle past the maid to a shelf where they keep the finished shoes for delivery. I slip off my left shoe, since that foot’s the longer, and hold the shoe against the finished ones to compare lengths. There’s a beautiful pair of boots with upper leathers as soft as gloves, but they’re far too long. Made for a giant. There’s several velvet slippers, even a pair of a size with my own battered one, but the velvet would stain and tear on the walk back to Dungsbrook alone. The closest fit is a pair of black leather shoes with a rounded toe. They’ve a corked sole, just as I want, and a strap that buttons around the ankle. The woman they’ve been made for has a sturdier ankle than mine, but I pull them on nevertheless.

I look up to find the journeyman still in his seat, his hand in the air where it let go of the knife. The master shoemaker is staring fixedly at a knob of thread wax on the workbench. The maid has fled. As I leave the shop she’s turning onto the lane with a giant of a man. Mayhap the one who ordered the great boots. She points the giant my way. I turn and hiss. The giant stops where he is. I am a curse.