By the time Thomas stepped out into the street, the sun had disappeared. The last of its warmth had seeped away from the cobblestones. The alleys through the Fischmarkt quarter were in near complete darkness. The lantern swung in his hand, casting a pool of amber light that flickered against the walls and unevenly illuminated puddles left from recent washing.

  He was glad now for the flame. The streets here were narrow, crooked things, more tunnels than avenues in places. The shuttered windows above were dark, with a handful of them thinly glowing. The smells of evening cooking had already given way to the damp, cold scent of stone and water. Somewhere behind him, a dog barked twice, and he jumped.

  From the distant cathedral, bells began to toll Compline, the ninth hour of prayer. The sound echoed over the rooftops.

  He walked slowly at first, eyes flicking towards each movement. The shadows of the laundry lines swayed like figures in his peripheral vision. A couple of moths bumped against the lantern glass.

  As he turned onto a quieter lane near the carpenters' guild, he saw the wall. Someone had scrawled a phrase in white chalk – rough, quick, the letters skewing sideways:

  Gott gibt die Speise, aber der Teufel den Koch.

  (God gives the food, but the devil the cook.)

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  Thomas slowed for a moment, considering the words. Did it have the shape of a joke? There was surely no humour in its tone. A superstition, maybe, or a warning? Or both? He didn’t linger. The light from the lantern made the chalk seem fresh, almost glowing.

  He kept walking.

  Further down, near the bend where the tannery backed into the canal, he heard a strange sound – a scrape and thump, irregular and sharp. He slowed, narrowing the lantern’s arc with one hand, squinting towards a corner where the light barely reached.

  A man stood there. He was alone, half in shadow.

  His one shoulder twitched as if trying to shake something off. His hands jerked at his sides, opening and closing. It seemed like half of his body was dancing while the other half tried to keep him still. He stared ahead with wide, unblinking eyes. Thomas saw sweat glisten across his temple, even in the dim light. The man’s foot shuffled, then struck the wall with a dull thus, as though he hadn’t meant to move it.

  Then, very faintly, Thomas heard it. From somewhere behind a shuttered window, not far from where the man stood, a piano was playing. Slow, deliberate notes, nothing like the clamour of a dance. But the melody was unsettling. It felt fragmented, drifting between keys, like a tune remembered imperfectly.

  The man turned towards the sound, not stopping his movements.

  Thomas didn’t call out. He didn’t move closer. Rather, he took a step back. Then another.

  The lantern shifted in his grip, the flame jumping against the glass.

  He turned down the next lane instead, quicker now, his boots tapping more sharply against the stones. He didn’t look back. He was curious, but even more than that, he felt afraid. Of what, he didn’t quite know!

  He pressed on towards his home, the disconcerting melody from the piano fading behind him.