The carriage rattled over the cobbles, lanterns swaying as it bore Katelijne and her family toward the van den Bergs' house. Carnival had changed with nightfall. The children with rattles and painted toys were gone, replaced by grown revellers cloaked and masked, their laughter roughened by wine. Figures swept past in disguise — animals, popes and nuns, devils with horns, angels with wings — each face hidden, every voice sharpened by mischief. Nothing and no one was quite what they seemed. Ribbons and confetti lay crushed into the mud, while torches guttered in the damp, throwing monstrous shadows on the walls. From somewhere distant came the echo of drums, muffled now but still thrumming through the night air.
Katelijne leaned closer to the window, half-drawn, half-afraid. She could not tell who laughed and who jeered, which figures were harmless and which might lunge at the carriage wheels. The masks unsettled her — yet she could not look away. Carnival's darkness pressed close, full of secrets and freedoms she had never dared imagine.
Her father, Jeroen, cleared his throat, his merchant's gown still crisp from the day's pageantry. 'A fine showing, was it not? Our guild marched with dignity. None held their heads higher than the cloth merchants.' He smoothed his beard, pride warm in his voice.
'Yes, Papa,' Katelijne murmured.
'We were so proud,' Margriet declared beside her.
Opposite, Edwin lounged against the window, lamplight catching his smile. 'And yet the loudest cheer was for a fool felled by bread. I thought you'd choke trying not to laugh, Katelijne.'
She flushed. 'It was ridiculous.'
'Ridiculous, yes — but you laughed.' His gaze lingered a shade too long before he added, lighter, 'So did I. Better entertainment than another guild banner.'
Her father's brow darkened. 'Mock if you wish, Edwin, but these processions are the backbone of our city's order. They remind Antwerp who keeps her strong. One day I hope you will march with your guild as I did — an honour earned, not idled away in the crowd.'
'Of course,' Edwin said flatly.
The words fell like a stone. Silence thickened, heavy with all that went unsaid: his faltering apprenticeship, the rumours of carelessness, the longing for brush and canvas his parents scorned. Pride and disappointment clashed in the close air, steel on stone.
Katelijne turned to the window, drawn to the throng pressing close around the carriage. The crush of revellers forced the horses to a halt. Masks gleamed in the torchlight — beasts, bishops, devils — faces shifting too quickly to know where laughter ended and malice began. Suddenly a beast shoved its snout through the window, breath hot with wine, and loosed a low growl for sport. Katelijne flinched back, heart hammering, until his companions hauled him away in a gust of laughter.
'Foolish drunks,' Margriet sniffed, drawing her cloak tighter. 'Carnival loosens every tongue and every wit.'
Shadows leapt high on the walls, the air thick with smoke, wine, and sweat. A shiver ran through her, though part of her longed to step into that whirl where no one was quite themselves. But when she closed her eyes, she saw not the masks but the players of the day — the shrieking parrot, and the young man beneath it, whose quick smile had met her own.
'It's hard to tell a fool from a devil tonight,' she murmured.
'Better fools than bores,' Edwin muttered. He leaned back with a wry smile. 'Tonight you'll have your fill of the latter. Floris with his endless boasting — he carried a banner as though leading an army, while half the crowd laughed at him.'
Margriet's look was sharp. 'Floris is a fine young man, from a family as respected as our own. We are fortunate to be invited tonight.'
Edwin inclined his head, lips curving in something not quite a smile.
The carriage rolled on. Ahead, the van den Bergs' house rose tall in the lamplight, its windows blazing gold, music spilling into the night. The blaze of viols and lutes seemed to push back the chaos outside, gilding the air as though Carnival's darker edge had no claim here. Katelijne's stomach knotted. Her mother's hand found hers, firm, insistent.
Edwin sighed, settling his cloak. 'Here we go.'
The carriage slowed, wheels crunching on the cobbles. Ahead, the van den Bergs' house blazed against the dark, windows spilling gold onto the street as music swelled within. For a moment Katelijne kept her gaze fixed on the shadows outside — on masks that grinned and jeered, on torches guttering in the damp. Then the doors opened, and the night's chaos fell away. Light, voices, and expectation rushed to swallow her whole.