The morning light seeped thin and grey through the loft boards, carrying the smell of stale ale and horses. Joseph blinked against it, the ache of too little sleep lodged behind his eyes. Around him, the troupe stirred in fragments — Rik groaning beneath a tangle of cloaks, Sander muttering about his head, Joos snoring loud enough to shake the rafters.
Below, Willem's voice carried — low at first, then rising, hard and clipped. Bram might swagger as one of them now, but he was still Willem's man, or meant to be. The debts at the inn had always been his to settle — and now, it seemed, they'd come due.
Joseph crawled to the edge and peered through a gap in the planks.
Two men stood in the yard with him, thick-necked and mean-faced, coats marked with the guild stamp of the city watch. Their hands rested on their belts, where cudgels hung. Willem's arms were folded tight, his jaw set.
'You tell Bram,' one of the men said, 'the ledger's due. We've waited long enough. If the coin's not paid, we'll take our share in kind.'
'You'll get your coin,' Willem snapped. 'Now get off my yard.'
The men didn't move. One spat into the dirt before turning away, muttering something about fools who played too loud and paid too slow.
When they were gone, Willem stood a long moment, hands pressed to his temples. Then he swore under his breath and went back inside.
Joseph climbed down. Isabelle was already awake, hair braided, eyes sharp despite the tiredness in them. 'What is it?' she asked.
He told her what he'd seen.
'Bram again,' she said darkly.
'It looks that way.'
'He'll smooth it over,' Joos mumbled from his pallet.
But Joseph's gut twisted. Through the window he caught a glimpse of Bram swaggering down the alley, whistling as if the world were his stage. The tune was bright, careless — and for the first time, Joseph heard the false note in it.
Something was coming undone.
By noon the common room hummed with restless noise. Willem had tried to resume his business, but tension clung to the air thicker than smoke. Joseph sat near the hearth mending a torn cuff, though his eyes kept darting toward the door. When it burst open, it was almost a relief.
Bram swept in, flushed from the cold, grinning like a man with fortune in his pocket.
'Good news,' he declared, slapping the lintel for emphasis. 'We've another booking — a merchant's feast near the river. Better coin than last time, I swear it.'
'You swear a great deal,' Isabelle said, not rising from her chair. Her voice was calm, almost lazy, but the edge in it cut clean. 'What of the last performance? Willem's had collectors sniffing at his door since dawn.'
Bram's grin wavered. 'Idle threats. They always bark before they bite.'
'They'll bite soon enough,' Willem said, emerging from behind the counter, sleeves rolled. His face was dark with anger. 'You promised me my share would be paid last night. Instead I've got debtmen at my door.'
'It's handled,' Bram said quickly. 'The landlord and I struck a bargain — he's holding the takings until—'
'Until what?' Joseph demanded. He stood, the mended cuff forgotten. 'Until you drink them away? Or gamble them off in some backroom?'
Bram's eyes narrowed. 'Careful, jester. I'm good for my word.'
'Not so far you're not,' Joseph shot back.
The room stilled. Rik looked up from his bowstring, Sander's laughter died mid-snort. Isabelle rose at last, slow and deliberate.
'Enough,' she said, stepping between them. 'We'll sort the accounts tonight.'
'Tonight,' Bram echoed, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He turned to Willem. 'I'll have your money. My word.'
'Your word's worth less than yesterday's ale,' Willem snapped. 'I took you on to keep my books and my alehouse honest — not to draw the watch to my door. I've got lies on my ledger and debtmen at my gate. I'll not have cheats under my roof.'
Bram's colour flared. He started to protest, but Willem's stare silenced him.
Joseph felt the floor tilt beneath him — their stage gone, their shelter lost. Isabelle said nothing, only pressed her fingers to her brow, as if the sound of it all had grown too loud.
By dusk, the yard behind the inn was chaos. Rik packed his fiddle with muttered curses, Sander stuffed props into sacks, and Joos wrestled their painted banner from the loft rail. The cold bit sharper with every passing minute, the air raw with resentment.
'All because of Bram and his debts,' Rik growled. 'We'll freeze before we find another roof.'
'We'll find one,' Sander said, though without conviction. He kicked at the mud. 'Always do. Isabelle will sweet-talk some landlord, flash a grin, and we're back on the floor before midnight.'
'It's carnival time. Not easy to find a place,' Joseph said quietly. He cinched the wagon straps tight, the motion quick, angry.
The words hung heavy. None of them spoke after that.
From the doorway, Isabelle watched in silence. Her hair was unbound, her cloak thrown loosely about her shoulders. When Joseph met her eyes, she looked away — toward Bram, who was arguing with Willem near the gate.
Willem's voice carried clear: 'I'll not have cheats under my roof.'
'Cheats?' Bram barked a laugh. 'You think I'd risk my neck for a handful of coins? The landlord's bluffing, that's all.'
'Bluff or not, the watch was here this morning. They'll be back,' Willem said. 'Be gone before they are.'
Bram turned, spotted Joseph watching, and forced a grin. 'Pack faster! Willem's pride runs colder than his ale.'
Joseph said nothing. He saw the tremor Bram tried to hide — the twitch at his jaw, the flicker of fear when Willem mentioned the watch.
When the last trunk was heaved aboard, Isabelle drew close, lowering her voice. 'He's hiding something. You see it too.'
Joseph nodded. 'A debt. Maybe worse.'
'And still you'll follow him?'
'For the time being. Where else would we go?'
Her silence said she knew the truth in that. The wagon wheels creaked; Bram swung himself up front, calling for Rik to drive. Isabelle climbed after, jaw tight.
Joseph lingered one last glance at the inn — their laughter, their stage, their shelter — before turning away.
Antwerp's lights shimmered behind them as they rolled into the dark.
By the time the wagon rattled toward the riverfront, Antwerp's streets had emptied to a hush broken only by wind and the rattle of wheels on cobble. The docks loomed dark ahead, the scent of pitch and fish thick on the air.
They found an abandoned shed near the waterline — roof half gone, walls warped by damp — but it was shelter. Rik coaxed a flame from what scraps of wood he could find, its light small and uncertain.
Bram slumped against a crate, nursing a bruise on his jaw. Isabelle crouched by the fire, silent, her expression shuttered.
Joseph sat apart, staring at the black water beyond the door.
He thought of Katelijne then — the softness of her voice, the promise in her eyes. How far her world felt from this one of smoke and frost and broken promises.
'Tomorrow,' Isabelle said at last, breaking the silence, 'we find another stage.'
Joseph nodded, though his throat felt tight. The stage, the city, the girl — all of them blurring now into one dangerous line. And somewhere ahead, he could already feel the reckoning waiting.