It is early afternoon, the sun just tucked away behind the eaves leaving the small balcony in shade but still radiating a low heat. Spread out below, the tiled roofs and cobbled alleys of the town reveal secrets of geography not apparent from street level. Away to the left a string of pennants snap and flutter in the fitful breeze above a small square tucked somewhere behind the great cathedral. Occasionally the cheer of a crowd can be heard. Closer to in that direction a shimmer of light plays on the sandstone wall of a courtyard; its source is hidden from view but the patterns and shapes it forms in ephemera feel oddly familiar. Off to the right the towers of the common palace rise up behind the canvas awnings of the lower marketplace. They are difficult to count from this angle, but it definitely seems like there are at least few more than can be seen from the gates of the grand square.

Those are mysteries for another day.

Directly out and down across the labyrinth of roofs and alleys there is a wide terrace fenced on two sides by thickly ivied trellis. There are a dozen tables arranged there in the space between the pond at the near end and the low roof at the far end. It is far enough that the people are unrecognisable, but near enough that you can see that people drift in and out lazily at all hours and that the place it at least half full whether in the bright sun of a clear afternoon or the soft lantern light of the early hours.

There is half a bottle of wine left, and we are in no rush. Let’s rest our feet here for a while and enjoy the view. But tonight, I know, we are going to find it.