The walk from the house to the castle is not long. No walk in Pettau ever is. The main path from the Church of St. George to the top of the hill where the castle looms is, despite the steep incline, a brief sojourn. It puzzles Siegfried how the castle can appear so vast and distant when the walk itself is brisk and direct. The scale of the whole town is a little off, he always thinks, as he starts the walk he's dwelling on, the gnarly cobblestones making themselves known through his shoes.

He conceives of Pettau as layers carved out of the same downward slope. The highest point is the castle, made from pale stone, visible deep into the landscape. The middle layer is the main road where St. George and Siegfried’s, Faramund’s, the marshal’s house and the lord’s stone guest house are. Then, on the banks of the river Drau, is where the blacksmith and tanner, the dressmaker and butcher, the barber-surgeon and carpenter all live and labor. Thus the entire town. How the layers coil around themselves, however, can only be seen from the castle.