Edward Marriner looked at his son. “Haven’t done this in a long time,” he said. And placing a foot on the cross beam of the gate, he swung himself up on top, then down the other side.

“Not bad, boss,” Greg said.

Ned didn’t say anything, he just followed his father over. They waited for Greg to do the same, which he did, grunting when he jumped down—his chest had to be hurting, Ned knew.

They went up the path, alone amid morning birdsong, under the mild, bright sky. The low structure ahead was clearly new. Beyond it, visible now to their left, were the ruins.

Ned moved off the path towards the fence that surrounded the excavated area. In the distance he saw two tall columns. They reminded him of pictures of the Forum in Rome. Well, yeah, he thought.

The site was bigger than he’d expected. That was one thing.

But there was no other thing.

He couldn’t feel anything. At Entremont earlier this morning he had known it was empty, the sense of vacancy had penetrated into him. Here, he just couldn’t tell. He didn’t know.

He stood by the fence, looking through it at those uncovered stones, and felt nothing but quietness. No awareness of anyone, living or dead, or returned. On the other hand, he knew by now that distance seemed to matter, for him at least.

He looked back at his father and shrugged. “Nothing I can tell. But I may have to get closer. Maybe I should go in. I can get over this fence with a boost.”

In the same moment the door of the modern building opened ahead of them, and a guard hurried out, moving with an officious, self-important stride.

“Oh hell,” Greg said. “Bet a euro and a pack of gum he’s not real happy to be working a holiday.”

“Double pay,” Ned’s father said. “Or more, in France.”

Smiling broadly, calling a cheerful hello, he walked to meet the guard.

“At least we don’t look like vandals,” Greg said. He hesitated.

“I think.”

He combed a hand through his hair and beard and quickly tucked in his Iron Maiden T-shirt. Ned wasn’t sure any of it was an improvement.

The two of them stayed where they were. Ned was entirely happy to leave this part to his dad. He turned back towards the fence and the site, trying, without success, to sense anything inside.

He looked over his shoulder. His father was chatting now—looking relaxed, it seemed to Ned—with the guard.

The guard didn’t look quite so calm, but he wasn’t blowing a whistle or shouting. Ned saw his dad take out his cellphone and dial it. He looked at Greg, who shrugged. Edward Marriner started speaking to someone, then he handed the phone to the guard, who took it, hesitantly. Comically, the man stood up straight as soon as he began speaking.

Ned looked at Greg again. Greg shrugged again.

The guard said something, then appeared to be listening to whoever was on the other end. It took a while. He nodded his head several times.

It was very quiet. They could just hear the traffic from the road. Ned tried to imagine this place two thousand years ago, a fully developed Roman town. Walls and columns. Temples and houses. He saw what looked to have been a swimming pool. Did the Romans have swimming pools? He thought they did. Kate would know.

There was a bird singing in a tree ahead of them. Wildflowers were growing along the fence, pale purple and white. Towards the south, at the far end of the site, the hills rose sharply, framing the ruins. The Valley of Hell was back that way, cliffs coming right to the shadowed road.

He tried again, still couldn’t register anything within. It was possible, he thought, that even if he did, it might be someone entirely unconnected with what they were doing, with Ysabel and Cadell and Phelan, that story.

Once you acknowledged—as if he had any choice now—the existence of this other kind of world, who knew what else might be here? Lions and tigers and bears…

“Come on!” his father called suddenly, in French. “This kind fellow’s opening up for us.”

Ned started over, Greg beside him. The guard had already gone ahead. He was holding the door to the building for them. His manner as they approached was remarkably changed; you’d have to call it deferential.

“What’d you do?” Ned whispered to his dad. “Bribe him?”

“That was my next idea. I called the mayor of Aix. She gave me her cell number. I caught her making lunch for guests, but she spoke with this guy. I told her we were idiots to come here on the holiday but asked if she could help out.”

“And she did?”

“Obviously. I’m due to take a portrait of her next week.”

“Was that planned?”

“You kidding?”

“I thought the French were supposed to be rigid bureaucratic types.”

“They are.”

Ned actually laughed. His father looked pleased with himself, he thought.

They went in. There was a cash register and ticket counter, a lot of souvenirs—replica jewellery, books, T-shirts, toy soldiers, plastic swords, miniature wooden catapults. Ned saw a big model of the site under protective glass in a sunken area on their left, and laminated posters around the walls showing the excavations at various stages.

The guard led them to another pair of doors on the far side. He opened one, and smiled.

“I will escort you,” he said. “I can answer questions if you like, monsieur. I even have some thoughts for photographs. It is a recreation of my own!”

“I’d be very grateful,” Ned’s father lied. “But first, a picture of you?”

The guard hastily buttoned his jacket. Edward Marriner framed and snapped a digital shot of him at the open door with the ruins beyond.

“Merci,” he said. They walked through.

Ned paused, overlooking the site. It really was large, seemed even more so from here: not so much ahead of them, because the hills to the east came close, but running north-south along the narrow valley. It would have been open to the wind in winter, he thought.

“The older part is that way,” the guard said, gesturing to their right. “The biggest houses, with their courtyards, are ahead of us, and the marketplace and the baths.”

“Let me start with the baths and the big houses,” Edward Marriner said. “Greg, will you keep the photo log for me? Ned, you can wander around…just don’t get into trouble.”

That had a bit more meaning than usual. His father was proving unexpectedly good at this.

He was going to say, I promise, but he didn’t.

The other three went straight and then veered left, the guard—cheerful now, something to do on a boring day—was gesticulating and talking already.

Ned went alone to the right, towards the older part.

It didn’t take long to begin. After no more than twenty steps he felt a pulsing inside. It came and went, then a moment later it was there again, on and off.

Someone was calling him.

It would be a whole lot smarter, he thought, to have Greg come over, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse, given that his dad was supposed to be here working with his assistant.

His heart was beating fast again. He swore under his breath. Then he thought about Melanie, about why they were doing this, and he carried on, alone.

He passed two tall pillars he’d seen from the fence. The sign at the base said “Temple of Castor and Pollux.” There was a coloured drawing of what it would have looked like two thousand years ago. Tall and handsome, wide steps going up, toga-clad people under a blue sky.

He felt the pulse again. He could place it now, around a corner to the left, just ahead. Another sign there said “Sacred Spring.” There was one wall still standing on the north side, and open steps, crumbled and moss-covered, leading down towards a dark, shallow pool.

Cadell was sitting on the steps looking at the water.

Ned stared at him. He ought to feel more surprised than he did, he thought.

“Why did you call me?”

The other man looked up at him and shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest.” He smiled. “I’m not the one who figures everything out. What shall I say? A moment of fellowship? Call it that. You will need to learn to screen yourself, by the way. You are visible to anyone here with any power at all.”