Towards dusk a solitary tree appears on the horizon. We have left the flowers behind now and this part of the plain is white. Little grows in the rocky soil. The tree is a stark blot on the landscape. When we get closer I can see that it is dead. It is large and still sturdy but dead.

I remember this tree. It was not dead then. On one of the very few occasions that we saw each other outside of our normal hours Tora and I came here. We sat in the shade. We didn’t talk much. She lay with her head in my lap. I stroked her hair. I reach out and touch the bark. It is smooth, like paper. I remember the touch of her hair.

We spend the night camped beneath the tree. It is four hours from here to the town walls.

We start early in the morning and soon crops begin to appear: fields of barley, wheat and finally corn that is taller than I am. We have no choice but to walk through it.

It is quieter and darker in the field of corn. We walk for several minutes before I see it. Or think I see it. Between the leaves, hidden by shadows, a face. A momentary glimpse of a face and a swish of the corn leaves. I stop, chilled. I hold out my hand to Andalus but he has stopped already. I wait. There is only stillness. I walk forward a metre.

Stop. Listen. Again nothing. There is nothing I can do about it anyway.

If I am to be discovered now then so be it. I walk on.

A while later without warning, we burst through the last of the maize. In front of us is a white road curving around the field and on the other side is an orchard of orange trees. Under the trees is long grass. It looks soft and is such a luminescent green I imagine the water here must be abundant. I think back to Tora’s mother dozing in the speckled shade beneath her orange tree, protecting what little fruit it managed to bear. These trees bear no relation to their parents. They are laden with green leaves and ripening fruit.

But beyond the orchard is what we have come for. The timber walls of the town rise above the trees. The walls, baked grey by the sun, are tall enough to prevent us seeing any buildings or roofs. Except one, and this one I know. This one is so familiar as to have been anchored in my mind. My offices – the offices of the Marshal of Bran. I feel my heart beating. I pull Andalus across the road and into the shade of the trees.

The walls disappear again.

I sit for a few moments thinking but there is no planning to be done now, no calculations. All that remains is to walk around the walls to the gate, straight down the main thoroughfare and up to the office. There I will find an official, whether that be Marshal Abel or someone else, and say what I plan to, say something: ‘Here I am. Kill your Marshal if you must,’ and that will be that. That is the extent of it. What happens after that needs no planning. It needs adaptation to circumstance.

I rise, helping Andalus to his feet and begin the walk. We are on the side of the town exactly opposite the gates. I walk anti-clockwise, making sure Andalus does not stray. I walk within sight of the road, though far enough into the trees to make sure we can hide quickly.

When we have done half the circuit of the walls, I see the road branch to the left, leading to the gates. I follow it, still in the orchard, until I judge we are about thirty metres from the walls, take a deep breath, and head out into the sunlight. I am holding Andalus by the hand.

From here we need to walk quickly but not too quickly, and confidently but without arrogance.

We emerge onto the road and I notice the gates are shut. I don’t stop however as they are often shut. I scan the turrets above the gate for sentries but there is no one there, no one that I can see. This is different. I walk up to the gates. I am unsure what to do. Hesitating at first, I knock. There is no reply. I knock again, louder this time. I wait. I put my ear to the door but cannot hear a thing. I open my hand and bang on the door three times. I look round at Andalus. He has his back to me. He is rocking on his heels, facing the plains, facing the mountains. He begins to walk away. I grab him by the arm, tell him to stop.

I turn back to the gates. There is no handle on the outside. Instead I push. I put my shoulder to the gate and shove but nothing gives. I call out, ‘Bran.’ I call again, ‘Bran.’ I think I can hear an echo. I put my ear to the gate but I can hear no footsteps. It is mid-afternoon.

I take a step back, grab Andalus’s arm again and walk away. I walk all around the town looking for someone to let us in, someone who can tell me where everyone is.

But I see no one. Sometimes Andalus walks ahead of me. I watch him. He appears to melt into the earth. There is a heat mirage. His feet disappear. He floats, circling the town.

We are back at the gates. I try again – knocking, calling – but there is no answer. I sit down, my back against one of the gates, my head resting against the wood. I pull Andalus down beside me. I close my eyes and wait.

I listen. I find myself listening for waves, for wind, for gulls. There are none of these. Thoughts float to the surface. I try to listen for other things to quieten them.

Eventually I fall asleep.

6

I wake with a start. It is an hour after sunrise. I look around. Andalus is slumped against the wall a little way off. To my left I notice that now one of the gates is ajar. Only fractionally but open nonetheless. I did not hear this during the night, did not feel anyone creep past. I am surprised. I am usually a light sleeper.

I push it further open. The street opens before me. Shadows of the rooftops stretch across the dust in the street. I look down. There are footprints in the dust. The houses on one side in the shade are dark, the others bright, lit by the sun. All are grey. Old wood, weathered by years of sun, rain, wind and the occasional snowstorm. There is no one in the street.

I push the gate open and turn to call Andalus but he is right behind me, also looking into the town. I take him by the arm and we walk through the gates into the settlement of Bran.

I look to the right and left of me. The houses stand silent. My people have turned into late risers. The windows that have curtains have them drawn. Those that don’t are black. I see no one in the houses.

But I sense people. As I got used to speaking, perhaps so I have to get used to seeing people again. I sense them around me in their multitudes. If I reach out an arm suddenly I could touch one. They shift as I move down the street to avoid knocking me, a parting ocean.

They surround me, staring. I feel their breath on my neck. I cannot see them. When I pass they stare at my back.

And then I do see someone. She stands at the end of the street. A girl. She has her hands at her sides and is looking at the ground. She wears a red coat. Something about her startles me. I call out to her,

‘Hello.’ When she doesn’t answer I call again. She does not look up.

The second time she turns around and runs off, disappearing round a corner. I let her go. Again the streets are deserted.

I walk in the same direction. As I turn the corner I see it straight ahead, the complex housing the settlement’s administrative buildings.

The buildings grow taller as we approach. Two and three-storey wooden structures, which, though they look fragile, have withstood many a year. I can see that the gate to the complex is open.

My pace is quicker now. I have once more taken hold of Andalus and we march straight up to the gate and through it. We are in the courtyard. Around it are doors leading to various chambers, various places of appeal, boards, licensing departments. The doors have the same white plaques I remember but the yard is empty. Usually there are scores of people here on some or other business but nothing now. It is empty and every door is closed. I look around, letting go of Andalus’s arm.