I sit down in the chair opposite him. I become aware of another man in the room. He sits in the corner behind my right shoulder. I turn around. Though I did not get a good look at him I think it is the man who knocked me over when I ran after the judge. He does not meet my gaze.

‘What do you want, Bran?’ the Marshal begins.

‘Good morning,’ I say. I wait for him.

Eventually he returns my greeting.

‘I do not pretend to understand your treatment of me but it seems you may need some time to adjust, to ponder. I am a patient man but I require some answers from you. Though you might not think I have rights here anymore I believe I do. I have a right to be concerned that my people are losing their way.’

The Marshal leans back in his chair but does not respond.

‘I have three questions for you. First, I would like to know the whereabouts of Abel, the second Marshal of Bran, the one who took over when I left, as well as the whereabouts of Tora. She was the woman who helped work out our meal plan. They might be found together if that helps though I suspect you might know that. I suspect you know very well where they are.’

Still nothing from him.

‘Second, I demand to know why this elaborate charade. Why do you all pretend not to know me? Not to see me? Why do you all pretend to be someone else? You, for instance. You are no Marshal. You are not a leader of men. You act the part but Marshal is not in your essence. You are not a Marshal at your core.’

I pause. After a few seconds he asks, ‘You mentioned three things?’

‘Yes.’ My tone alters. This is not as easy for me. ‘I want something from you. It is less a question than a request.’ I pause again.

‘I found a man on my island. This man should not have been there.

He means the balance has been disturbed. He means you have to reckon with the past again. He means that I am here now. That I am here before you demanding, asking, for you, for the settlement, to look again at me, to look at what I’ve done. And either kill me or set me free.’

‘You are free.’

I look away from him, out the window. From here I can see the roofs of houses, the watchtowers on the gates and, beyond, blue in the distance, the mountains. Across those, across the plain, the ocean, lies the island, melting in the rain.

‘What do you want from us, Bran?’

I turn back. I do not answer the question. Instead I say, ‘I am gathering proof. Proof that what I say is true.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I have seen the judge. The one who sentenced me. I could see recognition in his eyes. Others too. You are keeping my friends and close acquaintances well hidden but I know a lot of people. Sooner or later they will out. This town is not a ghost town. People cannot stay in the shadows forever.’

‘There must be more.’

‘I have a letter addressed to me. I have a jacket that used to belong to Abel. I have found human remains. I extracted a confession from Elba.’ This last point is an exaggeration and I watch the Marshal closely to see if he reacts.

‘Elba?’ he asks, his face still blank.

‘That’s right. I don’t believe she is who she says she is. Just as you are not the real Marshal. Maybe she was a friend of Tora’s. The child, who is not hers, seems to trust her, even if she does resent her a bit as well.

But she is not who she says she is. And you. I have been trying to place you. You are familiar. You were a clerk in one of my offices, weren’t you?

An administrator.

Sometimes you used to put on plays in the town’s courtyard to entertain us.’

While I am saying this I realise it is true. It has come back to me. At first I thought him a General but he is not. An insignificant man, until now, playing the part of a Marshal.

‘You’re having me followed.’ He looks blank. ‘In the orchard, last night, this morning.’

This time he does speak. ‘You have an elaborate imagination. Who would want to follow you?’

‘In the hut there was a pile of rags. It was shaped like a corpse. A body.’

‘A pile of rags? Not a hollow man then? A rag man?’ He sneers.

‘Do you think it is appropriate in such a solemn place to leave effigies? The marks on the wall. Do they not make you cower? Do they not make you regret everything?’ I stop myself.

‘Better effigies, better make-believe, than bodies of flesh.’

‘So you admit to knowing what went on there?’

‘What went on there?

‘You know what we did. You are the inheritor of it. You are the children of it, the bastard of a father you’re trying to forget.’

His face shows no emotion. ‘And you? Are you my father?’

I wave away this question. ‘What have you done with them?’

‘With whom?’

‘Where is everyone?’

He holds his arms out, palms upwards.

‘What have you done with Abel and Tora? Are they orchestrating this or are they victims of it too? Have you had them killed? Imprisoned?

Who is leading this?’

‘You know who is leading this.’ He speaks softly.

‘Who?’

‘I am. I am Marshal.’

‘You are not.’

‘I am Marshal of Bran. You are a wanderer. You have come in out of the wilderness. We wondered where you had come from. You came across the mountains. But before that? You speak of islands. You speak of a land where it rains incessantly. You speak of a man no one has seen.

Is he made up? We look at you, stranger. You demand we remember you. You come here asking for, what was it, to be killed or set free? You abuse our hospitality with your unreasonable demands.’

I might have underestimated this man. He speaks slowly but firmly.

I stand up quickly and before the man in the corner can move I lift up Jura by his shirt. He is a large man but I am strong. ‘You will reckon with me.’

The other man is up by now. I let go of Jura. I place both hands on the desk and lean in to him. ‘You will reckon with me.’

I leave the room and close the door behind me.

It does not re-open. I walk down the corridor towards the room with the window behind which I believe I have seen someone watching me.

I reach the door. I place my ear to it. I can hear nothing. Or, I can hear something but I’m not sure what. When you hold a shell to your ear you hear the ocean. Do I hear breathing? I knock softly. Listen again. Still the breathing. I try the handle. The door is locked. I push against it. It is solid. I kneel and bend down. The gap between door and floor is small. Inside it is dark. But there are two darker shadows I can see. It is as if someone is standing on the other side, arm’s distance away from me. The shadows do not move. It is silent in the corridor.

I whisper, ‘Hello.’

No movement. No answer.

‘Tora. It is me.’

I get to my feet. I place my palms on the door and lean in, press my cheek against it. It is warm. The temperature of blood.

‘It is me. Bran. I have come back.’

There is nothing from the room.

I hear footsteps coming from down the corridor. I move further down and try the handle of the room next door. I am surprised when it opens. I close the door silently behind me. The key is in the lock and I turn it.

The footsteps stop, first outside the room next door, then outside my door. The handle turns slowly. Then they move off, further down the corridor.

I look around me. The walls are hidden for the most part. Against them leans a jumble of boxes, furniture and planks. It seems this room is used only for storage. I begin shifting some of the wood. I find a small wooden box. Shaking it produces a rattling sound. I open it and inside I find a child’s toy, a man made of sticks, held together with twine. Or a woman perhaps, it is impossible to tell. I place it in my coat pocket to give to Amhara when next I see her. I pull back a large plank to see what’s behind it. There is something leaning against the wall.

It comes flooding back to me. I feel prickles at the back of my neck.