Andalus begins a slow rocking motion on his heels. He holds his hands in front of him, stares at the ground, his face blank, and does not speak.

I am not surprised.

‘I too have not spoken properly, Andalus. What I have to say is difficult. I have not asked for what I really want. I too cannot speak.

Why is that?

‘Tonight I will though. I have to. You must help me.

‘Speak.

‘Speak.

‘Speak.’

He does not. I stand up, take a deep breath, walk over to him. I grab him by the coat he still wears and draw him to me. His eyelids flicker open. I speak in a low voice. ‘You will not live another week in this place. They will come for you. I know these people, what they are capable of. They will come for you and drag you from your hole, slit your throat and bury you in a shallow grave beyond the walls. The weakest are the most dangerous. I am your only hope.’ I let go, pushing him back down at the same time.

He moves his lips. I lean in to him. ‘What? What are you trying to say?’

Nothing.

I give him a sharp kick in the leg.

I feel him staring as I leave.

I walk quickly, straight at the man in the alleyway. At the last second he moves to one side.

I feel light-headed and walk to the kitchens to eat. There is no sign of Elba. I do not ask after her. There is no one else eating.

When I am done I go to her flat. There is no one home. I try the handle. It is locked. I think about leaving the toy but I cannot be sure Amhara will get it. I want to place it in her hands. I start down the stairs. As I do, as I walk past the weeds in the cracks, the splintered wood on the rail, something hits me and I have to stop. I hear Tora. I stop in mid-stride and turn my head, listening for the sound again. I look at where it came from. But I know, knew straight away, it is not Tora. It is her voice dragged up from memories. Her standing in the door, waiting for me, a smile on her lips. This time a smile. Her wanting to see me. A moment twenty years ago when I made her happy. And it hits me. I can see her. She stands there and all that separates us is two decades. To say it is nothing. But it is too much.

I see a figure at the corner of the street. I walk towards him and he vanishes.

I go back to the houses. That is all there is to do now. Look for more proof. Tonight I will ask for what I have come for. I will find a way to free Tora. I cannot now. It is too light. I must just hope they give me a chance later on. Perhaps what I ask for will change everything. Perhaps it won’t.

I follow the sun. As it moves overhead so I move through the town.

I knock on door after door. Time after time they remain closed.

I realise I am completely alone in the streets. The children have gone. I turn around. I scan the tops of the houses. I watch clouds cross the line made by the rooftops. I scrape my foot along the sand. There is only silence. If someone is following me they are keeping themselves well hidden. I turn around and around with my arms held out, my face to the sky. I feel the breeze beneath my arms. Grey buildings. Sunlight.

Shadow. Dust blown into eddies.

Door after door.

At dusk one opens.

The man is blind.

And I know who he is.

He was another official in my administration. He ran the Farming Licensing Department. I stare at him.

‘Who’s there?’

I reach out to him. I fold him in my arms. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

He struggles now. ‘No.’ His voice barely registers.

‘It is me, Bran. You know me. We used to be friends.’

‘No.’ He struggles. He is like a fish before I beat it against a rock.

‘Bran.’

‘No. They will come for me. Please.’

‘You know me. How dare you deny me? I made you what you are.’

I speak softly.

Through his chest I can feel his heart beat. His ribs feel brittle. Like if I squeezed hard enough they would snap.

I put my face against his. My face is wet, my mouth at the bridge of his nose, my teeth sensing the taste of his flesh. I breathe over his blind eyes.

I push him away. He falls down. He whimpers.

Back at the shelter I find that Andalus has gone. I am not surprised.

I walk through a few of the streets around the alley but there is no sign of him. I will not look for him anymore. Chances are he will not be of much use.

It is well after sunset when I walk into the courtyard of the town hall.

In the middle stands the Marshal dressed, rather strangely, in a long white gown. ‘Come in,’ he says. ‘The others are here. We can begin.’

I fol ow him into the hall where we had our discussion about the names on the wall. Seated at a table in the middle of the room is Elba, who has her back to me. The man who has been watching me stands in a corner of the room. There are three empty chairs at the table. The Marshal extends his hand towards one of them, motioning for me to sit.

He goes over to talk to the man, whom I assume is a soldier. I whisper to Elba, ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I am sorry about the other night. My behaviour was inappropriate for the circumstances.’

She does not look at me but says, ‘You should not apologise for who you are.’

I do not get a chance to respond as Jura returns and sits down at the table.

He asks, ‘Where is your friend?’

‘I could not find him. He must have gone for a walk. He probably wouldn’t have been good company. He is not very talkative.’

‘So you say.’ Jura rests his hands on the table but says nothing more.

‘Well?’ I say.

He smiles at me. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

‘We do. Why have you called me here? You said you had come to a decision. What is it?’

‘In time, Bran, in time. First we must wait for the other member of our party.’

‘Who is that?’ But I know already.

‘A man who wants to talk to you. We tried to persuade him not to.

But it is his decision. This is his town.’

I feel the skin at the back of my neck prickle. ‘Who?’

I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t want to turn around.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look at it. It is white, manicured, the nails clean.

‘Hello Bran.’

I mumble. It is not how I want to sound. ‘Abel.’

He sits down opposite me. We stare at each other. The old warrior and his friend, his foe. He has half a smile on his face. He is tall. His limbs spill over the chair, over the table. I note the creases in his face, the grey in his hair, the paleness of his skin.

The years I have known this man. The things we have been through, the things we have seen. At this point, seeing him, I am numb.

The room grows darker. No one has lit a candle. Elba gets up to do so, sits down again.

He speaks first.

‘I want to hear your story, Bran. I want to hear why you are here.’

‘Hello Abel. Friend.’ I look at his eyes. Paler than I remember.

Abel stares at me. He does not blink. Then, again: ‘I want to hear your story.’

‘Just as I want to hear yours. I have many questions.’

‘So I have been told. You have come to us with fantastic stories, calling us murderers. You claim to have journeyed here across the oceans, a survivor, a wanderer.’

I feel a chill. ‘Are you continuing the game? You too.’

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You know me.’

He says nothing for a while. Then, ‘What do you want?’

‘If I tell you, will the games stop? Will you acknowledge the truth of who I am?’

Abel makes no movement.

I grip the table. ‘What is going on? I have come with a plausible story about Axum. You all know who I am. Yet no one will admit it.

You all stay out of my way, do not look me in the eye. It is like you are trying to persuade me I do not exist. Have never existed.’

The half-smile returns but still he says nothing.

I lean back. ‘Very well. We can play your game for a while longer. I have more proof of who I am now.’