‘Trina helped me work out the most likely location, but there was no sign of it on satellite images,’ Raia said. ‘We couldn’t find any records about its operations, or the genetic engineering that must have been used to treat Seven and his friends, either. And my native contacts claimed to have no knowledge of a camp where bear cubs were being raised. So I had to go look for it myself. Find it, and gather as much evidence as possible.’

‘As I hoped she would,’ Seven said.

‘I couldn’t risk whistling up a hopper ride, of course, so we set off south in my canoe, towing Seven’s coracle behind us,’ Raia said. ‘By the time we reached it, Trina had got into that mess of trouble over that map. And of course, the camp was empty. We searched the area, hoping that some of Seven’s brothers and sisters had escaped. And we kept watch on the place, too, in case any of them returned. But you turned up instead.’

Ysbel told Seven that she and Goodwill had found out about the camp because the person who had bought the map which had caused Trina so much grief had also been involved in the camp’s construction.

‘That would be the map with the funny little figure,’ Seven said.

‘You’ve seen it,’ Ysbel said.

‘Raia showed me a picture.’

‘Do you think it’s real? That my people and yours met hundreds of years ago?’

‘Of course.’

‘You seem very certain.’

‘It is very like something I learned from the songs.’

‘The songs?’

‘The songs that my wild cousins sing. Songs handed down from one generation to the next for untold generations.’

‘That’s why we wanted to examine the map,’ Raia said. ‘To prove that it was real. That the songs were based on true stories, rather than fantasies and fairy tales.’

‘My great-grandfather, Bearbane, was a trapper,’ Goodwill said. ‘He told me about the so-called songs of the bears. How they sometimes climb trees or stand on a high ridge, and call out. A kind of mournful lowing you could hear for many stades. Calling for mates. Asserting territorial rights. More like the kind of cries that animals make than songs as we know them.’

‘With respect,’ Seven said, ‘it seems to me that your great-grandfather knew less about my cousins than he thought he did.’

‘Tell me then what you think these songs are,’ Goodwill said, with undisguised scepticism.

‘They are very long,’ Seven said, ‘but I’ll give you a little from one of them.’

He stood up and closed his eyes and composed himself, squeezed his eyes shut and began to strike his chest with one of his fists in a basic 4/4 rhythm, and sang.