‘At least I am at sea,’ said Zoltan. ‘Even if I am not on my own boat…’

After they had covered the bodies of Tree-Trunk and Peter Haight with stones they had struggled to the coast, Zoltan tied to the saddle of his horse.

They had eventually found a tiny fishing village. None of the villagers owned a vehicle, but an ancient fisherman had sold them an equally ancient sailing boat for much more money than it was worth. They put out to sea and steered northward. The further they got, however, the worse Zoltan’s condition had become.

‘I am not going to make it,’ he said, staring up at the sky with unseeing eyes. ‘I don’t want to drown in my blood.’

‘I won’t have anyone else die,’ said James hotly.

‘It is not in your power,’ said Zoltan. ‘You are not God. You are just a boy – an extraordinary boy – but just a boy. You have no power over life and death.’

‘Just hold on,’ said James angrily. ‘You mustn’t die.’

Zoltan spoke softly, every word causing him pain. ‘All your life people you love will die,’ he said. ‘And there will be nothing you can do about it. Getting angry won’t help. It is the way of the world. We are born, we get hurt and we die. But, God, I don’t want to die like this. Put me in the water.’

‘You can’t swim,’ said Amy.

‘I don’t want to swim,’ said Zoltan. ‘I want to die… I want to die in peace.’

‘I won’t do it,’ said James. ‘I’ll get you to your ship. We’ll find someone who can help you. We can remove the blade, stitch you up…’

‘You do not believe it,’ said Zoltan. ‘But thank you, anyway. Now, put me over the side; I am hurting too much.’

‘No!’ James clenched his teeth and looked down at his feet. There was an inch of water in the bottom of the boat, stained pink with Zoltan’s blood. There was a horrible stench coming off the man, as if he was already dead and rotting. James couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. He let his head drop, closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed them with his free hand.

‘Anyám,’ he heard Zoltan sigh. ‘Édesanyám. Hold me. I am scared…’

There was a small splash and when James looked up, Zoltan was gone and Amy was quietly crying

He never asked her if she had tipped the dying Magyar over the side or if he had found a final burst of strength and done it himself.

She never spoke about him again.

She dried her eyes.

‘What do we do now?’ she said.

‘We go home,’ said James. ‘To my cousin’s villa… we can sail all the way there.’