‘No, he was weeping tears of pride that he’d managed to push through despite everything the author threw at him.’

After thinking for a few seconds, Ben said, ‘Your friend sounds weird.’

‘That’s not why I’m reading it. I’ve had enough pain in my life.’ Carl patted the cover and slipped the book into his pocket. ‘It was written in 1615, in Spain. A long way from here and now, a long way from us. But you know what? It’s all about your dad.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘It’s about a man who dedicates his life to preserving the ways of the past. He thinks everything used to be better than it is now. He’s on a one-man crusade to stop progress.’

‘Is that the knight, or the short guy?’

‘That’s your dad,’ Carl said.

‘Does he win?’

‘Who?’

My dad, Ben wanted to say. ‘The knight. Does he stop progress?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get to the end.’ Carl laughed, but it was a mean laugh, like he already knew the answer. ‘What I know is, he should listen to the short guy more often.’

‘Who’s the short guy?’

When Carl turned his eyes on Ben, they were sad and old. ‘Your dad, he doesn’t have a short guy. Your dad needs his brother, mon ami.’

‘My dad doesn’t have a brother.’

‘You need a different uncle.’

‘I only have one uncle!’

Carl faced away from Ben again, set his view on the far shore of the harbour. Capri Wharf was looming.

‘Sure, Benny. Whatever you say.’ Again, like he knew better.

Now Ben was getting mad. He didn’t mind Uncle Carl messing with his head a little—Carl couldn’t help that—but sometimes he went too far. Sometimes when Carl got all mysterious like this, knowing too much about too many things, being so wise and so wasted, he seemed to be trying to hurt Ben, who could see a similarity, how Carl and his mum were more alike than they cared to admit.

‘I don’t believe you,’ Ben said.

Carl raised his eyes. ‘Which bit? The knight or the uncle?’

‘About Daniel and his mates trying to beat you up and you running off to Ms Oxenford’s office. I don’t believe that story.’

‘Why not?’ Carl said. He wasn’t offended. Ben had his interest. Which told Ben he was right.

‘Because I’ve been beaten up by that crew, and that’s not how they operate.’

Carl arched an eyebrow and nodded. ‘Well done.’ He looked squarely at Ben. ‘Now are you going to tell me what really happened?’

Ben couldn’t tell Uncle Carl what had happened, he only knew what hadn’t. There were a billion things that hadn’t happened, and hidden among them was only one thing that had. How was he supposed to find it?