There were no people moving around. A few of the huts had smoke coming out of them, usually through a hole in the roof rather than a proper chimney, but it was otherwise impossible to tell if they were inhabited. It was very quiet, save for the regular crash of the waves against the island, and the sound of their own footsteps on the rock.

The second left channel was narrow, not even wide enough to stretch out both arms, and the rock above rose higher, easily twice Clariel’s height. She kept glancing up as they moved cautiously along, thinking about some attack from above. But there was no sound of movement, and they passed two hillocks without event, before reaching the end of the channel and a series of steps cut into the mount ahead.

Clariel loosened the falchion at her side again. Bel did the same with his sword, and took out his pipes.

‘Do you feel anything?’ asked Clariel. ‘Smell anything?’

Bel shook his head. ‘I can smell only the salt from the sea, and the deaths are old and long-ago. Drowning, and murder from behind, but I can sense no Dead here. Too much swift water.’

Clariel started up the steps, comforted by the knowledge that Kargrin and the guards must be close behind. For the first time in any hunt, she felt less than confident. She didn’t like not knowing what to do, or what might happen.

On top of the rocky mount, there was a hut made of driftwood, canvas and odds and ends, a fish-drying rack with no fish hanging from it, and a firepit built into a natural depression that had been smoothed into a bowl shape. Wood was laid there, ready for a fire. The doorway of the hut was closed by a curtain made of hundreds and hundreds of shark teeth tied to a heavy, close-meshed fishing net, so it was impossible to see inside.

Out of the shadowed channel, the sun was now fully visible just above the horizon, and its warmth was welcome, particularly since they were both sodden from the waist down. Clariel thought of sitting down to empty her boots of seawater, but decided it would be too risky, and there was no point. They would be crossing back soon enough, or so she hoped.

‘I suppose we should call out to Marral,’ she whispered to Bel. But he was looking around them anxiously and didn’t immediately answer.

‘I can’t see the others,’ he whispered back after a long pause.

‘You’re not supposed to be able to see –’ Clariel started to say, then stopped. Of course, they should be able to see something, even if their minds wanted to accept it as part of the background. Kargrin and the others should look like beachcombers or fishermen or something …