All over, from the uneven ground all the way up the rock face all around, on ledges and in massive crevices and clefts, there were tents, hundreds and hundreds of tents. Rows of clothes hung out to dry dotted the area, giving it the appearance of being decked out in multicoloured flags. Down below in the valley, a group of men poked rods into a hole in the ground that sporadically spewed fire. Dozens of different voices carried towards them on the strong breeze that swept through the area, what they said rendered unintelligible by distance and context. On the left, just below them, a man hammered at a piece of iron, held firmly in place by two women. As Albert watched, children ran across the clearing near them, screaming excitedly. On his right was another fire-spitting hole in the ground, closer, so Albert could see it was … actually a real smelting pot, set into the ground. And everywhere, everywhere, there were people, of all ages and colours and sizes, laughing, shouting, talking, moving around, going about the daily business of living life. But what struck him most was that there were no machines, none he could see at all. Everything was being done by people, with tools or by hand.

‘What—’ he began, turning to the man next to him, then broke off, unable to even decide which question he wanted to ask first, gesturing wildly towards the sight all around, like a highly confused orangutan at the opera.

The man looked at him good-naturedly, hefting the crossbow over his shoulder. ‘I suppose it’s a bit different from what you’re used to,’ he said, his clear voice ringing over all the sounds flying around them.

Now that they were standing in the light, Albert realized that some of his conclusions in the tunnel had been erroneous. The man’s hair didn’t look white—it was white, white as snow. The young face gave the lie to the hair, but Albert could see the wrinkles on his hands and the crows’ feet around the warm blue eyes that sparkled at him. As for the eyes themselves, they told the truth, shining at him with all the wisdom of a lifetime of accumulated experience. This man wasn’t young—he was old, well, older than Albert himself.

‘You’re Ollie’s bonus item, I presume?’

Albert nodded, still looking wonderingly at him. ‘I’m Albert,’ he said.

The man smiled at him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

‘Greetings, Albert. I am Father. Welcome to Sanctuary.’

13

Some hours later, Albert found himself seated on ragged brown cushions next to June and Theo in a large, patchy brown tent at the very centre of the valley. Across from him, on cushions of their own, sat two more men, and beside them, Father.

‘I trust you have rested, and eaten adequately?’ he asked.

The three of them nodded in unison.