‘People say a lot of things,’ he said softly, turning back round to look at the valley again. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Whatever you can tell me. Who they are, where they come from, anything. Who’s their leader, for instance?’

‘They have many leaders.’

‘Many leaders? You mean like a group of leaders?’

‘No. They live in small clans. Each has its own leader.’

‘Clans?’

‘That is what they call them.’

‘And how many to a clan?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes ten, sometimes thirty, sometimes more. It is difficult to say. Many often drift between clans as well.’

‘So where are these clans?’

He waved a hand, in the direction of the tunnels. ‘There.’

‘There?’

‘Yes.’

‘You mean in the tunnels?’

‘Yes.’

‘But where in the tunnels?’

‘I cannot say. They keep moving from place to place.’

‘You mean, like nomads?’

‘Perhaps. I do not know what a nomad is.’ He sounded bored.

‘Someone who keeps moving from place to place. At least that’s what they taught us at the Academy.’

‘Then they are nomads. What does it matter what you call them?’

‘It doesn’t. But tell me, these clans, do they work together?’

‘No. They fight each other.’

‘Why?’

‘Space, money, food, women. Many things. Men do not need a reason to fight.’ He turned again, gazing down at the Arena, a shadow of anger quickly passing over his face, before it lapsed into its usual inscrutability. Albert noticed he was actually clenching his fists.

‘What is it about the fights?’ he asked. ‘Why do you hate them so much?’

And then he regretted asking the question as Marcus turned to him, looking through him with those bottomless black eyes for a long, decidedly uncomfortable moment. It was like looking into an obsidian mirror. Albert could see his own reflection, shimmering small and helpless, trapped in the depths of twin midnight oceans. Then Marcus spoke. ‘You ask too many questions.’

And getting easily to his feet, he walked away without a backward glance.

Albert stood, gazing after him, feeling decidedly small and more than a little annoyed. Really, the man was impossible!

‘And why do you frown so, Albert? Did you not rest?’ Father walked up to him, smiling, another man by his side.

‘Oh, nothing, Father.’

‘Can it be that Marcus troubles you?’

‘Well, he doesn’t trouble me so much as—’ said Albert, then took a deep breath, the words coming out in a rush. ‘What I don’t get is why he has to be so damn cold and bitter all the time, like you’re committing a crime by trying to talk to him! It’s like he doesn’t understand the concept of friendship!’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t. Life has not been kind to him, Albert.’