‘Yes, yes, I know! But I can’t be at the Square, can I? No, I have to leave my post, thanks to these—these anti-socials!’

He turned back to them, the soldier now forgotten.

‘Quislings! Secessionists!’

The feedback session might have lasted indefinitely, if Father hadn’t walked into the room, June by his side.

‘I have heard, Ucho,’ he said, hurrying over to him. ‘Is it true? Has he escaped?’

Ucho stopped shouting and turned, opening his mouth to answer, and stopped again to glare at the soldier, who had been trying to get his attention.

‘Hold on, fool!’

He turned to Father. ‘Aye. It’s true. I sent a couple of men over the wall, too, but no sign of him anywhere. He’s gone, all right. And you can thank this lot for it!’

‘It will begin again,’ said Father, but he didn’t sound like he was talking to Ucho, or any of them, as a matter of fact. His face was pale, he looked haggard, every line on his face clearly delineated. He looked older, much older than Albert remembered him seeming a few hours ago.

Ucho nodded. ‘I’ve already issued a force directive to be communicated immediately after the count. State of internal emergency. Nobody goes into the tunnels without an escort. No exceptions. Yes, what do you want?’ This last was directed at the soldier, who still hadn’t given up on his endeavour of getting a piece of the Ucho pie. The soldier hesitated. Then he walked across the room and whispered something in Ucho’s ear.

Ucho was already opening his mouth to shout at the man, which at that distance would probably have decapitated him, when whatever he’d said sunk in. Ucho started, muffling a curse, and quickly turned to Father. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said curtly.

Father nodded absently, still lost in whatever reverie was haunting him.

‘What hap—’ began June, but Ucho was gone, having stalked out of the tent, the soldier at his heels. A moment later, the cloth partition of the room swung into place behind him, and they could see no more of him. Squinting at it, Albert thought he could see a flash of purple behind the faded brown cloth. A moment later, it was gone.

‘It will begin again,’ repeated Father, shaking his head slowly, still sounding like he was talking to himself.

‘We don’t know that, Father,’ said June.

Kieran looked curiously at her. ‘What? What’s gonna begin?’

Father turned to look at him, at all of them. His face was grave.

‘Look, Father,’ said Colby. ‘We didn’t help him escape—I swear we didn’t—and we didn’t go there to help him either. We just wanted to—’

‘It does not matter now, Colby,’ said Father, shaking his head again. ‘You do not know what you have done.’

‘No I don’t—’

‘I do,’ said Albert.

They all turned to look at him.