‘It is Cillian you must find,’ said Father. ‘That is where all your paths lead. To Cillian. It is he who has Theo, and Albert is right, it is to him Marcus makes his way now. Find Cillian.’

‘But where?’ said Colby. ‘We don’t even know where to start.’

Father looked at him, frowning. ‘The Far Reach,’ he said finally.

‘Far Reach?’ said Joe. ‘That’s well into the badlands.’

‘You know it?’

‘Aye. Seen it on the maps. Never been there.’

‘Badlands?’ asked Albert.

‘Renegade territory,’ said Joe grimly.

Father looked at him.

‘Nevertheless, it is there you must go. It was there Cillian was last seen, and if you are to pick up his trail, then it is there you must start.’

Albert was looking at Father. ‘You said “you”. Not “we”.’

‘That is right,’ said Father quietly.

Albert looked at him. ‘But you can’t stay behind, Father! You can’t! What about Theo?’

‘You must find her,’ said Father, looking hard at him. ‘There is much to you, Albert, much more than meets the eye. I begin to understand why that machine chose you to take on Bernadine for it.’

Albert blinked, taking half a second to place the reference. It felt like so long ago. He looked back at Father, and tried again. ‘Look, you can’t stay. Vail might—’

‘You wish me to leave with you for fear of Vail,’ said Father. ‘But, Albert, it is the fear of Vail that makes me stay. Fear of what he will do to the people of Sanctuary, of the witch-hunts and mock trials he will conduct. I cannot leave. This is where we part ways. Good luck, all of you.’

‘But—’

The old man shook his head. ‘There are no buts. One thing I do know—Damon was a bit overzealous. Vail may have won the Sanctuary, but I still have much standing among the people. He will not dare to do me any harm.’

But he didn’t sound very sure. ‘So I will stay, stay and speak against him, be the lone voice of dissent yet again. Because I may no longer be Father, but this is still my family. And this one I will not walk away from.’

‘This one—’ began Albert. And then he broke off, stiffening, staring at Father with eyes suddenly narrowing. ‘He didn’t really die, did he?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘No, of course he didn’t die! You’re him!’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re him,’ repeated Albert. ‘You are, aren’t you?’

‘Him?’

‘There’s nobody else you could be, no other way you could know all these things you know. Unless you’re him.’ He slowed down, making a conscious effort to separate the words, to get them out one by one. ‘You’re Augustus Bosquanet.’

‘I told you already, Albert,’ said Father, ‘Augustus Bosquanet is dead.’

‘Yes, you did,’ said Albert, looking unblinkingly at him.