Dalip thought of all kinds of answers, some of them entirely unsuitable to give to a man with two wolves crouching by his side. His grandfather had been in the Indian Army at sixteen – though Grandfather’s age was a matter of family legend, so he could have been either younger or older. But if sixteen was old enough to carry a rifle and fight the Japanese, Dalip being nineteen was old enough to qualify as a man.

‘So they say,’ he finally managed.

‘Good answer. The reputation you give yourself is worthless. Let others name you.’

The fresh wood caught with a pop, and flames jetted out, bright and lively. The man lifted his hands instinctively, palms out, to feel the heat, even though it wasn’t cold.

Despite the presence of a wolf on either side of the man, Dalip sat next to him, cross-legged as if he were in the gurdwara. The closest wolf raised its head, shook its dense brown fur at him and leaned over to sniff at his leg. It spent a disconcertingly long time doing so, and the man pulled on its chain slightly, just to tell it that Dalip had had enough.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ The man jerked his head down to his side.

‘Yes,’ said Dalip. ‘You seem to have them under control, though.’

‘For now,’ said the man, and grunted the same little laugh. ‘When did you get here?’

‘Today. Can I ask you something?’

‘You can ask. Can’t promise to answer.’

Everyone was looking at him, at them, and Dalip stared uncomfortably into the heart of the fire.

‘Where are we?’

‘Here,’ he said, and shrugged. When he did that, Dalip could see past the front legs of his wolfskin coat to the thick-bladed knife he had, strapped down by the side of his broad chest. It put Dalip’s little kirpan to shame, the kirpan he was still clutching in one hand.

He held it down by his leg to hide it. ‘It’s just that here is different to where we were. If we don’t know where we are, how do we know how to get home?’

‘You don’t.’

His words caused a ripple of consternation and anger around the group, which he managed to silence with a mere look.

‘I was born here. My ma was born here. My da – he arrived, like you did, but far to the north. He’d sometimes tell me of this place he was from, a city where there was nothing but streets and people, where you could walk all day and not go from one side to the other, and he called it London just like you do.’ The man shrugged again. ‘He started off trying to go back. Didn’t do him any good. In the end, he stopped looking. Made the most of it here.’

‘There’s no way back?’ said Mary. ‘There has to be a way back.’