As brothers we stood our ground and said again, ‘I am my brother. My brother is me.’ And then the beast was gone.

All that remained was the body of a boy from the southern tribes.

We stared at him, the only sound the catching of our breath. So small in stature, but colossal in so many other ways, this boy who almost brought forth the end of all things.

‘I should have listened to you earlier,’ Christophor said. ‘You saw what he was, in the Eder banquet hall.’

‘I didn’t see everything,’ I said. ‘I’ve made my share of mistakes since we arrived in Drekenford.’

‘My apology was not just because of Rebecca. I owe you that, and much more. I have taken you for granted, brother, and worse. I ruined what hope you had of living your own life.’

I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t say that. You packed my favourite fiddle, remember?’

He smiled, though it was strained.

‘What should we do with him?’ I asked. ‘We could leave him here.’ I answered my own question, already anticipating – perhaps dreading – Christophor’s response.

‘No. The town needs to see.’

Christophor carried the boy out of the desert, and back through the jungle. I went with him, as far as I could go, but as soon as I stepped out of that nightmare house I returned to my day. The moon was his.

*

The streets of Drekenford were quiet, subdued, in the wake of that night. The clouds that had gathered above the Eder house and spiralled downwards, so that earth might meet the heavens, were gone. Who’s to say whether it was the terror of the bridge, the strange thunder, or the excesses of All Hallows’ that made people return to their homes. But either way, Christophor cut a lonely figure as he carried Olesca through the deserted town. He briefly entertained the idea of calling for Magistrate Channock, but the man didn’t have the stomach for what was to come. There would be the report and recommendations of a Special Inspector on his return to Esteberg. The King would decide the rest.

The town square was entirely empty. The cobbles were by degrees slick or tacky with the remnants of spilled ale and the like. Single candles shone in most windows. Were all the friendly souls now safely inside? Or did a few still roam the night? He was relieved to see the candles’ glow against drawn curtains and, in some cases, against the drawing room or parlour beyond; no voids that hid jungles conjured by dark arts. No five-pointed stars that promised the end times.

Christophor eased the body of a boy down by the fountain of a girl. Though Olesca was no great weight, he was glad to be rid of the burden. Typically, Christophor would be more prepared, but this wasn’t the first time he’d had to work in less than ideal circumstances. He dragged one of the square’s wooden benches to the fountain. Tipping it on one end, he rocked in back and forth, testing it. The cobbles were little help but it would stand. He cast around for more wood.