This was more than a palace, Harry quickly realised. It was a city within a city, surrounded by an oval of walls perhaps eight hundred paces long by two hundred wide. At its western extremity was the oldest part of the complex, a massive and brooding fortress cut from pale red sandstone - a fort without a moat, for to the Moors water was too precious to waste on mere defence. On the Alhambra’s northern wall was a beautiful, oddly delicate palace complex. And to the east was a miniature township, the administrative heart of what was left of al-Andalus, a working community with dwellings, offices, stables, mosques and schools. The gardens were spectacular, lined with the intense green of cypress trees, brilliant with the crimson blossoms of pomegranates, and crowded with roses. Small birds sang everywhere; this island of greenery was a haven for them in a land that was more fit for the buzzards. The air, though, was hot, dense and arid, and Harry found he had to breathe through his nose, or his mouth dried quickly.

Led by his escort, brandishing his safe-conduct from Abdul, he was taken into the palace buildings. He was hurried past rooms full of light and colour, with arabesque mouldings and gold ornamentation, and moulded spires like stalactites suspended from the ceilings. One quite remarkable courtyard had as its centrepiece an alabaster fountain guarded by stone lions; it was surrounded by slim white pillars that supported arcades of open filigree. The architecture here lacked the brutal ordered simplicity of a Norman castle, say. This was a fluid place, airy, light-filled, so delicate Harry could almost imagine its rooms and arches and patios could be picked up by the wind like thistledown.

He was brought to a blocky tower that loomed over the palace complex. And, looking up at the tower’s sheer face, he saw what looked like a fishing rod protruding from one window, with a line dangling from it, high in the air.

He found a broad staircase, and climbed up to an open landing. A man was sitting on a ledge, one leg dangling out over infinity. He was indeed holding a fishing rod. At first he didn’t notice Harry.