Juan turned up the air conditioner a little and covered his son with a blanket. He got the syringe and the injectable painkiller from his bag: it was too late to fight the migraine with pills. He tightened his belt around his forearm to find a usable vein. He could hardly see what he was doing, the pain in his head was clouding his vision so much. Still, he managed to inject the drug, whose effects he no longer feared: he felt fully prepared to throw himself into the river, and the idea pursued him with a buzzing sound. But if he did decide to kill himself, he would have to take Gaspar with him. Or ask Stephen to find his brother in Río de Janeiro and leave the boy with him. But the Order would surely take Gaspar from Luis sooner or later. So that he could be a recipient for Mercedes. So that he could be the medium, once they discovered and destroyed the work Stephen and Tali had done and killed them both. They were in danger. He had designed the protection for his son with elements brought back from the Other Place, a zone of the Darkness that the Order didn’t know about. But he still needed the final and definitive protection, which was slow in coming. The Lord of Patience, he thought, touching his back. He waited with his eyes closed for the painkiller to kick in. It took a long time. It wasn’t going to take away all the pain, but it would allay the intensity of the pounding, the pressure in his temples, the heartbeats that seemed to pump hot iron instead of blood.

Once the pain had finally subsided a little, Juan slid a small flashlight into the back pocket of his jeans, closed the door softly behind him, and walked, trying not to make any noise, toward the entrance to the tunnel between the houses. Years ago, it had been put to all kinds of use: the servants used it when it rained, so that they wouldn’t track red mud into the guesthouse or the main one; unused furniture was stored there; clandestine encounters took place there; and at some point a kind of underground washing station for dishes and clothes had been installed. But after the flood there was hardly any tunnel left: the mud had carried the bricks away and caused an avalanche. All that remained was the first stretch, which still had the old iron door with its padlock.

Juan opened it without a thought: there wasn’t a door in existence that could withstand him. When he entered, he smelled the stench and sensed the suffering of the children who lived there. He switched on the flashlight and practically crawled along on his knees: the tunnel was low, and for a man of his height, it was very cramped. Then he came upon the first child.