Gaspar met his grandmother’s eyes and nodded. She was right. They had to leave. So he shoved several members of the Order who, not understanding, didn’t try to catch him, and he ran. Stephen was behind him, lagging. Some people tried to follow them, but a head start of a few meters in that place without enough oxygen was insurmountable. They couldn’t run, no one had any air except for Gaspar, who had time to turn around to watch the useless efforts, to raise his head toward the moonless night and wonder, if there was no moon, no stars, what was the source of that lowering light, so like a cloudy sunrise? When he reached the scrublands, the swamp was giving off a repugnant stench and he felt a wave of nausea. Behind him, he heard Stephen’s choking, disgusted cough. He didn’t want to help him, but if he managed to get out, he would need him to fight the guards. He retraced his steps and dragged Stephen by the arm, pushed him. They had time to escape from the Order’s members, who were falling to their knees on the grass, gasping, but he didn’t know how long they had in relation to the resurrection of the world around them. Everything was waking up and crawling, flowing, sticking out tongues, drooling. The hanged man was starting to sway, though the wind was imperceptible. There were noises in the water. There were no hands along the path through the swamp, though. They were allowed to pass. Gaspar touched the wall of stone, like a mountain, and found the passageway, a short, high tunnel. At the end, the doorknob that opened the door. And then, the hallway of the Puerto Reyes guesthouse.

The guards were on the other side, as always. Gaspar yanked Stephen out—he fell to the floor, his face such a dark red it was nearly purple—and then closed the door behind them. The guards looked at them questioningly. They said nothing. Disconcerted, they turned to Stephen, who couldn’t get a word out, couldn’t breathe.

Gaspar understood what he had to do. It was so simple.

“We came to get you,” he said. “Señora Florence says you two should come and see what we found.”

And he opened the door to let them through. For a moment he considered going with them. Maybe just as far as the swamp. Push them into the stagnant water. Skewer them on the trees that were waiting for their torsos. But that massacre was not his. And following them would be dangerous. He shut the door as soon as they were through.

Stephen had gotten up and was looking out the window, trying to catch his breath. Aside from his panting, the house was completely silent.

“What comes next?” asked Gaspar.

“Tomorrow we brick up this door.”