Thanakar recognized the voice and then the man, his cruel face, his heavy lips, the white centers to his eyes. He had exchanged Abu’s silver pistols for something more murderous, a machine revolver stuck into his belt. He carried a wooden flute.

“I don’t think so,” he repeated. “Not the purge. Just a few barbarians, like you. Don’t be afraid. It’s common enough. There’s hardly a month without something like this.”

“Barbarians,” groaned Abu. “Barbarians.” He uncorked his bottle.

It was quiet where they were, though in the distance they could hear shouting and gunfire. The antinomial lifted his flute and played a little tune. He stopped to listen, and Thanakar could hear a response, a flute playing from elsewhere in the yard, and then it stopped. The antinomial played again, just five notes.

Again came the response, and then Thanakar could see a lantern swinging towards them from across the yard, a man in its circle. He came close, an older man, with curly white hair and a machete in his belt.

“Good hunting,” he said. And then the two of them conversed together unintelligibly, in a mixture of words and sound. The older man pointed up above them to where the barricade loomed past, where Abu and Thanakar had crossed earlier that night. It was quiet there, a black wall against the darker black. Not far away, the railway tunnel opened its throat, guarded by its crumbling sentinels.

The older antinomial squatted down and held the lantern up, to peer into the prince’s face. Abu’s cheeks were wet. He had been crying, and the antinomial stretched out one finger to touch his cheek and then brought it back to look at it. “Water,” he said softly. “Wet,” and then he added something, a musical phrase that sounded like a question.

A flare burst above the barricade, lighting up the sky. The man with the cruel face looked up, squinting.

Above them, the wall erupted into noise, a clattering of gunfire. As they watched, flames showed in several places along the top.

“Barbarians,” said the man. He spat.

The older antinomial looked up from where he squatted near the prince, his face more puzzled than concerned. “A bad one,” he said. “Both sides at once.”

The other nodded. He pulled his pistol from his belt and pointed it at Abu’s head, and squinted down the barrel, his lips tight for a moment, and then he put up his arm. “No,” he murmured, in a tone of infinite regret. “Not fair. Not fair.” He stood looking at them, and then he motioned with his gun up towards the barricade, towards a section that was still dark. “Go,” he said. “Don’t come back here. Leave me alone.

Leave us alone.” He turned and walked away, down towards the battle at the bridge. A flare lit up the sky. Thanakar could see him throw his flute away and start to run.

“Come,” he said, reaching down again to touch the prince’s hair. “Let’s go. It’s not safe here.”