Now the word has been passed on about him.

It had to come sooner or later. In fact things have been going well for a long time. He thinks back for a moment, and it seems to him that they have achieved a good deal, he and the four others he has been leading.

And the others are not in danger yet, or the note would have said so.

But they could find themselves in danger because of you, it occurs to him.

No, that won’t happen!

He dismisses the thought.

But he thinks with pleasure of the arrangement they have, of those eyes on duty there in the centre. Those eyes, able to see important messages and papers, so that messages can be sent in other directions, so that warning notes like this one can be despatched without delay.

You must get away or you’re finished.

And there are means of getting away.

He looks out of the window. It is completely black. There is no pathway here that is not affected by the darkness from the centre. But he must pass along it all the same. He must find someone who knows the way. Those who cannot hold out in their own house, or whose lives are threatened, follow this path, away from the danger and the pressure, in order to rest.

Now it’s your turn, Stig, to get out of danger and into shelter, into the light. To find a breathing space.

A voice seems to be telling him this.

All right, he thinks. I suppose I must go then, I too. Even though I never intended to.

The charred note reminds him that he must hurry; there is no time to lose. Suddenly it may be too late, and then the ordeal will follow.

No, not there, he thinks. Too many good men have broken down there and caused disaster to others.

He looks round at the little room that he has shut off from the world inhabited by Karen and Rascal. He is used to leaving it at all hours of the day; after he does so no one knows where he is. Now he has been added to the list. A finger has pointed him out.

Stig wonders about that finger.

Where is he?

Useless. The house is full of them. He and his companions have sometimes had to deal with that kind of thing too. Cruel orders that must be obeyed without hesitation.

But he goes on wondering about that finger.

Then a quick run through his things. What is he to take with him? Practically nothing. The path out through the darkness is too narrow. But they won’t find much here to make them any the wiser if they come searching. Not one written word must be found.

Hurry up and get on with it.

All right.

To Father first. Not to tell him anything, just to see him once more. I can’t leave without seeing him and hearing his old man’s voice, and looking into those questioning eyes that I long to gladden but cannot.