The walk down to the staff passage seemed interminable. Two of the elevators were coming up, so she used the stairs, walking down as fast as possible. Once again she made her way through the tangle of corridors around the kitchen area. Finally she was on the last stretch to the exit, convinced that at any moment she would feel the bullet hit her back and fall headlong, to die like a rat in the tunnels of the Gran Hotel Palace basement, the court of the Scarlet Prince.

Out on the street, a gust of sleet brushed her face. She stopped for a moment to recover her breath. The taxi driver was still standing by the cab, in the same place he’d dropped her, waiting anxiously. As soon as Ernesto saw her, he ran toward her and, without saying a word, grabbed her arm and led her to the cab. He sat her in the passenger seat and hurried across to take the wheel.

Sirens could already be heard in the distance when the engine started and the taxi glided off toward Carrera de San Jerónimo. As they drove past the main entrance to the Palace, at least three black cars were parked outside the hotel doors. A number of men were running inside, pushing aside anyone they met on their way. The taxi driver continued calmly, pressed the indicator, and melted into the traffic driving downhill toward Recoletos. Once they were there, hidden in a swarm of cars, buses, and trams creeping along in the fog, he let out a sigh of relief and for the first time dared to look at Alicia. Tears ran down her face, and her lips were trembling.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” she said.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Alicia didn’t reply.

“Shall we go home?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I must make one last stop . . .”

6

The taxi came to a halt in front of the spiked gates. Ernesto turned off the engine and gazed at the profile of Villa Mercedes peeping through the trees. Alicia was also examining the house, not saying a word. They stayed there for about a minute, allowing the silence that enveloped that place to seep in slowly.

“It looks like there’s nobody here,” said the taxi driver finally.

Alicia opened the car door.

“Shall I accompany you?” asked Ernesto.

“Wait for me here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Alicia stepped out of the taxi and walked up to the gates. Before going in, she turned to look at Ernesto, who smiled weakly and raised a hand. He looked petrified with fear.

She slipped through the bars and set off toward the house through the gardens, passing statues, and at one point catching sight of the steam engine through the trees. Only her own footsteps over fallen leaves broke the silence, and there were no signs of life other than a tide of black spiders, scuttling around her feet and dangling from chrysalises stuck to branches on the trees.