‘A year ago,’ continued the girl with the scar, ‘in the month of September, the ninth of September to be precise, in the first quarter of the moon, six young people were murdered here. Four lads… and two girls. Do you recall?’

Peg Leg swallowed. For some time he had suspected, and now he knew, now he was certain.

The girl had changed. And it wasn’t just that scar on her face. She was completely different to how she had been when she was screaming, tied to a hitching post, watching as Bonhart cut off the heads of the murdered Rats. Quite different to how she had been in the Chimera’s Head when Bonhart undressed and beat her. Only the eyes… The eyes hadn’t changed.

‘Talk,’ the other–black-haired–woman urged him. ‘You were asked a question.’

‘I remember, my lord and ladies,’ confirmed Peg Leg. ‘How could I not remember? Six youngsters were killed. By truth, it was last year. In September.’

The girl said nothing for a long time, looking not at him, but somewhere in the distance, over his shoulder.

‘So you must know…’ she finally said with effort. ‘You must know where those boys and those girls were buried. By which fence… On what rubbish tip or muck heap… Or if their bodies were cremated… If they were taken to the forest and left for the foxes and wolves… You’ll show me that place. You’ll take me there. Understand?’

‘I understand, noble lady. Come with me. For it’s not far at all.’

He hobbled, feeling on his neck the hot breath of their horses. He didn’t look back. Something told him he shouldn’t.

‘Here it is,’ he finally pointed. ‘This is our Jealousy boneyard, here in this grove. And the ones you was asking about, Miss Falka, they lie over there.’

The girl gasped audibly. Peg Leg glanced furtively, and saw her face changing. The white-haired man and the black-haired woman were silent and their faces inscrutable.

The girl looked long at the small barrow. It was orderly, level, tidy, edged by blocks of sandstone and slabs of spar and slate. The fir branches that the burial mound had been decorated with had turned brown. The flowers that had once been laid there were dry and yellowed.

The girl dismounted.

‘Who?’ she asked dully, still looking, not turning her head away.

‘Well, many Jealousy people helped.’ Peg Leg cleared his throat. ‘But chiefly the widow Goulue. And young Nycklar. The widow was always a good and sincere dame… And Nycklar… His dreams tormented him terribly. They wouldn’t give him rest. Until ‘e’d given the murdered ones a decent burial—’

‘Where shall I find them? The widow and Nycklar?’

Peg Leg said nothing for a long time.