‘No, I’m not seeing anything.’ She congratulated herself that she understood the code. ‘What does the banner which I am not seeing mean?’ She pointed to the back of the auditorium where a sheet with a slogan painted onto it had been tacked up on the wall.

He took a little time to translate. ‘Is 1986 the Year of the Truncheon? Don’t Wait. Act to stop it.’

‘And the ear?’

‘It’s meant to make fun of the state who listens. But in the wrong way. The person who drew it has been in hiding. It’s his most famous bit of work.’

It was both funny and disgusting – the ear itself had bristly hairs growing out of it and the penmanship was savage. Powering its pen strokes was a bitter humour that suggested, to Laure at least, depression. ‘So,’ she said, ‘if language is misused, the image is more powerful.’

‘That’s what we are about,’ said Milos. ‘The government lies with its false words. We reply in a different way.’

Looking fired up and dressed in her puppeteering subfusc, Lucia arrived. She shucked off her shoulder bag and let it fall with a thump to the floor.

Laure looked away. ‘Tomas?’

‘Lucia’s forbidden him to come,’ Milos answered. ‘Everyone in Anatomie should lie low.’

‘Do the authorities know about the meeting?’

Milos looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Who knows, but it’s happening.’

He put his hand on Laure’s shoulder and she felt his breath on her cheek. Her heart thumped with solidarity, affection and excitement. ‘Be careful, Milos.’

‘But you too.’

Close to the tears that had dogged her since her beating up, she hugged him. He pressed her to him tightly. She winced but she didn’t mind. Soldier and campanero. ‘I can’t do without you.’

After he had returned to the green room, she picked up her rucksack, slipped into the auditorium and settled herself at the back by the exit. Her head felt mushy. The virus that was fear pulsed through in her bloodstream.

Lucia came over and hunkered down beside Laure. ‘Tomas told me about what happened.’ She had outlined her eyes with kohl and looked both exotic and impressive. ‘I warned you about getting involved.’

No one could fail to be impressed by Lucia, thought Laure. Even if one disliked her and she was not sure that she could dislike a woman who was a pretty good Joan of Arc.

‘You must get out of this country. You’re now a focus and it’s not good for us.’

Laure touched her sore head. ‘Even if I have the wounds?’

‘Especially if you have the wounds.’ She got to her feet. ‘There’s too much that you could compromise.’

Should she, asked the small voice in her head, escape?

Around eight-thirty, Tomas walked in, guitar in hand. He was recognized and there was a muttered cheer. Lucia looked aghast, grabbed him and gave him what for. Tomas grinned.