Two Black Marks grab Jorzy’s legs and try to pull him down from where he clings to the side of the transport.

A shot rings out. Women scream. In panic, people are wanting to run, but it’s too crowded to do more than shove and push. Another shot rings out. Wildly I try to see over the heads where it’s come from. Then I spot Moustache against the shop windows, pointing a pistol into the air. Other Cerel men are pushing through the crowd, going against the tide, making for the House of Law where the Director’s automobile is still visible. Cerels nearest to the transport are climbing inside, throwing in their bundles and boxes, as if they might miss out if they don’t hurry.

“You will never be free,” screams Jorzy, “unless you fight back!”

I can only watch in dismay as my brother is hauled down into the crowd and dragged away struggling by the Black Marks.

People are milling in all directions now. I start pushing through them towards Moustache. He’s moving quickly along the closed shopfronts, hugging the walls. If I can just catch up with him, he could help. Somebody has to help Jorzy! They can’t leave him to the Black Marks.

In the blink of an eye, Moustache has vanished. No! A sob comes out of me. I’m standing panting in the middle of a rushing tide of people. Then Bit elbows me in the side and looks down. I follow his gaze and there’s a black pistol lying on the ground. In a flash, Bit picks it up.

“Let’s get out of here,” I hiss.

With Bit following at my heels, I slip down an alleyway. As soon as we’re clear of the area, we take off at a sprint.

* * *

Nanna and Ma listen silently as I tell the story at the table. If only it was a made-up story, like the ones Jorzy tells. Nanna’s face is hard. Ma closes her milk-cloudy eyes and goes rigid as stone. I can only guess at the memories she must be revisiting.

There’s a deep silence when I finish speaking. The sound of a dripping tap fills the room. A distant siren whines like a mosquito.

Nanna scrapes back her chair and goes over to the bench to put on the kettle. Babet, thankfully, is with Therei on the next floor.

“We have to do something,” Ma whispers.

Nanna crashes the kettle onto the stove as if she wants to smash it. Water splashes onto the floor, and the two of us jump. My mother’s eyes flash open. Do what? Even I know there is nothing we can do. Jorzy might be dead already. And if not, then beaten so badly he might as well be dead. For him, there won’t be the luxury of the wild camps.