The little man stands there in his funny old suit, a woollen tie knotted at his throat, with an imploring look in his brown eyes. He’s a man I’ve only met once before, briefly, yet one who has saved my life. A man who was once friends with my parents. And I wish I’d known Hern better before now.

“Why did you keep away?” I ask, curious.

The little man ducks his head. “Ah, well, there’s the rub, oh yes,” he mumbles. “I used to meet your father at the pub, you know. But the house, well, once your mother had her … accident, nobody was allowed to visit. You must’ve known.”

Yes, I knew all about that. My mother hadn’t wanted anybody to see her. That was why she hid away in the inner room and only came out for meals. She was afraid that if other Cerels saw her – saw what the Black Marks had done to her – that they might start to protest, and more people would get hurt.

“She was never ashamed, you know,” I say fiercely.

Hern comes forwards on quick little steps and pats my arm. “I know, Leho, I know. We all loved your mother. There was never any question of shame.”

I turn and walk quickly away before I start sobbing again. Past the vegetable stalls, the loaves of bread and the lengths of calico. At the end of Market Street, I turn right and head quickly to Bit’s house. Up the dusty inner stairs, to the door that is never locked. Bit opens it before I’ve even had a chance to knock.

“What happened?” he asks. “People have been saying … some kind of commotion at the House of Law. My mother’s terrified.”

“I’ve come for the pistol,” I tell him in a low voice. “Where is it?”

Bit hesitates, but goes off to fetch it. While he’s gone, his mother comes into the room behind me. Perhaps she’s been visiting a neighbour. A thin, pale woman, she comes over and grips one of my hands. “Leho,” she whispers, “I’ve been having terrible dreams. Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?”

And I can’t help it, tears spring into my eyes. “My mother,” I whisper.

When Bit returns, his mother is holding me against her shoulder, a big boy bending over a small woman and sobbing into her neck.

* * *