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They spent most of the day with Liz and her uncle Simon. He was a gentle, artistic man with a pragmatic edge, and Hanover was a fairly stable place. Josiah felt reassured that she would be safe with him.

When it was time to leave, Liz wrapped Peter in a hug and whispered something in a low, urgent voice into his ear. Then she turned to Josiah.

He held out his hand, but she laughed and pushed it aside. She stood on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck instead.

“Idiot,” she whispered into his ear. “As if I’d let you go without a hug.”

“There’s something I want to ask,” he said when she finally released him. “Why didn’t you use the gun, Liz? Back in the forest, when the scavs were swarming all over us – why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

She drew back, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I just wanted to live, Joe, however shitty living is. I still want to live.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t do it, considering Captain Last-Minute Rescue here showed up in the nick of time.” He gestured over his shoulder at Peter with his thumb. “I don’t know how I’d have explained your dead body to him.”

She laughed. “I suppose it’s a lesson to never give up before the end – a knight in shining armour might still come charging over the hill to rescue you.”

“You’re bonkers.” He grinned down at her affectionately. “But I’m going to miss you. Take care of yourself.”

“What did she say to you?” he asked Peter as they drove away. “She whispered something to you – what was it?”

“She told me to take care of you.” Peter grinned. “For some reason, she thinks you need looking after.”

Josiah snorted and rolled his eyes.

“It seems like the two of you became close over the past few days.”

“I like her.” He glared at Peter’s smug face. “Don’t smirk. You haven’t won the battle, or even the bloody argument.”

“Haven’t I?” Peter laughed.

Josiah gazed out of the window. “You mentioned associates. Who else is involved in the… what do you call it? Underground railroad? Escape network?” he asked suddenly.

“The Kathleen Line,” Peter said.

“What?”

“Well, we can’t call it something obvious in case we’re overheard, so I came up with that as a sort of codename. My grandmother’s name was Kathleen, and I added ‘line’ as a sort of nod to the underground railroad idea.”

“So, how does it work? You can’t be running it alone.”

“No…” Peter hesitated.

“You can trust me.”

“I know. I’m just not used to talking about it. You’re right – I have help, both back in Britain and here, in Europe. Several volunteers – all coordinated by a dear old friend called Elsie.”

“Elsie?” He felt a twinge of jealousy.

“Yeah – she and my grandmother were friends – Elsie was like an auntie to me growing up.”

“Ah. Okay.” The jealousy receded.

“She arranges the transport out of the UK, one of my associates brings them to a rendezvous in Europe, and I smuggle them on to LKG, which is relatively safe compared to most places – at least they stand a decent chance there.”

“How on earth did something like this start?”

“With my grandmother.” Peter gave a fond smile. “She was such an amazing woman – super strong and feisty. Brought me up single-handedly and held down a full-time job at a time when she should have been slowing down. She had this nice cleaning lady who was an IS employed by an agency. Gran talked to this woman every week when she came to clean, and found out she was being abused by her houders – she was always covered in bruises. Gran reported it, but nothing happened.” He paused, shaking his head sadly.

“One day, this woman ran away. She turned up on our doorstep a few weeks later, starving and half dead, begging for our help. I was just a teenager at the time, but Gran always included me in everything. Elsie was Gran’s oldest friend – they were both nurses at a top-security mental hospital, if you can believe that. Elsie got involved because she knew someone who worked at the port in Dover, and we came up with a plan. It was exciting. I loved it.”

“You would,” Josiah snorted.

“We got that poor woman to safety. After that, word got around, and Gran and Elsie started receiving calls. It all took off from there.”

“You must have moved a lot of people out in that time.”

“I suppose so. I haven’t kept count.”

Josiah gently touched his captain’s thigh. “You’re a good man, Peter Hunt,” he said softly.

Peter shot him a smile that made his heart flip.

“You too, Josiah Raine,” he said. “You too.”

Josiah’s ribs were bruised from the scav fight, and he ached all over, so he was glad of the chance to hunker down in the jeep and sleep while Peter drove. He woke up to find they’d stopped in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere.

“Where the hell are we?” he asked blearily.

Peter pointed at a sign on the side of the road. “It’s not exactly on our way, but we were close, so I thought we might as well drop by for a visit.”

The sign was battered, full of bullet holes and covered in dirt, but Josiah could still make out the single word written on it: Rosengarten.

Josiah jolted out of the memory. He didn’t want to think about Rosengarten right now. Besides, they were nearly at Dacre’s house, and it was time to concentrate.

A new pair of policemen were in place when they arrived. Josiah waved his ID at them, but they already knew who he was. They stood to attention to let him through, casting little looks at each other. Josiah sighed, and Alexander shot him a little grin.

“I think you enjoy being a celebrity detective as much as I enjoy being a celebrity indentured servant,” he said.

“You don’t like your fame?” Josiah asked sardonically as he pushed open the front door.

“Everyone’s favourite villain – that’s me. Who wouldn’t love that?” Alexander rolled his eyes.

Josiah led the way towards the stairs. “I’ll need to accompany you everywhere you go – and don’t touch anything,” he ordered over his shoulder. He looked back to see that Alexander had stopped outside the open living room door and was staring, transfixed, at the large red bloodstain on the cream carpet.

“That’s where it happened? That’s where Elliot was shot?”

“Yes.”

“He was sitting on the sofa when I left the house,” Alexander whispered. “He’d taken a shower and was wearing his dressing gown… He was naked underneath, as always. I knelt down in front of him and gave him a blowjob before I left – he expected that every morning. ”

Josiah remembered how the dead man’s dressing gown had fallen open, denying him any dignity in death.

“Looks weird with the light boxes switched off,” Alexander said, glancing around at the walls. “Elliot always had them on, 24/7.”

“Well, Elliot’s dead, and the light boxes were freaking out the police guard – all that flickering made it look like someone was in the house – so I turned them off.”

“It seems so empty in here without them. How is it possible for a house to feel more haunted now the ghosts are silent?”

Josiah glanced at him, startled. “I thought they were like ghosts, too. I’ve never seen a room with so many holopics on the walls; it was eerie.”

“Imagine what it was like for me. Most of them were of me – my face, my body, moving around, staring back at me the whole time. I had to walk through myself a dozen times a day. I hated it.” Alexander shivered. “All those images of myself, watching me…”

“They’re gone now.”

“Yes, but there’s a new ghost here now.” He glanced again at the blood stain on the floor.

“While we’re here, I wanted to ask you about the holopics,” Josiah said. “I was sure there was one of you standing in the rain, but I couldn’t find it when I came back. Did I imagine that, or is one of the pictures missing?”

Alexander stiffened, then turned to look at him. “Standing in the rain?” he queried, frowning. “Do you mean standing in the snow?”

“No, it was definitely the rain. You were looking down, and there was a light nearby – maybe a streetlight? It was shining all around you. You looked upset. I remember that, because in all the other holopics you looked so blank, but not this one.”

“Do you remember anything else about it?” the IS asked, gazing at him intently.

“No – just that.”

Alexander continued gazing at him for a long time, as if weighing something up, then gave a sudden shrug. “There’s no holopic like that,” he said tersely, looking away. “I remember freezing my balls off in the snow for one of the pictures – it took Elliot a couple of hours to get the shot he wanted, and I was solid ice by that point. It always took him hours to frame his shots, so if I was standing in the rain, I’d definitely remember it.”

“I must have imagined it, then,” Josiah said, but he was certain Alexander was hiding something. “Let’s go upstairs and get your clothes.”

He followed Alexander up to a room at the end of the landing. It was a fair size, with an en-suite shower and toilet. There was a whole wall of wardrobes, but only a narrow single bed.

“You slept here alone?”

“Yes. Elliot had his own bedroom. He called me into his when he wanted sex or company. This was where I slept the rest of the time.”

The room was plush, expensively furnished, and comfortable. Most people couldn’t afford such space and opulence.

“Will you miss it?”

“Why would I? It didn’t belong to me.”

“But you lived here for three years. This was your home, and it all ended very abruptly.”

“It’s not the first time that’s happened to me.”

Alexander located a large holdall in one of the wardrobes and placed it on the bed. “Are there any items you specifically wish me to bring, sir?” he asked. “Any clothing you’d like to see me wearing? Certain styles of outfit?”

“Nope – just pack what you like best,” Josiah advised. “Be sure to pack a couple of suits, in case you end up in court.”

Giving a wry smile, Alexander began filling the case.

Josiah wandered around the room, trying to get a feel for its occupant, but it seemed almost deliberately devoid of character. Everything was decorated in the grand, plush style that Elliot had favoured.

Various print versions of Elliot’s pictures were hanging on the wall, most of them of Alexander. Josiah wondered what it had been like to sleep under their watchful gaze.

Not all the photos were of him, though: over the bed was a large print of the famous Halo of Fire holopic that also hung downstairs, in the lounge.

“No holopics? These are all static prints.” Josiah gestured at them .

Alexander grinned. “Yeah, I find the holopics a bit much, but they were Elliot’s babies, so I had to be tactful. I told him that the light boxes gave out too much glare, and I couldn’t sleep with them on. He said I could turn them off at night, but I asked for stills instead. That made him happy.”

There was no artwork on the walls that Alexander might have chosen himself – no personal knick-knacks, nothing that might have meant anything to him. Not a shell from the beach, a favourite item of jewellery, an ornament that held some sentimental value, or a photo of family or friends. It was all a complete blank, except…

There was a speaker beside the bed, with a music chip inserted.

“Bit old-fashioned, isn’t it?” Josiah raised an eyebrow.

“Yup. I wasn’t permitted to use any internet services, so he bought me this.”

Josiah clicked on the chip, and the opening bars of a song swelled around the room. It was a simple version of a familiar song, just one lone male voice singing with minimal musical accompaniment, lending it a stark simplicity.

Alexander stopped in the middle of folding a shirt.

“You listen to this kind of music?” Josiah asked, with an amused snort. “Didn’t peg you for the religious type.”

Alexander shrugged. “I’m not. I just like this song.”

“Make me a channel of your peace,” Josiah quoted. “Sounds pretty religious to me.”

“It is.” Alexander gave a tight smile. “It’s an old Catholic prayer, but that’s not why I like it.”

Josiah put his head on one side, listening.

Oh Master, grant that I may never seek,

So much to be consoled as to console,

To be understood, as to understand,

To be loved as to love with all my soul.

The music had a certain haunting quality, but Josiah couldn’t help wondering what a young man like Alexander took from such a song .

“I listen to it every morning before starting the day, to get myself in the right frame of mind,” Alexander said.

“Right frame of mind for what? Spreading peace and goodwill?” Josiah smirked.

“No. You’re missing the meaning of the lyrics.” Alexander sounded almost hurt.

“Explain it to me, then,” he requested, in a gentler tone.

“It helped me to find peace inside myself every day, and to achieve mastery over myself, so I could be useful to my houder. Because if I didn’t – if I let my ego, my own wants, desires, and petty wishes creep back in – then I’d lose my way, get lost, and then—” Alexander stopped suddenly, as if he’d said too much.

“Go on,” Josiah prompted softly.

“It doesn’t matter.” Alexander shoved a shirt viciously into the holdall.

“I can see the appeal. I’m not a believer, either, but I can see the words have a helpful meaning.”

Josiah sat on the side of the bed, imagining Alexander sitting here every morning, psyching himself up to live through one more day as the plaything of a wealthy, middle-aged man who was using him to prop up his ageing ego. The lyrics were a tiny, fascinating insight into his soul.

“The song is about devoting yourself to service,” Josiah mused. “But it’s also a negation of self. Giving everything with no prospect of reward. Is that how you see your life as an IS?”

Alexander shrugged.

“I can see that you don’t want to speak about this… Why not?”

Alexander turned away and grabbed some tee-shirts from a drawer.

“Alexander?” Josiah pressed.

“You’re my houder now,” he said abruptly. “You can tell me what to wear, what to eat, and how to serve you, and I promise – I promise ” – his voice wavered a little – “that I will do it to the best of my ability, whatever it is. My body, my skills, and my service – they’re all yours, but…”

“Not the workings of your heart… not your soul?”

“My heart is private, and my soul is between me and any deity that wants it.” Alexander gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t deserve anyone’s pity or compassion for the many stupid, bad, and thoughtless things I’ve done. If serving my houders can, in any small way, make up for those things, then I’m happy to give my entire life to that end. That’s all the lyrics mean to me, so don’t ask for more, because there isn’t any more. I’m really not that deep.”

The music swelled to a crescendo in the background and then finished. Alexander flicked it off, then threw the speaker and the music chip into the bag with his clothes. Clearly, that was an end to the conversation.

Josiah felt in need of something sweet after that, so he reached into his pocket for his little silver box and opened it – to find it was empty.

“Lost something?” Alexander asked.

“Forgot to refill my chocolate stash,” he said ruefully.

“That’s your vice? Chocolate?” Alexander raised an eyebrow.

“One of my vices. Not the worst.” He ran a hand absently over his bruised jaw. “I usually limit myself to two pieces a day, but having you around has fucked up my routine, so I forgot to fill the box this morning.”

“My apologies. I realise you don’t like having an IS.”

Josiah snapped the silver box shut and put it back in his pocket. “Don’t take it personally. I don’t like anyone getting in my space.”

“Especially not an IS?”

“Especially not an IS.”

“Because your husband was killed by one?”

“No – Christ, no.” Josiah shook his head vehemently.

“But that’s what everyone thinks – you know that, right?”

“Yes, I do, and everyone is wrong,” he said tersely. “I think you know how that feels.”

“Yes.”

“That’s something we have in common.”

“Yeah.” Alexander gave a grudging smile.

Josiah noticed that while Alexander’s wardrobe was full of flamboyant and exotic outfits in the latest fashions, with a particular emphasis on neo-glam, the clothes Alexander had packed were all of the plainer variety. He’d chosen tee-shirts, jeans, and sweaters, not the shimmering luminet fabrics or the leather military-chic jackets which he seemed to possess in a variety of different colours.

“Don’t want to bring these?” Josiah fingered one of the jackets. These were decidedly not his own style of dressing, but Alexander had been wearing one when he was arrested.

“No.”

“Why not? These are the big-ticket items, whereas you seem to have packed the cheapest clothes.”

“I’ll bring them if you wish, sir.” Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Are these the clothes you’d like me to wear?”

“God no.” Josiah snorted. “Can’t stand this neo-glam crap that’s all the rage at the moment.”

“Me neither.” Alexander grinned.

“Then why…?” Josiah waved a hand at the wardrobe.

“That’s Christopher’s style,” Alexander said softly. “I’m no longer Christopher now that Elliot is dead, so…” He shrugged. “I’d prefer to leave him behind, if that’s okay with you?”

Josiah nodded, thoughtfully, understanding. He glanced at the plainer clothes in the holdall.

“These are more you?”

“Not entirely – but I told Elliot I needed some items for everyday tasks, exercising and so on. He liked me dressed as Christopher at all times, but he allowed me a few simpler clothes for practicality.” Alexander finished packing his bag and zipped it up.

“You done?”

“Almost – one last thing.” Leaning over, Alexander removed the Halo of Fire print from above the bed and shoved it into the side pocket of his holdall.

“Is that a favourite of yours?” Josiah asked. It was an interesting choice, being one of the few photos in the room that wasn’t of Alexander.

“No, I hate it.”

“Then why bring it?”

“It’s good for me,” the IS said mysteriously. He took one last look around the room, and then gave a little nod. “Now I’m done.”