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“Yes.”

“I see. I’m Josef — what’s your name?”

“Helen.”

They said no more for a few more miles, and then the doctor jerked his head in the direction of a bag on the backseat. “There’s something to eat in there. Bread and dark chocolate, I think. Help yourself.”

Chocolate! Helen made an effort not to fall on it too desperately. She reached behind her for the bag and put it calmly on her knees.

“How exactly did your friend injure himself, by the way?”

“Cutting a piece of wood with his knife,” said Helen, a bar of chocolate in her hand. “Would you like some?”

“Yes please, I’ll have a small square,” said the doctor, laughing. “My little weakness!”

As she gave him the chocolate, a jolt even stronger than the others made them both rise briefly into the air and they both burst out laughing.

Helen considered telling him the truth as she ate the chocolate. Once they got up there, he’d soon realize she’d been lying. He’d see how deep the cut was, and the blood all over the place. And if the snow had melted, he’d even see the bodies. He was a doctor; he’d treat Milos, but then what? Would he give them away?

She realized that it was a risky business to take this unknown man up to the scene of the violence. But how else could she help Milos?

They drove on for a little longer, exchanging a few commonplaces about the landscape and the poor state of the road. The doctor, concentrating on his driving, asked no more questions. Dark ravines lay on their right now. On their left, the summit of the mountain disappeared into the mists. A large bird of prey clipped the windshield, flapping its wings, and made them jump.

“Is it much farther?” asked Helen.

“No, we’re nearly there,” the doctor told her. And less than a quarter of an hour later he stopped the car by the roadside.

A snow-covered path led straight toward the mountains. They put on their snowshoes and started along it. The doctor took large strides, pulling the toboggan that was to bring Milos down again. Sometimes he stopped to wait for Helen, who was carrying his medical bag and had some difficulty in keeping up. They walked for over two hours before they came to a small spruce wood.

“The refuge is on the other side,” said the doctor. “You’ll recognize the place.”

Sure enough, as soon as they had gone through the wood, she could make out the gray shape of the hut about two hundred yards above them. Her heart beat faster. I’m coming, Milos. Don’t worry. I’m bringing a doctor. Everything will be all right. . . .

She was about to step out of the woods when the doctor laid a hand on her shoulder. “Wait!”

“What is it?”

“Men — look!”

Three men with spades were standing close to the rock where Mills, Pastor, and Ramses lay buried. They could be heard cursing under their breath as they uncovered the bodies. A fourth man was busy with a sleigh standing outside the door of the refuge. They all wore leather coats and boots.

“Phalangists,” said the doctor in a low voice. “What are they doing here?”

The door of the refuge opened, and two more men emerged. They were carrying a limp body by the shoulders and feet, and threw it roughly down on the sleigh. One arm dangled over the side, looking half dislocated.

Helen felt ill. “Milos!”

She took a step back and sat down on the toboggan. Everything was reeling around her: the dazzling snow, the spruce trees, the gray sky.

“Milos,” she said, and wept.

“Shh!” the doctor ordered her. “Keep quiet.”

Outside the refuge, the men were putting on their snowshoes. The three of them pushed the sleigh toward the downward slope. “We’re on our way!” one of them called to the men by the rock.

A few seconds later, the sleigh was out of sight.

“They didn’t even put a blanket over him,” moaned Helen. “Is he dead?”

“I don’t know,” the doctor whispered. “We can’t stay here. Come on!”

Although the heater was on full blast, Helen was shivering as she sat in the car. The doctor stopped, took off his jacket, and gave it to her.

“Put that on and try to calm down. I don’t think your friend is dead. You saw what a hurry they were in to take him away. When someone’s dead, people can take their time, can’t they?”

Helen had to agree, but it wasn’t reassuring. They drove on in silence for some time, going far more slowly than on their way to the hut, and then the doctor turned and looked at her with a kindly expression.

“Now, tell me everything, please. What exactly happened in the refuge?” And as she still hesitated, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you.”

She wanted to believe it. She began at the beginning, unable to keep back her tears. “We ran away from our boarding schools. . . .”

And she told him all about it: the flight of Bart and Milena, little Catharina Pancek in the detention cell. She told him about Basil’s death, the annual assembly, Van Vlyck, Mills, Pastor, and his Devils. She told him about their bus journey through the night, their exhausting climb up into the mountains, their wait near the rock, freezing; she told him about the dreadful fight between Pastor and Milos, his wound, the frenzy of the dog-men. She told him everything, and when she had finished, she added to herself alone, in silence: And what I’m not telling you, Doctor, is that Milos is my first love. I’m sure of that now . . . and I’ve already lost him.

He listened to the end of the story without interrupting her, and then simply asked, “Do you know anyone who could take you in?”

“My consoler would,” Helen murmured. “She’s the only person I know outside the school, but I can never go back to her now.”

When they reached the stone cottage, night was already falling. The doctor turned off the car engine but didn’t get out. In the sudden silence his voice was calm and full of certainty. “Listen, Helen. I’ve been thinking. This is what we’ll do. First we’ll have some supper here with my parents. It’ll be better than yesterday; don’t worry. I brought some good food up with me. Then I’ll take you home with me, to the little town where the bus took you, and you’ll meet my wife — and your fiancé, Hugo! But you can’t stay long. There’s going to be all hell to pay in this part of the country, as you can imagine. They don’t like losing their own men like that. You can’t go back to that school of yours either.

“So early tomorrow morning I shall put you on the bus going south, with the money for your fare and a little extra. You’ll arrive in the capital city the next night. Ask your way to the Wooden Bridge and go there. The Wooden Bridge, don’t forget, because there are a great many bridges in the city. This one is to the north, upstream of the river. People sleep under it; they may look alarming, but don’t be afraid of them. They won’t hurt you. Ask for a man called Mitten. Remember that: Mitten. Tell him you come from me — Josef the doctor. He’ll help you and tell you where to find other people like us in the city. I’ve lost track of them all. The network’s always on the move.”

“People like us?”

“People who don’t go along with the Phalange. Is that enough of an explanation for you?”

“Quite enough. Thank you very much, doctor.”

“My name’s Josef.”

“Then thank you, Josef.”

“Don’t mention it, Helen. It’s the least I can do. May I give you one more piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“Get rid of that jacket and knapsack very soon. They could mean bad trouble for you.”

She realized that she was still wearing Pastor’s sheepskin jacket and carrying the knapsack that had once belonged to Mills. “Oh, God, yes, of course! But what should I do with them? I’d hate them to be found in your parents’ house. I could bury them, I guess, or burn them. . . .”

“I have a better idea,” said the doctor. “There’ll be nothing left of them at all, not even ashes. And my wife will give you a coat to replace the jacket tomorrow.”