Her father's tavern stood on a street in a cl.u.s.ter of commercial premises, flanked by a general store and an apothecary. As Erna approached the entrance, Jakab hung back, watching from an alley behind a row of houses.

Outside the tavern, groups of men sat at rickety tables, drinking and smoking. He heard laughter, the clink of gla.s.ses, the buzz of conversation. He felt a flash of anger at the leers Erna drew as she walked to the tavern door and went inside, but he stilled his body. Now was not a time to allow emotion to distract him.

They were here. He could feel them.

Whether it was a previously dormant elet sense that alerted him, he did not know. No disguise, he knew, could ensure invisibility from his compatriots for ever, but they would still need to meet him face to face to confirm he was the one they sought. This feeling was something different, an indescribable pull towards the building, a vague itch behind his eyes. He shook his head against its effects, disturbed and confused.

The front door of the tavern opened and a man came out, his tall frame silhouetted by the candlelight that shone from the windows. Jakab felt a shiver of awareness. The man placed a cigar between his lips and when he struck a match, his face was illuminated in its flare: square jaw, eyebrows like tangled hedgerows, dark locks shiny with grease, a crooked scar that ran from the left corner of his mouth across his cheek. Jakab had never seen him before, but that strange sense was screaming at him now, insisting that he had found one of his pursuers. The man lit his cigar, puffed out smoke. He slouched by the entrance of the tavern, staring into the night.

In the alley, Jakab remained wreathed in shadows, but he felt the p.r.i.c.kle of the stranger's eyes nonetheless.

Fear rolled through him. Relations between the hosszu eletek and Budapest's ruling cla.s.ses had always been fractious, and he knew his actions the previous year had soured those relations further. The tanacs needed to appease their critics by making an example of him. If he were caught, his life would be forfeit.

From a gap between two tenements, another figure appeared. It approached the first man and conferred with him. The two talked for a few minutes. Jakab edged closer. All of a sudden, the newcomer stiffened and turned towards the alley. For the briefest instant, light spilling from the tavern windows shone on his face.

Jani.

Jakab felt his heart quicken. His blood surged through his arteries. His stomach cramped. His head began to pound.

Of course.

They had sent his brother after him. The discovery outraged him, but it was an obvious move, now he thought about it. While his fellow hosszu eletek could identify him up close, tracking him at a distance presented far more of a challenge.

But a relative, a brother that was different. Jani had the vererzet, the blood tie that allowed him to intuit his brother's whereabouts in the same way a diviner found water.

Until now, Jakab had thought he lacked that particular gift: just one more example of his stunted growth. But this explained the nagging watched feeling he had experienced earlier. His own ability was clearly meagre compared to Jani's, who had managed to follow him here from however many hundreds of miles away.

He watched, mouth dry of moisture, as his brother led the scar-faced stranger back into the tavern. What had he done to deserve betrayal like this? What had they promised Jani in return for bringing him back to Budapest?

Jakab had been planning to kill his pursuers tonight. How, though, could he take Jani's life? And, just as distressing how could he ever hope to be free, ever hope to make a life with Erna, if he did not? He had no idea how long they would look for him. A year had pa.s.sed since the vegzet. Would they still be looking for him another year from now? Another ten?

With Jani out of sight, comforted by the knowledge that the vererzet manifested as a vague directional pull rather than a bright beacon, Jakab emerged from the alley and followed a route between the buildings to the woods behind the tavern.

Erna arrived minutes after his low whistle from the cover of the trees. He watched her move through the long gra.s.s, the moon dusting her shoulders with milky light. The realisation that this might be the last he saw of her for some time distressed him more than he could bear. She spotted him lurking at the edge of the wood and when she reached him, flinging her arms around his neck, he felt hot tears sting his eyes as he embraced her.

They stayed that way for a while, motionless except for the slow rise of their chests, listening as a thousand crickets mourned them.

'I saw them,' he said.

'You did?'

'You were right to tell me. You probably saved my life.'

'What will you do?'

'I have to go. I have to end this. Otherwise we will never have any peace.'

'Is it safe? Will you be all right?'

'I'll be all right if you say that you'll wait for me.'

'What are you going to do? How long will you be gone?'

'I don't know exactly. But I won't be long, I promise you that. I don't think I could stay away from you for long.' He hesitated. 'These are hardly the circ.u.mstances I'd imagined, but I brought you down to the lake tonight so I could ask you to be my wife.'

Tears brimmed in her eyes now too. 'Whoever those people at the tavern are, whatever they want with you, you know my answer, Jakab.'

'You'll wait for me, then?'

She kissed him, and he felt her desperation in the press of her lips. 'Why must I? Let me come with you.'

'Erna, no.'

'Why not?'

'There are things I must do, things I would protect you from. Your place is here until I can finish this. I'll come back. Soon. When I do, I'll speak to your father. And we'll do this the right way.'

'Promise me.'

Jakab kissed her again, her tears wet against his cheek. He could feel his anger rising, a cold fury that made him clench his fists at the injustice of what they faced. The hosszu eletek had cast him out and he had gone willingly, yet they were not content to leave him alone. Along these sh.o.r.es he had found happiness, and now they interfered with that too, jeopardising everything he held precious.

For now, he would run. He was unprepared for a confrontation. He needed time to plan. But he would return to Erna, and he would kill anyone that got in his way.

In his pocket, he felt the weight of the gold ring he had bought her, pressing against his leg. It seemed to mock him.

Jakab was sitting in a restaurant near the Festetics Palace when he next saw Erna Novak. It was spring, and he had been back in Keszthely two days. This was a different town to the one he had left baking under the hot eye of a summer sun. Now, cool air rolling down from the mountains slid across the warmer waters of Lake Balaton, rising into a mist that draped the entire area like a shroud.

The mist brought a strange serenity to Keszthely. Sounds were muted, so that when a dog barked or a church bell rang coming as if from the bottom of a well Jakab found it impossible to pinpoint its direction.

He had known that returning would feel like a homecoming, and the mist unfurled its own welcome, a protective anonymity that gathered him in its arms and cradled him with its peace.

How he needed that peace. He could not be sure exactly how long he had been away, but his experiences in between leaving Keszthely and returning already seemed a troubled memory. How long had he run, moving from one town to the next, leaving in the depths of night, taking random train journeys, crossing rivers and mountains, doubling back?

When he had fled the Lake Balaton region, he had not forged much of a plan. He told himself to get as far ahead of Jani as possible, and find somewhere he could prepare for his arrival. At the outset, the thought of harming his brother sickened him, but the further he travelled from Keszthely and Erna Novak, the less the prospect troubled him.

Even so, on those occasions when he did get far enough ahead, finding himself in some insipid town or village, he was unable to decide what to do when Jani caught up. Summer arrived, and still Jakab was no closer to returning to Keszthely. As that season slipped away, and then as autumn leaves surrendered to winter snow, he began to acknowledge that the challenge of killing two hosszu eletek, one of whom could track him however many miles he put between them, was tormenting him so much that he was inventing excuses for his inaction. Rather than fighting back, he was finding more and more reasons to flee. Disgusted by his lack of resolve, he vowed to take the next opportunity that came along.

In Pozsony, he seized his chance. He reached the city knowing he had gained a few weeks on his pursuers. Renting an extravagantly large house in the Rusovce borough, Jakab played the role of an eccentric and introverted aristocrat. He paid for the services of a lawyer, who in turn paid for the services of a dubious yet reliable character called Alexej who spent all his time inside the house, watching each night for the approach of Jani and his accomplice.

It must have been February, or possibly March, when they finally appeared. Alexej woke him in the early hours. Two men, he whispered, had scaled the gates at the front of the house.

The first intruder approached the building's main entrance. The second crept round to the rear, climbing a wisteria vine to the first-floor balcony that overlooked the garden. Waiting in the master bedroom, enveloped in shadow, Jakab watched him swing over the bal.u.s.trade and pad to one of the tall sash windows. Finding it unlocked, the intruder, still a faceless silhouette, lifted it open. Jakab stepped out of the darkness, pressed a Colt revolver to the man's forehead and pulled the trigger.

It was only in the flash from the gun's muzzle that he recognised Jani's startled eyes. His brother's head broke apart in the same instant. The thunder of that shot echoed around the house and ricocheted through Jakab's soul. He watched Jani's lifeless body pitch backwards over the balcony, landing in the shrubbery below.

Hours later, he would marvel at how easy and how quick that murderous act had been. But at the time, with the sharp stench of gunpowder in his nostrils, he found himself fascinated at the way the chips of Jani's skull glittered on the moonlit leaves of the rhododendrons below.

Staring down at his brother's corpse, thinking of all the history they had shared, he tried to summon grief. It seemed appropriate somehow. Yet all he could feel as he stood at the bal.u.s.trade was emptiness. No guilt, no remorse. Not even any satisfaction. He was an empty vessel, a vacuum, devoid of emotion.

While Jakab knew there had never been any path back to his old life, he still understood that this was a watershed moment. The tanacs would exhaust every means possible to find him now. What option, though, had they given him? Jakab had been content to walk away from the hosszu eletek but they had insisted on following, had even resorted to the spectacular cruelty of setting one brother against another. He had felt no great love for Jani, had spent most of his life hating him, but the number of people in the world with whom he shared a history had just contracted and for that, if nothing else, he supposed he should feel sadness.

Alexej walked out of the darkened bedroom and joined Jakab on the balcony. 'The other one bolted when he heard the shot,' he said, peering over the rail at Jani's corpse. 'Want me to get rid of that?'

Jakab examined Alexej for a moment, considering whether to put a bullet in his head too. Instead, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder and nodded. Alexej had served him well, and he did not know when he might need his services again. Far better to keep acquaintances like that.

Jakab packed his bags quickly, jumped the wall at the end of the garden and left Pozsony the same night. It was one hundred miles to Keszthely by train and carriage, a journey that took him two days to travel. He booked a room near the lake and spent the first day walking its sh.o.r.es, thinking about the best way to alert Erna of his return. He ached for her as much now as he had outside her father's tavern when they had said their goodbyes. He still had the ring. Its weight in his pocket was a constant, insistent reminder.

Strange, but he discovered he was nervous at the prospect of seeing her again. He could not work out why. Almost, it seemed as if his time away from Erna and his confrontation with Jani had been the price fate demanded for his redemption. Jakab had lifted his chin and accepted the challenge, and now his mistakes in Buda could be forgotten. With Jani dead, the tanacs would find it impossible to locate him. He would not be able to stay in Keszthely, but he still had money, certainly enough to buy a house far from here and raise a family with Erna in peace.

That evening he lay down on the rug in his hotel room and resurrected Markus Thury with a familiar flesh-searing agony that nearly split his teeth and set his heels drumming on the floor.

Afterwards he gorged himself on food and wine, crawling on to the bed to recover. A few hours later, settled in his borrowed face, he walked into her father's tavern. He sat at the bar all evening but Erna did not appear. Her father served him several times, sharing jokes and local news, but Jakab resisted the urge to enquire of her.

Now, a day later, sitting in a restaurant overlooking the palace, gazing out at the mist that hung over the town and beaded the windows, he studied a woman walking along the street and felt a jolt of recognition.

Jakab held his breath as she approached, placing his hands on the white tablecloth. The cutlery began to vibrate.

Erna.

There could be no doubt.

She looked different. Older, somehow. Thicker around the hips, heavier b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her expression was distant and he was ashamed to find himself hunting for signs of pain in her features, some evidence of heartache. As she pa.s.sed the windows she glanced inside and for a moment their eyes met. Erna smiled as she walked by, a simple courtesy for a briefly glimpsed stranger. And then Jakab noticed she was carrying an infant on her hip.

The sight confused him, stalling his thoughts. He glanced about the room, at the clock on the wall, at the silver teapot in front of him, trying to make sense of it. A startling thought occurred to him, but one he knew was impossible even as he considered it. They had been too careful, and the child too old, for it to be plausible.

Realising he was in danger of losing her to the mist, Jakab jumped up, overturning a vase and sending water cascading across the white linen. Cursing, he threw down some coins and ran outside to the street.

Erna had crossed the road towards the palace and was walking along an avenue of trees, their branches studded with green buds. He ran after her, shouting her name, laughing with jubilation.

Erna turned, and when she saw him approaching she hesitated and looked around her, as if hoping to see pa.s.sers-by.

Panting, Jakab closed the last few yards.

'Do I know you?' she asked.

In his haste, he had forgotten the obvious. Instead of her betrothed standing before her, she saw a tanned and sweating Markus Thury. Not, he supposed, an attractive proposition. 'Erna, I'm sorry.' He grinned. 'It's me.'

'I'm afraid you have the advantage. Are you a friend of Hans's?'

'It's Jakab, Erna. Your Jakab. I promised you I'd be back. Here I am.'

Her eyes widened, and he was disconcerted to see a shadow of fear cross her face. She began to take a step backwards, noticed what she was doing, and stopped herself. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at him. 'Jakab?'

He opened his arms.

'What do you want?'

The question jolted him, the same way the look in her eyes jolted him. 'What do I want? Erna, I'm back. It's done. I know this must be a shock for you, but-'

'A shock? How . . . Jakab. For a start, how do I know it's you? How do I know you're not one of those two hosszu eletek that questioned my father that time?'

'It's me. Can't you hear it in my voice? I can prove it if you need me to. Not here. But you shouldn't need to see that. How many other men have taken you down to the sh.o.r.e to ask you to marry them?' He reached for her arms and when he touched her flesh she stiffened.

Erna gaped at him as if he had lifted away the top of a crypt and clambered out. 'What are you doing here, Jakab?'

Her reaction had transformed his elation into bemus.e.m.e.nt. 'I'm here for you. For us.'

On her hip, the young boy pointed a finger at him. 'Mama, who-'

Erna reached for his hand and hushed him.

Jakab stared at the infant. What had he just called her? 'Who's the boy?'

'Jakab, do you know how long you've been away?'

'Who's the boy, Erna?'

'I thought you were dead!'

He was shouting now. 'Erna, WHO IS HE?'

The boy started crying. She pressed his face to her breast, soothing him. 'This is my son. This is Carl. I don't know what you think you're doing here, and I don't know why you suddenly decided to come back. What we had . . . it was a long time ago.'

'How can you say-'

She shook her head. 'I don't know what happened, where you went, what you've done, but you're not thinking clearly. It's been years. You can't just come back like this, out of the blue. It's cruel. I have a husband now, a family.'

He did not understand what she was saying, did not know how her words could be true. A slow horror was descending on him. The child was at least two years old. He had left Keszthely when? A year ago at most? Surely? He tried to count the months, even the seasons, and found himself staring at her, open-mouthed. He could not work out how long it had been.

Jakab felt something inside him threatening to rupture, and he braced himself against it. It felt like a dream was shattering, while he clutched at the broken shards.

No.

Furious, he turned his back on that thought.

She was in shock, that was all.

But she has a son!

He thought about her lying with another man and wanted to scream. 'Erna, I should have thought more about this before I came to you. I know that. This was a clumsy way to return. Let's start again. At the beginning, I mean. I-'

'Jakab, I have to go.'

'Wait, no. Don't say that. Don't just dismiss me like that. You said to me you'd wait.'

'I thought you were dead.'

'You said to me you'd wait!' He was shouting again, and she was backing away. He wanted nothing more than to reach for her and kiss her face. He resisted, clasping his hands together. This was the most precarious conversation of his life. 'Please. You have to talk to me. I . . . I've been away a long time. I hadn't realised how long, and I don't know why. Erna, I love you. You know that. I've been carrying that with me, undiminished, the entire time I've been gone. I know you love me too. Things may have happened since, life may have happened in between, but-'