“The land expands whilst our memories shrink.” Palamedes screws up his face. “No, no, I don’t like that at all.” There’s a ruefulness in his voice, though. For now, it’s the shifting, changing ground beneath their feet that they need to worry about. Once they have escaped this strange, eerie cemetery, maybe he can return to the puzzle of his identity.

He follows her gaze over the plots, looking at them with avid curiosity now. “Do you know if they leave bottles of wine for the dead where you’re from?” he asks as he approaches one of the stones, which has a small pile of trinkets at its base. “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds like a waste.”