There was a boat, a metal-hulled antique some forty feet long. Shadrapar was its birthplace, as it is mine, but it took us east down the river into the unmappable and hungry jungles. The thump of its engine was a constant companion to all of us aboard her. We dreamed in time to its artificial heartbeat.

Peter Drachmar, seen there on deck, is quite a different sight. His hair is the colour of wet sand and there are laughter lines on his face even when he is not laughing. He has broader shoulders than I and wears clothes from a far better tailor. Luckily for his future employment, black is his preferred hue for a shirt. His trousers are of mustard colour and he has a short half-cloak of burgundy red that was the height of fashion the year before last. It is edged with gold trim that has faded slightly. If my description of him is more accurate, remember that, from this point on, I seldom crossed paths with a mirror.

“Stefan Advani,” for such am I. I’d have you picture a man of aristocratic feature, as of a good family: a long face, dark straight hair and brown-olive skin. A high forehead – a sign of intellect and not just, as Helman always claimed, receding hairline. The nose is finely shaped but, even in the owner’s opinion, a trifle long. Eternally clean-shaven, a gift from my genes, my loose, ill-fitting clothing is dirty grey and does not flatter. This is your narrator contemplating the fate that was so nearly his, something I have made a career of.

As we watched, something caught my eye at the water’s edge. It was a dwelling, or something like it. A little domed construction of wicker that actually sat in the water, and perhaps could only be entered from beneath. There were other poles and struts standing out in the river, and I now know that these were fish traps. At the time all I could do was stare. Peter noticed too, and frowned, and I saw that he had no idea either.

“They call them web-children,” the captain told us shortly.

“Who calls what web-children?” Peter asked.

“Them things that built that,” the captain explained. “They live out here.”

“People live in this jungle?” Peter wondered.

“Ain’t people.”