The moon climbed higher as she waited, its cool light through her window competing with the warm glow of the Charter mark lanterns. Clariel left her bed to look out, the world outside stark and moon-blue, the river silver. Soon she would be out in that world again, Clariel thought, looking at the clock. She wondered what Mogget would do to divert the sendings, and forced herself to sit back on the bed and read her book.

At five minutes to twelve, she started to suspect Mogget had forgotten, or worse, had betrayed her. At one minute to twelve, she was sure of it, and cursed herself for even thinking for a moment the cat-creature would help her escape.

Then the clock’s minute hand moved to the twelve. There was a sudden deep roar outside, akin to the sound of a tea ceremony spirit burner lighting up, but many times louder. The cool moonlight through the window became charged with red, a lurid red that flickered, the light of some sudden, enormous fire.

Clariel ran to the window and looked out. There was a growing cloud of smoke billowing up towards her from the orchard, where three peach trees were alight from root to crown. Sendings were already rushing in, one with an axe chopping at a fiercely burning tree, the others raking back leaves and other litter that might burn.

‘Go help them!’ ordered Clariel to her sending servant. Without waiting to see what it did, she took up her sword, ran down the main staircase three steps at a time and dashed to the storeroom next to the kitchen.

Mogget was already there, his white hair slightly blackened and his whiskers perhaps shorter than they used to be. He stood on a trapdoor at the rear of the storeroom, between shelves stacked high with hundreds of jars of preserved apricots and peaches.

‘Quick, open this!’

The cat leaped aside as Clariel bent down and pulled on the ring. The trapdoor opened easily, revealing stone steps descending into darkness, a darkness only slightly relieved by the Charter marks slowly coming to life on the rough-hewn walls.

‘Go!’ yowled Mogget, himself streaking down the steps. ‘Shut the door behind you!’

Clariel obeyed, almost hurling herself into the narrow stairwell. As she turned back to shut the trapdoor, she saw sendings coming out of the shelves, sendings in armour with swords and axes, their faces grim.

‘Come on!’

Clariel ran down the steps after the cat. The stair curved around as they descended, not a tight circular stairway but a gentle slice of a circle. Almost before she knew it they passed the first small landing and a door reinforced with iron bolts and considerable Charter Magic, marks briefly flaring as they passed.

‘How far down?’ gasped Clariel. ‘Will the sendings chase us?’