I followed Fodder’s directions and we were soon within sight of a circular tower sitting upon a small island within the smooth unbroken white of the frozen water. From the outside little looked remiss. The doorway was snowed in, and the thermal exhaust ports that ran in a ring beneath the top floor were clear of ice and snow, so from here all looked okay. I mentioned this to Fodder but he simply nodded.

‘Pull over anywhere in the car park, then shut down.’

I did as he asked, and he grabbed the holdall on the way out. I followed him and we walked to the front of the Sno-Trac, the sun warming our faces. There was now a slight breeze, but little else to suggest the impending storm.

‘Give me your Bambi, Wonk.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Then give me your Bambi.’

I handed it over, not understanding, but then saw the movement of someone in the spinney. There was another person to the right of us, then a third by one of the snow-covered cars. They were dressed in the much-mended patchwork clothes typical of womads, scavengers or cold-hermits – but they weren’t any of these: they were Villains.

And not any Villains. This was the family of the Earl of Farnesworth.

The Farnesworths

‘ . . . Pulse weapons come in many sizes. From the Plinker used to stun rats and squirrels to the hand-held Bambis and Bumpers, the two-handed Thumper, Stubby, Cowpuncher and Big Bopper, then up to the shoulder-mounted Schtumperschreck. Various-sized Airwitzers are chassis-based, the TerraNewton Highrollers mounted on railway flatbeds  . . . ’

– Handbook of Winterology, 1st edition, Hodder & Stoughton

‘What the—?’ I asked, and Fodder looked down at me with his empty dark eyes. My heart fell. There were no issues at the Frances Hoggan. We were out here for one reason and one reason only: to make amends for the loss of Lucky Ned Farnesworth and to try to broker a peace. And there was one big bargaining chip in all of this: me.

‘You shouldn’t have told Lloyd,’ said Fodder as the Villains approached. ‘News like that travels across the Sector like wildfire.’

‘Frightfully sporting of you to drop by,’ said the eldest of the Villains, a middle-aged woman with a wind-blown complexion who wore a faded twinset and pearls on the outside of her parka, ‘although I have to confess I thought you’d pass up on the invitation.’

‘And miss the finest cakes Mid-Wales has to offer?’ replied Fodder in perfect English. ‘Not a chance.’