We found no pigeons, and after a while we knew why. There were magpies around, the squawking black-and-white birds some foolish person brought over to New Zealand from Australia. We see them in larger and larger numbers. They are noisy; they are bullies; people say they steal bright things like hair-combs and buttons. Aggie says they remind her of the seagulls she saw trying to attack an osprey once. The keh-reh-roo pigeons are too big to be scared of them, but they build their nests well away, where the magpies will not steal their eggs.

A couple of the Australian invaders swooped and squawked above us. We threw sticks at them until they flew off and settled on a branch, still squawking.

‘Look!’ Haare bent down, and picked up a glossy black-and-white feather from the grass. ‘I am a fighter!’ He stuck the feather in his long, black hair, and suddenly — yes, he did look like a Maori warrior, the one in the photograph that Mr McDougall had on our classroom wall.

I began to search for a feather, too. Down by the river, the girls chattered on. ‘Janet?’ I heard Aggie call. ‘Janet, where are you, lassie? Don’t get lost.’

I bent, scooped up a second glossy feather and started to slide it into my own hair. Then Haare and I jerked as Hahona screamed. Aggie shouted something, then she and Hahona were yelling and shrieking. Haare and I rushed towards the river.

We burst out of the trees onto a level patch with a few scattered bushes. Janet lay on the ground beside one bush. Hahona crouched over her. Aggie stumbled towards them, hands outstretched.

I clutched my big sister’s hand, gasped ‘It’s Niall!’, pulled her towards the others. Janet’s eyes were closed. She moaned and twisted. I saw purple stains on her mouth.

‘She eats the tutu!’ Hahona gasped. She pointed at the bush by which Janet sprawled, and I saw the glossy black berries hanging from it. ‘They make dead!’

‘Her head!’ Aggie went. ‘Where is her head?’ Hahona and I guided her until she knelt by the small, moaning figure. She released her fierce grip on my fingers, and her own hands searched across Janet’s face. She held something black-and-white. The magpie feather: it must have been in my hand when I seized hers.

She found Janet’s quivering lips, took the feather, and slipped it inside my small sister’s mouth. ‘Hai!’ exclaimed Hahona. ‘Yes!’ Suddenly I understood.

Janet coughed and gagged. Her body twisted. Haare and I grabbed her legs and arms, and held her still. Aggie pushed the feather further in. It must be reaching halfway down Janet’s throat by now.

She gagged again. Her chest heaved. She opened her mouth, and—

‘See!’ went Haare. ‘There the tutu! And she eaten meat for lunch, eh?’