Then Beverley Brook stepped onto the footplate and pointed a shotgun straight at the Queen’s head – I recognised the Purdey from my trunk. It was nice to see it getting an airing.

Beverley herself was wearing an oversized leather jerkin and jeans. Her dreads had been tied into a plait down her back and a pair of antique leather and brass goggles were pushed up onto her brow.

‘Put your hands on your head,’ she said, ‘and step away from the boyfriend.’

The Queen hissed and gripped the rope harder.

‘I don’t care,’ said Beverley slowly. ‘He is not free to make such a bargain.’

‘Nonetheless,’ hissed the Queen, ‘he made a bargain and he must keep it.’

‘Ladies,’ I said.

‘Peter,’ said Beverley, ‘you stay the fuck out of this.’

She reshouldered the shotgun.

‘I’ve loaded this particular gun with scrap iron,’ she said. ‘Now, I don’t know if a shot to the head will kill you or not. But just consider how much fun we can have finding out.’

While they were chatting, I created a little shield and, very carefully, sliced off the ropes around my wrist. The Queen felt when they went slack and turned to grab me but Beverley shouted, ‘No!’ And she thought better of it. She watched sullenly as I picked my way to the traction engine and climbed aboard – managing to burn myself just the once on hot metal.

‘The railings,’ said Beverley. ‘Keep your hands on the railings.’

When I was onboard Beverley ducked back into the cab, pulled what she called the reversing lever, checked the single brassbound gauge and pulled a second lever. The Faerie Queen lurched into reverse.

As we backed away, I heard the Queen, the real Queen, shriek with frustration. But even as she did so, the sound began to grow fainter. As it faded, the sun came out and the trees that had crowded the road melted away like dew until we were reversing up the good old A4410 and overlooking the hedgerows to the calm and civilised fields beyond.

The clouds had gone and so had the termite castle.

I sighed with relief.

Beverley stopped the traction engine and spent what seemed to me a very complicated ten minutes, getting it turned round to face in the other direction. Beverley shushed me when I tried to talk.

‘This is not easy,’ she said. ‘In fact, if I wasn’t cheating I’m not even sure I could do it.’

I wanted to know how she was cheating, but she glared at me until I shut up.

Once we were safely lurching in the right direction I got her to explain how she came to be the one who rescued me. She’d returned to Rushpool about the same time as Dominic. Beverley had insinuated herself into the conversation – ‘I felt it was my duty to offer my expertise,’ she said – and, having assessed the situation, made her own plans.