I whispered the numbers as I passed. ‘Ten, eleven, twelve.’ I looked over and saw the bridge. It looked precarious; there were no handholds, just a long strip of cracked stone starting from the bank and stretching over the river. I peered down. The oily black waters of the Clyde were far below.

The rivers in the Highlands were of every imaginable colour. Up in the mountains, they tended towards a deep crystal blue. In Oban, the smaller rivers included tinges of green, while in Aberdeen they were a murkier brown – though they still contained fish. Many of the Clan-less who couldn’t find gainful employment or couldn’t afford seaworthy vessels regularly fished there before selling their catch cheaply in the streets. Somehow, I didn’t think the Clyde here had any life in it. A rank odour rose up from it, reminiscent of sewage and rotting rubbish. I guessed the Fomori hadn’t yet cottoned on to recycling.

I left the river to count my steps and find the house where the harp was hidden. Disturbingly, it was exactly the same as Bob had described, an unremarkable structure of weathered sandstone with the faint etching of a four-leafed clover over the entrance, like an X marking the spot. Someone wanted Dagda’s harp to be found.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the rusting door and stepped inside. This was far grander than the place where Matthew MacBain had breathed his last. It was also far, far darker. Using my phone to light the way, I picked my way across a floor filled with rubble and unidentifiable detritus. Towards the back, where a large stone fireplace indicated that this room had once been a kitchen, was the gaping maw of the entrance to the cellar.

Despite the fact that it seemed to be my lot to venture down into the depths, I wasn’t a bloody troll. I much preferred airy heights. I decided that from now on, I was going to avoid anything below sea level.

The cellar was small and dry with several rotting old barrels standing at one side. On top of one stood a bottle. I blew off a thick layer of dust and examined the label: Auchentoshan whisky. I shrugged. I’d never heard of it but that was hardly surprising as I wasn’t much of a connoisseur. Taylor, however, would enjoy it. I grinned for the first time since I’d come through the Veil, amused by the idea of bringing back a souvenir. This beat a fridge magnet. I shoved the bottle inside my jacket, zipping up so it would stay safe, then I looked round some more. The harp was supposed to be here.

I was starting to think that Bob had sent me on a fool’s errand when I spotted it, hiding in the shadows of the far corner.

‘Yahtzee,’ I whispered.

I’d worried that I wouldn’t be able to carry a harp – they are hardly the most portable of musical instruments. Bob had assured me it would be fine and, yet again, he was right. Maybe Dagda was a particularly petite hero because his harp was little more than the size of a lute.