Smith caught it, grinning. ‘Howzat? Oh yes, we’ll put you in to bat.’ There was general laughter.

The Captains exchanged glances. Hutchinson said, ‘If you wanted to ask about the cricket team, sir, you could have summoned me to your rooms.’

‘Oh good, do you know about cricket?’

Yes, sir. I was team captain last year.’

‘Only I was wondering⁠ —’ Smith threw the ball into the air, caught it in his mouth, appeared to swallow it, and produced it again from his sleeve, ‘why are there only seven people batting? Couldn’t we include everybody who wants to play?’

‘I assume that’s a rhetorical question, sir,’ said Hutchinson.

In the corner of the room, Timothy was biting his bottom lip, trying desperately not to cry.

‘Tell him,’ urged Anand, his friend. ‘He could stop them. He would.’ Anand’s father ruled a small independent state in India. He and Timothy were best friends, probably because the rest of the House seemed to hate them equally. ‘Yes,’ Tim whispered. ‘That’s the most terrible thing. He would.’

‘It seems very odd,’ Smith concluded. ‘When I was away, in Aberdeen, we used to get a couple of planks, knock a ball about.’

‘Perhaps we could try that,’ piped up Captain Merryweather. ‘It might catch on, sir, and they’d all start using planks at Lords.’ Hutchinson glanced at him warningly.

His sarcasm had been a bit too obvious. But Smith was grinning that insane grin again.

‘Yes… Well, I’ll put the team up on the notice-board. We’ll start with eleven and work up. Many hands spoil the broth, or not, as my father used to say. Or perhaps he said the opposite. Goodbye.’ And he left, tossing the ball thoughtfully.

‘Quiet!’ Hutchinson called as soon as the door had closed. The laughter that man always left in his wake⁠ — what sort of example was that? ‘We were in the process of beating Dean, if I recall.’

Timothy stood up, his eyes dark with pain, and stiffly walked back to the radiator.

‘It will go the worse for you,’ he whispered as he leant against it once more.

‘What, bug?’

‘I said,’ Tim said, in a louder voice, ‘it will go the worse for you.’

Hutchinson exchanged bemused glances with his fellow captains. The tone of Timothy’s voice was resigned rather than scared. ‘Dare say it will, Timbo!’ He laughed. ‘You’re the one it’s going badly for at the moment. Now where were we?’

In the forest on the hills above the town, a red squirrel looked up, started, and ran.

In mid-air, a shape was forming, a flowing fractal vortex that grew out of thin air, swirling out from a point to become a spinning upright disc, the size of a barn door.

There were five figures in the vortex, in the distance, rushing towards the disc.