The dog hit the ground, all four paws scrabbling for takeoff. In a second he had shot through the narrow gap between bars in the iron fence and disappeared into the graveyard between Redfyre’s house and the northern side of Jude’s College.

“Snapper! Heel!”

The training had not taken, evidently. Redfyre watched in dismay as the tall, unkempt grasses stirred, marking the progress straight through to the centre of this dog’s paradise. Rats, cats, the rotting remains of tramps’ ancient fish-and-chip suppers, bones rising to the surface as the earth beneath the stones rose and fell with the seasons and the rainfall—there was enough here to keep Snapper busy all day.

And there was nothing for it but to plunge in after him.

As nimble as the dog and with the advantage of longer legs, Redfyre vaulted over the railings and began to track his way over the higgledy-piggledy tombstones, around unmarked mounds, watching out for broken beer bottles and other lethal traps as he went. As he drew nearer to the spot he’d marked as the place where Snapper had come to rest, he heard him call out. It was as plain as a human cry for help. A peremptory yap that Redfyre had heard often before. It invariably meant, Where are you? Over here! Come see what I’ve found!

He’d feared he would have to report the fresh digging up of a grave to the local vicar and offer his apologies with due restitution, but as he ducked around the low-lying branches of a concealing yew, he relaxed and smiled with relief at the comical and entirely harmless scene before him.

Snapper had found a friend.