‘Yes, but we—’

They realized that the coach had stopped. Outside, in the rain, there was the jingle of harness. Then the coach rocked a little, and there was the sound of running feet.

A voice from out of the darkness said, ‘Are there any wizards in there?’

The occupants looked at one another in puzzlement.

‘No?’ said the kid, the kind of ‘no’ that means ‘why are you asking?’

‘How about any witches?’ said the voice.

‘No, no witches,’ said the kid.

‘Right. Are there any heavily-armed trolls employed by the mail-coach company in there?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Maurice.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of the rain.

‘OK, how about werewolves?’ said the voice eventually.

‘What do they look like?’ asked the kid.

‘Ah, well, they look perfectly normal right up to the point where they grow all, like, hair and teeth and giant paws and leap through the window at you,’ said the voice. The speaker sounded as though he was working through a list.

‘We’ve all got hair and teeth,’ said the kid.

‘So you are werewolves, then?’

‘No.’

‘Fine, fine.’ There was another pause filled with rain. ‘OK, vampires,’ said the voice. ‘It’s a wet night, you wouldn’t want to be flying in weather like this. Any vampires in there?’

‘No!’ said the kid. ‘We’re all perfectly harmless!’

‘Oh boy,’ muttered Maurice, and crawled under the seat.

‘That’s a relief,’ said the voice. ‘You can’t be too careful these days. There’s a lot of funny people about.’ A crossbow was pushed through the window, and the voice said, ‘Your money and your life. It’s a two-for-one deal, see?’

‘The money’s in the case on the roof,’ said Maurice’s voice, from floor level.

The highwayman looked around the dark interior of the coach. ‘Who said that?’ he asked.

‘Er, me,’ said the boy.

‘I didn’t see your lips move, kid!’

‘The money is on the roof. In the case. But if I was you I wouldn’t—’

‘Hah, I just ’spect you wouldn’t,’ said the highwayman. His masked face disappeared from the window.

The boy picked up the pipe that was lying on the seat beside him. It was the type still known as a penny whistle, although no one could remember when they’d ever cost only a penny.

‘Play “Robbery with Violence”, kid,’ said Maurice, quietly.

‘Couldn’t we just give him money?’ said the voice of Peaches. It was a little voice.

‘Money is for people to give us,’ said Maurice, sternly.

Above them, they heard the scrape of the case on the roof of the coach as the highwayman dragged it down.

The boy obediently picked up the flute and played a few notes. Now there were a number of sounds. There was a creak, a thud, a sort of scuffling noise and then a very short scream.

When there was silence, Maurice climbed back onto the seat and poked his head out of the coach, into the dark and rainy night. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘Sensible. The more you struggle, the harder they bite. Prob’ly not broken skin yet? Good. Come forward a bit so I can see you. But carefully, eh? We don’t want anyone to panic, do we?’