But as night falls, and we’re still no closer to finding the Box, I start to wonder what would jump out if my name appeared on the side. Would it be some sort of guide that leads Crowky to the tunnel? Or a creature that can fly him to the waterfall? Or maybe letters will appear in the sky spelling out: GRANDAD’S T-SHIRT WILL LET YOU IN!

My mind is stuck on a horrible loop of Crowky finding his way to Home, then creeping down Grandad’s stairs, his stick fingers twitchy with excitement. Where would Grandad be? Sitting at his kitchen table eating cereal? Pottering around his garden? And then Crowky appears . . .

I shake my head. I’ve got to stop this.

Mitch finishes her potion, pours it into a dish, and sets fire to it. Blue flames dance over the top. It looks like a Christmas pudding. “What are you making?” I ask. “Some sort of memory potion?”

“No,” she says. “Just some pretty flames.”

“Cool!” says Win, then he magics up some blue stars and soon the magic competition begins again, only this time, it’s blue-themed.

As blue snow floats over us, I join Rose at the window. She’s staring at the waterfall. Her freckles stand out against her brown skin and her hands are curled into fists.

“We can find it, can’t we, Rose?” I say.

She turns to look at me. “We have no choice. We have to.”

Chapter 33

When a sea mist hides the shore from view, and the last of the light fades from the sky, we decide to give up for the night. To be honest, Mitch and Win gave up a while ago.

Aware of just how close Crowky could be, we agree to take it in turns to be on watch.

Win and I volunteer to go first and I find myself standing at the prow of the ship, surrounded by mist and armed with a bell. Win went off ten minutes ago to get us a hot drink and I haven’t seen him since.

I can’t see anything, so instead I listen carefully for the sound of oars cutting through water. We’re sure Crowky can’t fly—when we spotted him on the Raven he had to glide and use ropes to get down from the crow’s nest—so if he does try to get on board he’ll have to approach by boat. I try to listen, but the Alisha is groaning and clinking and the mist makes it hard to concentrate.

I pull my hood low and watch as the mist slips between the railings of the gunwale and creeps across the deck. I’ve got a lamp that I’ve hung from a hook and I’m standing in its circle of dim light. This should be comforting, but instead I feel like a spotlight is shining down on me.