It blinked up at the Pooka but said nothing. Although it looked like a human child, it was no more than a clever enchantment.

The Pooka looked at the newly created stock with the pride of an artist assessing his masterpiece.

‘You’ll do nicely,’ he said, ‘but for the boy I have something else in mind. Come, follow me.’

He slipped back up the path and into the heart of the Green Rath where a room had been made up for the oldest and sickest of the fairies to bide their time before they passed into the shadow realm. He dropped to his haunches by the bedside of a particularly wizened fairy elder.

‘Good evening, Grandfather, and how are you this night?’

‘Old,’ replied the dying fairy. ‘And I’m not your grandfather.’ He glared at the creature and raised his wrinkled brow in surprise. ‘Well, if it isn’t yourself,’ he said, ‘and what is it you’d be wanting from a tired old fairy such as me?’

‘I came to see if you cared to have a little fun.’

The old fairy caught sight of the stock-child, hovering by the Pooka’s side. He smiled and the years seemed to melt from his face. ‘Ah, so it’s mischief we’re to be making! I’ll admit I’m not as spry as I once was, but I think I still have it in me.’

The Pooka bent low and whispered his spell into the fairy’s ear. At once, the elder’s body shrank and his wrinkles began to disappear. His hair went from white, to steel grey, to light brown. When the spell had worked its way through him, he no longer looked like an old man, but like a boy little more than a year old.

‘I’m ready,’ the newly formed changeling said. The wheezing, rasping voice sounded strange coming out of the mouth of the child.

‘Then it’s time.’

The Pooka clapped his hands and in a flash he had transformed himself into a horse with a coat as black as pitch.

‘Hop on,’ he said, ‘and let us go and seek our fun.’

With the changeling and stock firmly in place, he sped through the woods of Cullane and down the hill toward Clonbridge. Overhead, the magpie whirled.

When they reached the outskirts of town, the Pooka skidded to a halt. His nostrils flared, taking in a familiar scent.

They had stopped beside a lonely farmhouse where a single light still shone. Through a crack in the curtains, the Pooka could see an old woman moving around her kitchen, putting away a cup and saucer and tidying up for the night. His red eyes shone with excitement.

‘Why are we stopping?’ squawked the magpie as it dipped low over the Pooka’s head. ‘I thought it was the children we were after?’

‘Don’t worry, Master Magpie, the plan has not changed. We’ll be on our way again shortly, but it seems a shame not to pay a visit to my old friend. What do you say, Grandfather? Shall we start the party early?’