They landed softly, like seeds, one after the other on the inhospitable black rocks. There were only a few common loons roosting on the island, and the only habitation, beside the train interchange, was a caretaker’s hut, really not much more than a booth. They moved soundlessly, and the unkempt old man who stood holding a lantern and watching the distant lights of the approaching train never even noticed them. Carl, with one graceful motion, drew a knife and threw it at the caretaker, burying it in his neck. Loretta watched the man die, and the blood that was so dark in the moonlight. She didn’t want this, she realised, she didn’t want to be here, all she had ever wanted was to fly.

They went to retrieve the stilts that had been hidden by the black rocks.

Loretta wanted to flee. Then she looked up, and saw the stern face of the watching mountain, and she did nothing.

Carl motioned for her. He took hold of the caretaker’s lantern and gently extinguished it. At Carl’s bidding, Loretta went and pushed the switch that would shift the train onto the island’s internal loop. Please, she thought. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.

The others returned with the stilts and she donned a pair too. They began to move with purpose, as graceful as storks, across the shallow water past the island.

“What was that?” the Kid said.

“What?”

“That!”

The Stranger peered ahead. The train rushed toward the lake and then with a bump it hit the switch and was onto the bridge. The water fell on either side of them as they rose over the bent stalk structure of the bridge. He caught a glimpse of the mountains on their left, ringing that side of the lake which led on to the wild Doinklands. A dark rock face, for one awful moment, resembled an austere patrician’s physiognomy. He turned his gaze from it with an effort. A cold dread clutched at his heart.

“There it is again!”

And now he could see it. The shifting shadows rose over the water, moving with unexpected poise. At first he thought them huge birds of some kind. As they came closer they separated, two to either side of the train, and he saw that they weren’t birds at all but stilt walkers.

Then they disappeared, their legs dropping into the black water, and he felt more than heard the dull impact of bodies on the roof. He drew his gun and the Kid did the same. The engineer cursed under his breath and the stoker kept feeding ghosts to the flames.

At that moment a flare burst up into the sky over the island. The engineer cursed again as he adjusted his instruments.

“What is that?” the Kid said.

“An emergency flare,” the engineer said. “Why are you two still here?”