‘Now,’ Geryon confirmed. ‘Your duties will grow more dangerous, and you must be prepared. Anaxomander may be angry, and it’s possible . . .’ He trailed off, shaking his head. ‘In any event, I have selected the book for you. It will not be easy, but you should be successful if you use what you have learned.’

‘But . . .’ Alice hesitated. ‘If I go into a book, I won’t be able to come out again unless I kill whatever it is, right?’

‘Unless it submits to the binding of its own accord, correct.’

‘I’m not sure I want to kill anything,’ Alice said. ‘Even monsters, if they’ve never done anything to me.’

Geryon smiled thinly. ‘Poor child. I wish I could spare you this, I truly do. But believe me when I tell you it is the only way.’

Ending’s voice seemed to rumble in her ear. His magic is based on cruelty and death.

‘Besides,’ Geryon went on, ‘it’s not as though the prisoner can truly die, any more than a character in a novel can. You can always flip back to the first page, can’t you? You’ve seen that with the Swarm.’

Alice wanted to say that even if the prisoner couldn’t die, they could still feel pain. But Geryon had a determined expression, and after last night she was afraid to test him.

‘Are you allowed to tell me what’s in the book?’ she asked.

‘Of course. It’s a variety of tree-sprite, though an uncommonly strong one. A vicious little thing, truth be told, but I have every confidence in you.’ He picked up a thick, leather-bound volume from the floor beside the chair, apparently no different from those that lined the walls of the study. ‘Are you ready?’

What would happen, Alice thought, if I said no? Nothing good. She nodded.

‘Something you may not know,’ Geryon said, ‘is that anyone touching the prison-book here in the real world can look inside, once someone has opened the way. So I will be able to observe your performance.’

As if fighting for my life wasn’t enough, I’m going to be graded as well.

He held out the book, and she accepted it and settled herself in one of the armchairs, old leather creaking around her.

‘Good luck,’ said Ashes, from under the chair.

‘Thanks,’ Alice said. ‘Here goes nothing.’

She opened the book. There was a moment of eye-twisting incomprehensibility, and then she read:

Alice found herself on a grassy hill, overlooking a little valley with a stream . . .

Chapter Twenty-one: The Tree-Sprite

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE TREE-SPRITE