Ed found it slightly disconcerting that Skinner had a cat stuffed inside his jumper, its head sticking out of the neck opening, staring at Ed. When Ed had first met Skinner, he’d thought for moment that the cat was part of him, some kind of growth – anything was possible with these kids – and he’d been relieved to discover that it was just a harmless moggy. It still freaked him out, though.

‘Some of us can sort of hear them,’ said Skinner. ‘The sickos. Well, we all can, a little. It’s hard to explain, but we can all sort of … It’s like we share thoughts with them. I’m not so good at it. Fish-Face is brilliant. She’s like a radio set. She can tune herself right into what’s going on out there.’

Ed turned to Fish-Face. ‘How do you do it?’ he asked. ‘What happens?’

Fish-Face looked embarrassed and turned away, blushing. She wasn’t going to say anything.

‘Fish-Face could always do it,’ said Trio. ‘Her and the Queen. And Pencil Neck. He was the worst. He even knew what the rest of us were thinking, and we were like – “Hello? Get out of my head, thank you very much.” And Mister Three …’

Trinity turned round, showing the small and shrivelled-looking third body that was curled up on their back, poking out of a hole in their jumper, like Skinner’s cat.

‘He can virtually talk to them,’ said Trio. ‘Like he was calling them on a mobile phone. “Oh, hello, you sick bastard, how are you doing?” But he’s hardly ever awake and it tires him out.’

‘Lately, though,’ said Trey, ‘we’ve all been starting to pick up the grown-ups a bit. Not exactly their thoughts. I mean, they don’t exactly think, do they? But it’s more like, I don’t know, a radio, and if there’s lots of them the signal’s louder …’

‘It’s like we know,’ said Skinner. ‘We just know. We’re connected. Like we’re all sharing one big brain.’

‘So to answer your question,’ said Trey, ‘we’re not sure how it works, but we reckoned it’d be really useful for you to have one of us along.’

‘Maybe.’ Ed wasn’t entirely convinced.

‘Doesn’t every military unit need a radio operator?’ said Skinner.

‘It’s not really a radio, though, is it?’ Ed protested. ‘You can’t completely communicate.’

‘You got anything better?’

‘I’ve got fighters. With weapons. I understand that. There’s no voodoo in it.’

‘Listen to them,’ said Wormwood, his voice surprisingly normal, coming from such a messed-up-looking guy. ‘Out of the mouths of babes. They’re speaking the truth. They know more than you ever will and they can help you more than sticks and knives. They can protect you from my kind.’