I lifted a blanket. Some things rolled out on to the ground – Mr Opal’s glasses and a small brown bottle. The trellicillin. There was still some left. I put it in my pocket. The glasses were in two pieces – one arm broken off. Where was Mr Opal? How was he going to see without them? I tried to fix them back together but the hinge had snapped.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t need them any more. Not if he was—

“Urrrrrrrrr.”

I froze.

“Urrrrrrrr.”

Was someone there? Behind the barn?

I scanned the ground – there had to be something here I could protect myself with.

“Urrrrrrrrr.”

I grabbed a saucepan. Held it high with shaking hands. Edged round the barn wall.

Nothing.

“Urrrrrrrrr.”

The trees.

It was coming from the trees.

I crept forwards, saucepan high.

Something moved in the wet bracken.

I stepped closer.

A face. Bleeding, battered, bruised.

“Who is it? Who’s there?” His voice was weak.

“It’s me, Mr Opal. It’s Maggie.”

CHAPTER 23

Should I move him? Leave him there?

Wish Trig was here. Trig’d know what to do. He’s good at all that first-aid kind of stuff.

“W-water,” he rasped.

Water. Of course.

I ran back to the barn. There was still a bit in the bottom of the squashed Cleercan. I found a cup on the floor, poured it in.

I held it to his mouth as he sipped.

It brought some life back to him. He grabbed my wrist. Hard. The cup fell from my hand. The rest of the water sank into the ground.

“Una,” he said. “Where’s Una?”

“She’s in town. At the mayor’s house.”

“She’s alive?”

“Yes, yes, she’s alive.”

He let go, collapsed down on to the forest floor. I rubbed my wrist where he’d gripped it.

Mr Opal patted his hand around on the top of his head.

“Are you looking for your glasses? They’re in the barn. Hold on.”

I fetched the glasses. Handed him the two pieces.

“I tried to fix them, Mr Opal, but—”

“You stupid girl.” He held them to his bleeding face. “You stupid, stupid girl. You told them about us.”

He tried to get up but fell back down again. His glasses tumbled off.

I picked them up.

What should I do? I couldn’t leave him under the trees.

“Mr Opal,” I said, “it’s wet out here. I think we should get you inside.”

He let me help him. We made our way to the barn, me half lifting and him half crawling.

I sat him against the back wall. He panted and wheezed and coughed and cried with all the pain. I searched the sacks that had been torn from the walls, found a dry blanket and wrapped it round him.

“Here.” I took the trellicillin out. “You should take one of these.”