The iron gate out onto the park was hung with a row of dangling iron things, shears and old knives and a horseshoe, hot to the touch.

Denzil was certainly taking no chances.

She stopped and looked back.

On the highest eaves of the house a small gathering of starlings sat in a row. Their eyes were bright and they didn’t peck and shuffle but sat silently and intent.

They were watching her.

Even when she waved at them, they didn’t fly away.

4

A difficult story is told

Wings and feathers and cogs and wheels.

I wish you knew how strange it feels.

The summerhouse was a small thatched building by the lakeside, all lopsided and frail. It always looked as if it would collapse in the next high wind, but it never did.

Seren ducked her head under the doorway and saw that Tomos was already there, and that he was on his hands and knees pulling out yellow cushions from the locker under the wooden bench, and the croquet balls and mallets as well.

‘We could play a game later if you like…’ Lying flat, he dragged hoops from the back of the cobwebby darkness.

‘I don’t mind.’ Seren sat on a cushion and stretched her legs out. ‘Is the Crow here?’

‘Not yet.’

She listened to the birdsong. It was sweet and distant, from the woods. On the lake, coots and mallards were diving for deep weed and insects. The surface of the water was a shimmer of yellow iris and pondweed and the flat plates of water lilies, skimmed by dragonflies with shiny wings.

She fanned herself with her hat. It was lovely to sit in the shade.

‘I’d like to live here for ever and ever.’

‘Yes,’ Tomos said absently. He dragged out the last croquet hoop. Something else came with it. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Look at this.’

She leaned over. It was a very small fountain pen, all marbled green. Its nib gleamed like gold.

‘How did that get there?’

Tomos shrugged. ‘It’s probably my mother’s. She often brings her sewing and writing stuff out here. Maybe she dropped it and it rolled under there. I’ll ask her. It’s really nice, anyway.’

Seren opened her mouth to answer but there was a flutter of wings and the Crow swooped in and landed rather awkwardly on the wicker rail.

He looked around. ‘Kek kek. This place is hardly secure. But at least we’re away from the house.’

‘No one’s listening, if that’s what you mean.’ Tomos put the pen in his pocket.

‘Don’t you be so sure,’ the Crow said darkly. ‘Anyway, I’ve put a silencing spell over it now. Just in case.’

‘Is that why the birds have stopped singing?’ Seren asked, noticing.

The Crow sniffed. ‘Actually no. They’re all too busy laughing at me. I had a few small … accidents on the way here. Someone moved a wheelbarrow in my way, and that oak tree certainly wasn’t there yesterday.’

‘Is that why your tail feathers are all stuck out?’