‘How?’

‘Well, we have a Box … only, Denzil, if you had a thing that wouldn’t open, that wouldn’t do what you wanted, however much you tried to make it, what would you do?’

‘An enchanted thing?’ Denzil said sharply.

‘Yes.’

‘You be careful, Seren bach.’

‘We are careful. And it’s not just me and Tomos. A friend is helping us. A feathered friend, if you know what I mean.’

‘Mmm.’ Denzil puffed at his pipe. Then he knocked a dottle of tobacco from it onto the edge of the table. ‘Your schoolmaster. I know him.’

Seren nodded. She was never sure how much Denzil knew about the Crow. Though actually, she thought, there wasn’t much that Denzil didn’t know about what went on in Plas-y-Fran. Suddenly she wanted to know if Captain Jones had asked him any questions about her, but it was too late. As he stood and picked up his plate he murmured something so quietly that only she could hear over the clash and clatter of pans.

‘As for your Box, I would ask it.’

‘Ask it?’

Denzil leaned closer. ‘An enchanted object needs to have respect shown it, bach. So yes, I would ask it, politely, to open itself, if I was you.’

Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Dumping her spoon in the dish, and leaving Gwyn and Tomos staring, she ran.

In the schoolroom the Crow was perched on the globe. It shrugged haughtily. ‘Well, if you think the opinion of a mere servant is better than mine, go ahead.’

‘Denzil is not a mere servant. I’m going to try it.’

She stood looking down at the Box, her hands on the starry cover. Then she said, ‘Box of the Midnight Swan, listen to me. We’re really sorry we’ve been trying to force you open. It’s up to you. But it would be really nice if you let us see what’s inside you. Please.’

Nothing happened.

Tomos hurtled in through the door. ‘What…?’

The Crow held up a wing, then folded it, smug. ‘Seren has some ridiculous idea that…’

The Box exploded.

That was the only word for it. It burst open with an enormous crash. All sorts of things were flung out, smacking against the walls and ceiling.

Seren ducked; Tomos screeched.

The Crow stared.

Flowers and bees, sugar almonds and gingerbread. Swallows and swifts and a squirrel that scampered straight out of the window and up a tree. A glorious sweet-smelling fountain of thousands of petals and seeds that surged up to the ceiling and pattered down on tables and chairs and floor all over the room like crimson rain.

Seren watched, wide-eyed.

Slowly, everything fell and settled.

When the last petal had drifted down she took her arms off her head and stood up again.

‘Gosh,’ she said. And then, to the Box, ‘Thanks.’

The schoolroom was transformed. It was as scented as a beautiful garden and carpeted with petals. On the table, the Box lay open, its lid wide.