The Crow emitted a terrible groan.

‘And They just said yes?’ Tomos asked.

Seren raised her eyebrows. ‘Well…’

‘NO,’ the Crow said. ‘No! I’m not having this!’ It shook its head so hard feathers flew out. ‘I’ve told you a hundred times you never NEVER make requests of Them! They always want something in return, and there are two things They like best – as you well know – one is treasure and the other is a human child. So, please tell me, you foolish, foolish, foolish girl, that you didn’t make Them any sort of promise.’

Seren felt unhappy. She didn’t think she had ever seen the Crow so upset. She said quietly, ‘Just a very little one. Nothing at all really. It’s just … I had to do something. And I’m sorry we argued and that I said you deserved to be a clockwork bird. That was a nasty thing to say.’

The Crow drew itself up with dignity. ‘I’m sorry, too. I’m afraid it has led to a most dangerous situation.’

‘But aren’t you glad to have the Egg?’ Tomos jumped up. ‘I mean we can take it straight to the Swan and she will give you back your human shape and everything will be all right! That’s good, isn’t it?’

The Crow was silent. Then he nodded heavily. ‘Let’s hope so. Dear me, let’s hope so.’ He glanced at Seren sideways and she knew he was deeply worried. ‘Let’s hope we haven’t paid too high a price.’ Then he preened a feather thoughtfully. ‘Right. We leave at once. We need to be back by midnight. Tomos, you’ll bring the Box. And I also want three other things.’

‘What?’ Tomos breathed. ‘A sword? A compass?’

‘Silly boy. Those things are useless where we’re going. I want a mirror, a small glass pyramid…’

Tomos stared. ‘They don’t sound very useful.’

‘You know nothing about magic.’

‘What’s the third?’

The Crow looked at him sly and sideways.

‘A pin-cushion. Full of pins.’

Seren raced upstairs to wash her green hands and face.

Plas-y-Fran felt strange. The corridors were shivery and excited. All the windows were wide open, and little gusts of warm breezes lifted the gauzy curtains and creaked the doors.

As she passed the drawing room she saw it was beautifully dressed for the Midsummer Ball.

Hangings of yellow silk and blue damask drifted. All the paintings had been dusted and their gilt frames shone. Huge bunches of flowers – lavender and phlox and night-scented stock – stood in glass vases and perfumed the air. As she raced by, her small reflection flickered in polished furniture and mirrors and shiny cabinets.

She washed at top speed, pulled on clean boots and raced back down again, but as she hurtled past the side table in the hall a large letter in the tray caught her eye.

She stopped dead.

Then she went closer.

It was a creamy, heavy-looking envelope, thick with paper. It was addressed to Captain Jones, Plas-y-Fran, Urgent and Personal. In the bottom right hand corner the sender’s name was printed.