‘Trust me.’ The Swan’s voice came over the water, along the path of the moon. ‘If you are brave, it will work. Goodbye now. Go through the silver gate, and good luck.’

The white swans followed her, a moonlit procession.

And the singing of the roses was a pure high note, until the swans vanished into the misty darkness, and only the moon was left.

The song of the flowers died away.

The garden was silent.

Seren turned. Her face was white. ‘What are we going to do?’

No one dared answer.

Finally the Crow lifted its head with an effort and sat up. ‘First we go back. Then … we do what she said.’

‘Brother!’ Enoch muttered.

‘I have no choice.’ The Crow shook itself irritably. ‘Come on now, stop moping. Let’s find this wretched gate and get out of here. I never want to see this place ever again.’

Enoch nodded sadly. He bent and picked the Crow up.

‘It’s over there.’ Tomos had been looking about. ‘See?’

The gate was a small silver one in the wall, and beyond it was a path that seemed to lead towards the castle. Seren led the way. As they hurried between the fragrant beds of roses and phlox and night-scented stock she wondered how on earth she would be able to do what the Swan had said.

It was impossible!

And a collar of diamonds! She could never wear it; everyone would say it was stolen. What on earth was she to do with it? She clasped it tight round her waist, to keep it safe.

At the gate she stopped, breathless, the others crowding behind.

‘Open it,’ the Crow said. ‘Quickly.’

The latch was silver. She pressed it down with her fingers and the gate opened and she walked through.

Onto the lawn of Plas-y-Fran.

Astonished, she heard the others come tumbling through behind her. In front of them the windows of the house were lit against the sky. The music of fiddles and harps was echoing across the lawn. Hundreds of lanterns hung from tree to tree.

‘The Midsummer Ball!’ Tomos breathed. ‘But how…’

He glanced back.

The silver gate was still open; beyond it they could see the path, and the castle, deep in its fragrant garden. And then, slowly and silently the gate swung shut.

The night closed over it.

And it was gone.

‘It’s as if it was really just there all the time,’ Enoch murmured after a moment.

‘If we’d known that it would have saved us a world of trouble,’ the Crow snapped. He turned. ‘Someone’s coming.’

It was Gwyn.

He ran out of the dark, breathless, ‘Seren! Diolch byth, you’re back! They are here and there and everywhere! Hundreds of them!’

‘Where’s Denzil?’

‘They’ve got him! I don’t know what to do!’

Seren scowled. ‘Come on!’ she yelled.