Moss bared his teeth at me but I saw with relief that he had withdrawn the knife a little. ‘Sit down, bitch, or I will cut her head off.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘You will come back with me too, Elspeth Gordie, doxy to the master of Obernewtyn. Him and all the beast lovers will cringe and weep and grovel to do my bidding, once they see I have you. And if they don’t move fast enough, why you can use your filthy mutant powers on them. I heard you can kill with your mind. I’d like to see that.’ He grinned horribly and I saw that his teeth were streaked with blood. ‘You’d have killed me I guess, if it wasn’t for the demon band I wear.’

My mouth fell open as I understood why Dragon had not been able to affect him, and then it struck me that this might be why he was sick. He must not know or perhaps he did not believe it when it was made known that demon bands were filled with tainted matter that would prevent the mind of a wearer being entered by a Misfit, but would eventually kill them.

His blackened lips split in a wide, delighted smile that made the sores about his mouth crack and ooze glistening pus. ‘Show me the trick now, mutant. Kill the gypsy there. Do it or I will kill the girl.’

‘Moss,’ Analivia cried, but even as her brother turned towards her, a small owl appeared out of the enfolding darkness on silent grey wings, talons outstretched as it flew at Moss’s face. He bellowed and instinctively lifted his hands to protect his eyes. The little owl banked at the last second to cut away and vanish into the black night as soundlessly as it had come.

After a stunned moment, both Swallow and I sprang forward and I was conscious of Darga leaping from his nest of blankets at the same moment, but the knife that flew between us was faster and buried itself in the left side of Moss’s chest with a woody thump. It was a clean and perfect kill and Moss did not utter a sound as he fell flat on his back with the heavy lifeless thud of a sack of flour.

I ran to scoop up Dragon who had slid boneless to the ground when Moss released her to fend off the owl. I was terrified that he might have killed her but thankfully he had missed the vein. Even so the cut was deep enough that blood ran freely down her neck and her skin felt cold and clammy. I looked up to ask for a blanket and saw Analivia swaying on her feet, her expression a ghastly mixture of horror and triumph.

Only then did I realise that it was she who had thrown the knife.