“Are you lost, son?” the man said in a kindly tone. “There, behind you. Isn’t that your parents?”

“What?” Alex looked behind, uncomprehending.

He was in a little dark street and he was five years old, and there were his mum and his dad at the corner where the sun was shining, calling him to come.

He turned back to the thing he’d been looking at.

A crammed old toy shop window. Behind the glass, there stood a grinning tin robot that he had wanted to show them. But when he looked at it now he realized it was just old and battered and very dusty. He turned away and ran to catch up with his parents.

They each took him by the hand, one on either side.

•  •  •

AT THE RUINED castle in the forest, the boy who called himself Alexander winced as he took a step.

“Damaged his foot, too,” he muttered to Alex’s grandfather, indicating the offending ankle. “Tiresome child. I fail to understand how you put up with his bleating.”

“Bunnies don’t bleat, Father,” Zia chirped, delighted. “They make squeaking sounds.”

“And look at you.” The boy jabbed Alex’s grandfather roughly with the cane. “You’ve allowed yourself to become decrepit. Ridiculous.” He threw the stick down as the old man collapsed.

“Nothing to say? Wits failing you now, too?” Alexander gestured toward the flower, which seemed to move its head slightly on the breeze, as if following their conversation. “There’s still time, you know. You could come back to us. Play the repentant prodigal. But, no. You and I have been through that.”

The boy limped across to the tall man’s lifeless body. He stood staring down at it for several seconds. Then he stooped to retrieve the man’s shiny black cane. He swished the stick in the air with satisfaction, then twisted the silver handle to withdraw a long, swordlike blade from inside.

“I’m already growing stronger.” He smiled at Zia. “Far sooner than I thought. It’s because the body feels so familiar, you see? I can even spare a little energy to dull the pain in this wretched ankle now.” He called across to Alex’s grandfather—“Mind over matter!”—then leapt in an almost dancerly fashion at him, landing lightly on the injured foot.

As he came down, he swept his blade violently at the old man on the ground, who just managed to parry it with his cane.

•  •  •

ALEX WOBBLED BUT kept going.

He was almost seven, and he was determined to do it, even though it was impossible. Most of his friends already knew how to ride a bike, but no one had been able to explain the mystery to him.

They were out on the street in front of their house. His mum stood away ahead, urging him on, beckoning him. His dad ran behind, holding the saddle with one hand, keeping him upright.