The forest was hushed around him, and before long he was sunk inside his mental journey. He passed the old tin toy and opened the door that led on to the old clay tablet. Now he held the tablet in his mind. For a moment, he glimpsed himself from above, a boy sitting in the woods in flickering light. The mountain quietly urged him on. He opened the door and pushed his thoughts through.

And now there was Kenzie.

Alex concentrated hard on the other boy. It was easy to bring him into focus. The face had given him nightmares during the long years Kenzie had bullied him. Kenzie was trying to talk, but he didn’t seem to know how.

Alex directed his entire concentration at Kenzie. He told him to be quiet. He could see the door that led to the light behind Kenzie now. Kenzie was blocking the way. He couldn’t get around him. There was only one thing to do. Alex gathered his mind and used it to shove Kenzie. Kenzie made a protesting gesture, but he fell easily backward, fell against the door, opening it, fell through the door, fell into the light.

And now the light came surging at Alex. Or he was moving toward it, moving away from the lonely mountain. All he could hear was the relentless ticking of Harry’s old watch on his wrist. Minutes ticked by without him. Alex had the impression of riding on the watch’s second hand, sweeping around a massive golden dial made of light, pushing time away. And somewhere in the light was Harry Morecambe.

Harry, he thought, and attempted to recall him in as much detail as he could—light in his eyes, lines on his face. Harry Morecambe. Old Harry. Child Harry, hiding in your bomb craters. Where are you hiding now?

As that question formed, Alex felt it move out from him, into the light.

He kept focusing on his vision. Two new doors had appeared.

You need to go to the right.

Right-hand door. It was locked. But Alex knew that the key to open it was shaped like the sound of the words in the name Harry Morecambe, and as he formed the words, the key was in his hand and the lock was turning and the door was opening and—

A sharp sound shocked him back into the forest clearing with a rush that left him dazed. The light through the branches had grown dim, tinged with red. The light flickered. There was a faint hissing on the air, dying away. But it hadn’t been that which had alarmed him. Alex looked in panic to the pile where Harry lay. Nothing had changed. The noise had come from across the clearing.

His grandfather stood alert in the shadows there, cane in hand, head cocked, listening to the woods.

“Grandad.” Alex rubbed his aching neck. “How long have I been sitting here?”