Something about it turned Alex’s stomach. Acting on instinct, he whipped the flier from his pocket and threw it hard. As it sailed away from him, he caught it with his mind, put life in the wings, and aimed at Zia. He moved a finger. The machine raised its scalpel arm, going into attack

“Now, don’t be silly,” Zia said flatly, using her own voice.

Two silvery blurs burst from her coat and slammed into Alex’s flier from either side. It felt as if his brain had been squeezed in a vise. The pain made him almost black out. He fell, faintly aware of his flier dropping stunned before him. He didn’t think he would be able to move again.

“He was right,” Zia mused.

Alex could vaguely see her through his watering eyes. He heard a whirring. Something was pulling at his coat. Lots of things. A team of fliers, lifting him. The pain in his head was too intense to fight back. He hung limp between them.

“We’ll just pop you safely back in your pot to stew a bit.”

Alex felt himself carried up and back. His head hammered, but he forced himself to start struggling. As his wavering vision cleared, he saw that the machines held him directly over the well’s yawning mouth. He stopped writhing in case they dropped him, then started worrying that dropping him was exactly what they intended, anyway. Instead, they lowered him softly to the bottom, then flew off, one pausing to lift the rope ladder out as it went.

“Where’s my grandad?” Alex yelled up at the empty sky. “What have you done with him?”

“Hmmm?” Zia’s shuddering silhouette reappeared. “Oh, he’s away over there somewhere.” She waved a hand idly. “Not done anything to him, bunnykins. What to do with you is the question now.” She paused, as if considering options, then clicked her tongue.

“Plan was to just keep a wee eye on you, then come visit you later in your dreary suburban burrow back in Blighty, bunny, once we’d concluded our current business. But my doddering old brother would keep bringing you closer and closer, and, well, if he insists on serving you up on a platter, seems rude to refuse. What did you think you were doing poking around the pulpit pieces? I’d’ve thought the old man would know better by now. How many friends is he willing to lose? The gate will open regardless, child. It’s all coming together.

“Anyway. Father’s awful keen to meet you, little leaping lepus. He reckoned you have an interestingly shaped mind. Reckoned it might be worth the cultivation. Family blood and all that. I reckoned your mind would be about as interesting as a wet lettuce on a Wednesday, but there we go. I will grudgingly concede there might be some very limited potential for teensy talent of an extremely minor kind.