Horatio settled himself comfortably on the mossy log. ‘This has been my home for the last thirty years,’ he said. ‘This log is my armchair during the day and it doubles up nicely as a bed at night. A few newspapers make lovely crispy blankets.’

Everyone winced.

‘Have a hot drink,’ said Sean, pouring him a cup.

‘And a hot pastry,’ added Tyler. ‘Actually have two. Have three!’

Horatio looked amused as the boys fussed about him like grandmas.

‘We’re the Space Brigade,’ said Nicola, and introduced each of them.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you all,’ said Horatio. ‘Mmmm, I’d quite forgotten the glorious sensation of eating and drinking hot food.’ He took a long sip of his hot chocolate, smacked his lips and said, ‘And tell me, what are you all doing in the Valley of High Hopes?’

‘We’re on our way –’ began Nicola. ‘We’re here because –’

She hesitated, remembering Joy’s warning that Enrico’s spies would be everywhere. There was too much snow crusted on Horatio’s head to see if he had the little ‘t’ mark that meant he was a Topaz supporter. Then again, it seemed like he’d been living in this valley for so long he might not even know that Topaz existed.

‘We’re on a mission for the Commander-in-Chief of Shobble,’ she said carefully.

‘Ah, and who might that be?’ asked Horatio. ‘I’m a few decades behind on my current affairs.’

‘His name is Enrico Aloisio,’ said Greta.

Horatio clapped his hands together and burst out laughing. ‘Not Naughty Enrico!’

‘Do you know him?’ asked Shimlara.

‘I was his teacher. He was a sweet child except for when things didn’t go his way. He used to throw the most remarkable tantrums, lying on the floor, kicking and screaming.’

‘I can imagine him doing that,’ said Sean.

‘And the poor child suffered from terrible phobias,’ said Horatio. ‘He had xanthophobia and –’

‘What’s that?’ asked Nicola.

‘Fear of the colour yellow,’ explained Horatio. ‘We had to hide the yellow paints or he’d end up dribbling in the corner. He also had koumpounophobia. That’s a fear of buttons. He was terrified of them! Let’s see, what else? Oh, yes, he had melophobia. That’s a fear of music. When he threw his tantrums I’d just threaten to sing a song and that would shut him up, quick smart! And there was one more thing . . .’

Horatio frowned at the sandwich Shimlara had just given him and then he snapped his fingers. ‘He had arachibutyrophobia. That’s a fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Tell me, does he still suffer from all those phobias?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nicola. ‘He is quite . . . strange.’