‘Yes. Mothga in wolf cave. I think I heard her, earlier on, before you saved me.’ I rub my sore shoulder. ‘Before the wolf came. I’m sure I heard a baby crying, way back in the cave.

‘Come,’ I say, beckoning Harby to join me. And this time he does follow me as I shuffle back along the ledge, through the net of branches, right up to the mouth of Deadman’s Cave. I take a deep breath, then, acting so much braver than I feel, I put one hand on the damp stone wall and step back into the dripping dark.

DEN

I edge forward through the dark, using the wall to guide me.

I can hear the shuffle of Harby’s bare feet on the stony floor behind me. I make out the dim shadow of the dead wolf’s body lying slumped in the dark. I sidestep to avoid it, holding my breath and trying not to think about the bloody fur, the sound of the spear snapping as the wolf rolled on to it.

I listen for the mewling cry. Nothing. Just the cave drip-drip-dripping and our own soft breath. A flicker of doubt. Did I really hear a baby? Mr Pasco’s voice creeps into my imaginings: ‘… somewhat prone to flights of fancy …’

‘Shut up, Mr Pasco,’ I hiss.

‘Shudda. Misdda. Passka,’ whispers Harby from behind me. Solemnly, like these are words in a spell.

I smile, my fear melting a little. ‘Shudda. Misdda. Passka,’ I say in agreement.

I lead us further and further back into the cave, beyond any daylight, into the deepest dark. Listening hard. Then the pad-pad of Harby’s footsteps behind me stops. I stop too.

‘Cholliemurrum?’ he says. ‘Where Mothga?’

And just at that moment I hear it. The tiniest furthest softest squeak. Harby hears it too. We grab each other.

‘Mothga?’ I whisper.

Harby says nothing but he walks on ahead of me now. We shuffle forward until it feels like we’re right in the heart of the cliff. The air is colder here and tastes metallic, like snow. My eyes are finally getting accustomed to the dark and I can make out the dim shapes of stalactites hanging like black icicles from the cave roof.

A little burst of whimpering, slightly louder. We freeze to listen. Echoes make it sound like lots of babies. For a second I let myself imagine that deep in this cave, Dara might be waiting with Mothga too. The noise fades as fast as it came.

‘Come,’ says Harby; he’s moving quicker now. I can almost taste his hope and urgency in the darkness. I get a little shiver of excitement spiced with fear.

The roof gets lower and we have to hunch over; then we’re crawling, squeezing ourselves along what feels like a tunnel. The air is thin, like there’s not quite enough of it. I try not to think about all the rock pressing down around me; I concentrate on how badly my knee stings on the gritty floor and the throbbing in my shoulder. Then, I might be imagining it, but up ahead of us, it seems slightly lighter.