‘What’s going on – what is this? Did you drug me?’ It couldn’t be happening, thought Tom. This was impossible. A house that changed as he looked at it, walls of energy surrounding them.

‘Them’s the wards. We keep them up. We don’ let the Folk in. Shalt find out soon enough,’ answered Kit.

‘I’m not going any further till you tell me. Who are they? The Folk? Are they the same people that shot that arrow at us?’

Infuriatingly, Kit chewed slowly on the end of his nail and then spat out of the side of his mouth. ‘Master’ll tell you soon enough.’

He strode on and Tom, flummoxed, scampered after him.

They stopped at another junction. There was a drained feeling in Tom’s limbs. Kit grabbed Tom’s hand once more.

‘We have to do it again? I don’t … I don’t think I can …’

‘You maun!’ Kit spoke savagely, more savagely than Tom had heard him yet, and he was reminded of Zita’s snarl. Watch them, Jack had said. Was this what he meant?

‘And if I don’t?’

Kit said, after a deep sigh, ‘Folk’ll get in.’

Tom thought of the arrow, quivering, an inch away from him. The beat of the bird scarers.

Kit grasped Tom by the wrist. Once more there was that plaintiveness, deep in his silver eyes.

‘All right,’ said Tom. Kit released him, and Tom felt the place where he’d gripped. It hurt a little.

Sweat was pooling down his neck. He didn’t understand; he didn’t know what was happening to him. Only a day or so ago he had known, or thought he’d known, the limits of his world. But I was wrong, he thought. I was wrong.

And so, gently at first, they repeated the process. They did it at crossroads, at the corners of fields, several times, and each time Tom found it easier to find and avoid the strange dark points of the Folk’s power; although as he said the words, he felt power pouring out of him until his bones ached.

‘When can we stop?’ he said, after they’d done it four times. But Kit simply pressed onwards, and Tom had no choice but to follow.

Once, Kit paused by an ash tree, and Tom wondered if he was also tired. Kit closed his eyes and muttered something. Tom noted this in a half-aware kind of way and wondered if it was the sort of thing that Jack was going to ask him about. He didn’t feel comfortable watching Kit, even if he was up to something.

By the time they had reached the small pond on the south-western side of the farm, he was beginning to droop, his movements languid.