Jack stormed to the gap, heedless of the jagged fragments. ‘He broke through.’ He bent down with savage power and picked up the shimmering ball of flame where it lay smoking on the flags. ‘He broke through the wards.’ The flames did not seem to harm him, but licked around his forearms as if he were made of stone.

‘Take heed, James Swinton,’ called the Samdhya, now uncloaking himself, the red lining billowing out in the breeze, long black hair flaming behind him. ‘Take heed, you and your whelp.’

Tom saw the leopard tattooed on his face. It was him, the one who had warned him, the one who had cut him behind the school. He should have listened to him.

Jack gathered himself together and sent the blazing stone flying back out of the window. ‘Shalt see!’ he shouted. ‘After the hour of noon, shalt see what thou hast wrought!’

The effort left him gasping, clutching the back of a tapestried chair.

It had worked. The missile was soaring over the moat and slammed straight into the Samdhya, shoving him over onto his back.

Kit’s eyes were closed; his hands were tightly clenched and his brow furrowed. Tom watched in astonishment as he muttered a word, and the glass on the ground shivered, before rising up and fitting itself back together into the window.

When it had finished, Jack, still smouldering with rage, shook his fist; but the Samdhya had gone. A thin spiral of smoke was all that remained.

Exhausted, Kit sank to the floor and put his head in his hands.

‘Well, Tom,’ said Zita, who had appeared and was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The silver bracelet was still on her wrist; it puckered her skin. ‘I suppose you’ve properly met your first Samdhya now. Charming, aren’t they? Such a way with words.’ She twirled round, her dress glittering. ‘And so elegant. They always make me want to dance.’

‘Stop it, Zita,’ gasped Kit. ‘I need your healing draught.’

‘What happened?’

‘Had to put the window back …’

‘Oh you poor thing. You must be shattered. Oh, dear, there I go again. I didn’t mean to pun.’ Genuinely perturbed, Zita rushed to the kitchen and reappeared a few seconds later with a mug full of hot water, into which she was pouring some thick, dark liquid. ‘Here. This will restore you.’ She stirred it with a spoon and handed it to him.

Kit took it, sipped and then swallowed the mixture. He gagged, but almost immediately, colour returned to his face. He relaxed a little.

All the while, Jack was striding up and down, muttering, ‘He broke through the wards. We could not see him. He has discovered some new way, some new path. I must find it out, I must.’