They went to bed early that night, and for once Tom did not dream about the house; instead he dreamt of his parents. Little things: their voices, their clothes, their eyes, which he had thought he might have forgotten, or remembered wrongly, came to him. His mother, stroking his hair when he was ill with a fever. His father, reading a comic book to him.

But in the dream they would slip away, around a corner, and when he followed them, he would find an empty room.

Leana woke him up. She was moaning, in her strange, musical, lurchery way, and scrabbling at his door to get out. He could hear footsteps on the landing outside, and then Zita’s voice. He stumbled out of bed and into the corridor, still in his boxer shorts and T-shirt.

The thumping noise that Kit had told him was bird scarers was pounding in from outside.

Zita was carrying a candle in a lantern; her face looked eerie in the glow. Kit had appeared from somewhere, fully dressed; but there was no sign of Jack. Leana slipped downstairs.

‘They’re not bird scarers, are they?’ said Tom as they huddled on the top of the landing.

‘Drums.’ Zita bit her lip. ‘War drums.’

They hurried to the window in the hall. The moon was behind a cloud. From across the island they could see dozens of points of flame from candles. All held in the hands of Samdhya.

‘Are they attacking now?’

‘The wards are strong. Tom ’n’ I did them in the afternoon.’

They stood, uncertain, at the window whilst the beat of the drum jangled their nerves.

‘Someone’s standing at the end of the bridge,’ said Tom. In the flickering candlelight, a tall, shadowy figure had separated from the mass of Samdhya, and was leaning on the gate.

‘I think the darlings want to talk. Let me deal with them.’ Zita strode to the door and began pulling open the bolts. Kit went to stop her, but she shoved him away.

‘We’ll all go,’ said Tom, firmly, though his stomach was twisting and his mouth was dry. He pulled on boots, which rubbed against his bare shins, and put on a Barbour. Zita was wearing a silk kimono with a red dragon on the back, and red slippers. Her hair was tousled. Not for the first time, Tom wondered if Kit ever slept. The boy’s silver eyes were gleaming with anticipation and his hair seemed to glow.

Outside it was cool, and a bright gibbous moon had appeared. The Samdhya, arrayed on the other side of the bridge, stilled their drumming and stood in ranks, flames flickering light across their faces.