‘She is of us and above us. She is the least and the greatest of us. She is Song in Trees, Light on Water.’

It all felt impossible. ‘I can’t … I don’t know what to do.’

A sickness gathered in Tom’s stomach, like a heavy stone. His nerves seemed to be clogging up his throat.

‘Tanenwod will watch. If you need her, play the flute, and she will do what she can.’

Rohenga reached out and grasped Tom by the shoulder, showing his pointed white teeth. At any moment, Rohenga might strike, or fly away. But the stately, dark-eyed Samdhya smiled, and looked away from Tom. ‘I must not look at you too long. You do not wish to be one of us.’

There was a rustling, like leaves in the breeze, and instead of the Samdhya, Tom was surrounded by animals. Red stags with branching antlers, gentle does, a badger’s white stripe in the dark, the eyes of rats and hedgehogs and squirrels and jays and ravens, everywhere, on every branch and covering the ground all around him. Then, as if at a signal unheard, they were gone, and all Tom could see was a rabbit’s white scut, away into the distance.

The journey back passed as if he were in a dream. Leana had bounded on ahead. Tom barely saw his feet, his mind focused on one thing only, reaching for it, rubbing at its edges, the dark, hard, hopeless task that lay ahead of him.

The ridged top of the farmhouse appeared through the trees, and he stood looking at it. Its boundaries blurred. Once more it seemed to shift into a different kind of house, turreted and impregnable. Then the illusion disappeared and the farmhouse returned to its solid form.

He had to think clearly. He had to face up to Jack now. He had to find the Captive, release her.

The short sword that Zita had given him. He went stealthily into the kitchen. The remains of his lunch were still on the table and the draughts that he had had to make. He tucked a few of them into his pockets, hoping they would come in useful. Then he spooned the contents of a tin of tuna into his mouth, washing it down with water. The sword, he remembered, was hanging in the hall, in a small alcove. The door into the main hall was closed.

He opened it quietly and peered inside. It was shadowy and cool and empty. Tom listened for footsteps, but could hear none. Jack must be in his rooms, he surmised, floating throughout time, watching Brutus kill Caesar, perhaps, or the Great Wall of China being built or the first human awakening into consciousness.