He went, half-running, to the gilded door, and tried the handle, and stepped through into another long room, almost identical to the one he had just left. The walls were leafed with silver and lined with weapons. A huge axe hung menacingly over a mantelpiece. Swords, crossed against each other, were suspended above shields with animals embellished on them. A mace, with a terrifying spiked ball at the end of a chain, looked like it might crush somebody’s skull with ease.

Tom stood in awe in front of a spear so heavy it would need a giant to heft it. He reached out to pick up a small jewelled arrowhead, and as he did so, he heard the sound of a door opening and he looked up to see a man entering from the other end of the room.

Almost immediately Tom stiffened. He knew this man. He was wearing a black high-peaked hat with a white feather in it, a black doublet and a white ruff, and white lace spilled from his sleeves like froth. From his left ear hung a diamond on a black ribbon.

It was the younger version of Jack Swinton, whom he’d seen sleeping in the attic.

Young Jack regarded Tom with a critical eye.

‘You have reached this far.’ He doffed his plumed cap and placed it on a table next to a sword in a jewelled scabbard. ‘You arrive armed.’

‘Who are you?’ Tom swivelled sideways so that the long heavy table was in between him and Young Jack. ‘What are you?’

‘James Swinton.’

‘But he’s ancient. You’re …’

‘I ain’t. Curious, is it not? I am still he. I have long inhabited these halls, which exist in a crystalline sphere encircling the terrestrial. I know little else. But there are so many worlds to discover. You saw the tapestries? She makes ’em.’

‘The Samdhya?’

‘She weaves ’em, imparting her knowledge into the threads. I know all their innermost secrets. The dark recesses of their knowledge. I have spoken with airy spirits and seen into the spheres of the cosmos.’ His face shone with passion.

‘What are they? The Samdhya?’ Tom was trying to position himself so that he could flee through the door behind him.

Young Jack picked at the lace on his cuffs. ‘They are not like us. They have been here always, and yet they tread the ways between worlds. They think that they protect us. Some might think that they keep us in ignorance.’ With sudden, balletic speed, he lifted up a small throwing spear and, leaning back a little onto his right foot, he hurled it with full force at Tom.

Some deep instinct made Tom duck, and the spear passed within a handspan of his shoulder. He peered at Young Jack, trembling. The most extraordinary smile was on his face, and his eyes were lit with malice. Tom felt for his sword. He had no idea how to use it.