Craftsman Primrose looked at his pocket watch. “Ah, time for me to get along. You three finish up here and check out any allowed books with Phineas. I’ll see you all soon.”

Agapantha was suddenly scribbling furiously in her notebook.

“What are you doing?” Prue asked after a while.

“Calculations; the current population of Medlock and the surrounding area, and the population history of the city. What Craftsman Primrose said got me thinking about the probability of being brought back. And this equation should work it out. It’s not accurate by any means, without precise statistics, but it would give a rough idea.”

Prue wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Edwin peered over at Agapantha’s calculations.

“I mean, these are approximate guesses at numbers, but I would say P, that stands for probability, equals something in the region of 1 in 859,746.”

“Oh, that’s low,” Prue said, suddenly deflated.

Agapantha thought for a moment. “True, but what are the chances of you being born into a first life?”

“The odds of that are probably off the scale!” said Edwin.

“And there may be other factors at play that are not in my calculation. For example, I was reading that based on a predominance of modern languages and dialects, some believe that it’s easier to bring back someone who has recently passed on from their first life.”

Prue felt a surge of hope knowing that.

Edwin nodded thoughtfully. “And maybe if a spirit wants it badly enough there’s more of a chance too.”

Prue thought back to a time she’d been out with Francis at the river near North Owlcot. They’d made a rope swing to get across; Francis had gone first and just made it to the other side, teetering on the edge for a while, flailing his arms before gaining his balance. He called back to her to join him.

“I won’t make it!” she’d shouted.

“You will if you want to! It depends how much you really want it.”

“I’ll fall.”

He folded his arms. “Then you stay that side and go on back to the farm, and I’ll stay here and eat all Dad’s apple tart to myself.” He grinned, took it out of his backpack and held it to his mouth.

“You wouldn’t dare!” she shouted.

“I did dare, and now I’m this side of the river. It’s you who won’t dare!” He laughed, and Prue tightened her lips and scowled at him.

“But the chances of me falling in the river are higher than reaching the other side. If I stay here the odds are one hundred percent certain I’ll stay dry.” She sat on the bank.

“Oh, come on, Prue; the odds are better if you believe it’s possible! Just believe.”