First published in paperback in Great Britain 2016

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2016 Jenny Nimmo

Cover illustration by George Ermos

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

First e-book edition 2016

ISBN 978 1 4052 8087 7

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1740 3

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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For Max, with love.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

The Yellow Letter

Timeless

Henchmen

The House in the Forest

Into the Tower

The Mayor and His Monster

Hiding in the Attic

A Cry in the Night

Ankaret and the Bomb

The Guardians

The Shaidi Workroom

Talk of Goblins

The Night Forest

The Goydrok

Miss Notamoth’s Surprise

The Day of the Pan Shining

Lucy’s Whisperers

Trapped

The Tempest

The Wizard

Back series promotional page

The yellow letter arrived on a Saturday, otherwise Henry would have been at school. The envelope was such a bright, sunny colour, no one would have believed that it contained a bombshell

There had been a storm in the night and the postman was late. Henry went out to see if the wild ocean had flooded the road. He knew he shouldn’t stand so close to the edge of the cliff, but he had survived so many dark and dangerous events, he had decided that nothing could finish him off. That was before he knew the contents of the yellow envelope.

Henry lived with his aunt, Pearl, and a black and white cat called Enkidu. Pearl wasn’t his real aunt, she was more of a minder, but she was distantly related to Henry, and also his cousin, Charlie. Henry’s parents had died long ago, nearly a hundred years in his father’s case. How could that be, you might ask, if Henry was only twelve?

That was his secret.

Henry’s life had changed in an instant, almost a century ago. He had been alone in the great hall of his uncle’s gloomy house when a large and beautiful marble had come rolling towards him. Unaware of the danger, Henry had picked it up and looked into it. He had been thrust into the future, and had lived in the present for almost two years, but in all that time he hadn’t grown. Not one inch.

Henry’s home was a small white-washed house perched halfway up a rugged cliff. For obvious reasons the house was called Ocean View. It was a place of safety for a boy whose past was almost too incredible to be believed.

Frank, the postman, arrived at last. He was a wiry, cheerful person with a wide smile and large, pink ears. He never complained about the steep lane that led up to the house nor the road below that was frequently puddled with sea water.

Henry met Frank at the front door. ‘Hullo, Frank. Have you had a bad time?’ Henry looked up at the rain-filled clouds.

‘Not so bad.’ Frank placed a bundle of mail in Henry’s hands.

The yellow letter was on top.

‘Interesting!’ Frank tapped the stamp in the corner. ‘Diplodocus, is it?’

‘Iguanodon,’ said Henry.

‘I’ll learn them one day.’ Frank grinned and got back into his van. ‘Give my regards to Auntie Pearl!’ he called as he sped off.

Henry regarded the yellow envelope. The name and address had been written in a large sloping hand. There was no mistaking Aunt Treasure’s round dots and sweeping tails. He took the mail into the kitchen where his aunt was making a chocolate cake.

Pearl was a small, round woman with dark, greying hair and permanently rosy cheeks. Henry placed the letters as close to the mixing bowl as he dared. He waited, hopefully, for Pearl to pick up the yellow envelope. She glanced at it and smiled. ‘Ah, from my sister.’

But the letter wasn’t opened until the chocolate cake was in the oven and Pearl’s hands were clean. Henry tried not to appear nosey, but he was keen to know what Treasure had to say. He sensed a secret, something too important to be said on the phone.

Pearl took ages to read the letter. The more she read, the more she frowned. It seemed that she couldn’t quite comprehend what her sister had written. And then she opened her eyes, very wide, and dropped the letter. Clasping her face in both hands, she said breathily, ‘Henry, go and pack your bag.’

‘What?’ Henry couldn’t believe Pearl’s instruction.

‘Now!’ she commanded. ‘Now, Henry. Not a moment to lose.’

‘But . . .’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ Agitation made her words sound like a kind of scream.

‘You said pack a bag. But why?’

‘I’ll explain later.’ Pearl tore off her apron and ran to the kitchen door. ‘Come on, Henry. This is no time to dream.’

‘I’m not dreaming,’ Henry mumbled as he followed Pearl upstairs. ‘Or maybe I am, because I’m not sure that this is really happening. Charlie was coming today.’

‘Not now,’ said Pearl.

‘But we’d made plans. I’ve been thinking about them all week. Charlie is the only –’

‘You can see your cousin when . . .’ Pearl hesitated. ‘When all this is over.’

‘All what? Charlie’s my best friend, and I only see him at weekends.’

Pearl ignored him. ‘Pack everything you might need: pyjamas, wash-bag, clean underwear . . .’ She reeled off a list. Henry wondered how he was going to fit it all in.

Enkidu, Henry’s cat, was asleep on his bed.

‘We’re going away,’ Henry told his large, exceptionally fluffy friend. ‘So who’s going to look after you?’

Enkidu didn’t appear to be concerned. He was snoring.

Henry began to throw things into his bag, while Pearl shouted from her room. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry!’ And then she called, ‘Henry, take something you love.’

Henry looked at Enkidu. ‘OK,’ he called back.

Throwing stuff out of his bag, he picked up Enkidu and put him in the bag. Enkidu didn’t mind. He didn’t even wake up. But he stopped snoring. If he hadn’t, things might have turned out very differently.

Henry zipped up the bag, leaving a tiny gap at the end to give the cat some air.

Pearl was already thumping down the stairs. Henry ran after her. He grabbed his anorak from the hallstand as Pearl opened the front door. ‘Come on, come on!’ she said.

‘Can’t you tell me where we’re going?’ Henry complained.

‘Somewhere safe,’ Pearl murmured. ‘It’s complicated.’

But I was safe here, wasn’t I? Henry thought.

Just in time, Pearl remembered to turn off the oven. She didn’t bother to remove the cake. When they were both outside Pearl locked the front door. Henry saw that her hands were shaking. A bad sign; Henry thought Pearl was a risky driver at the best of times. He waited while she backed the car out of the lean-to beside the house.

‘Hop in!’ called Pearl when she had manoeuvred on to the lane.

Henry put his bag carefully on to the back seat, then jumped in beside his aunt. He noticed that Pearl had only brought a handbag. There was no sign of anything for her overnight things.

‘Aren’t you –?’ Henry began.

‘Hold tight,’ said Pearl.

They swooped down the muddy lane and bounced on to the wet road. After ten minutes they turned off on to a narrow track. Henry had never gone this way before. Half an hour later they emerged on to a busy main road. On and on they went, through villages and small towns, over bleak brown moors and narrow bridges, through tunnels and around forests. The light began to fade and evening mists drifted up from the damp fields.

‘You said you would tell me why we’re doing this.’ Henry’s head felt heavy and he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Pearl took a breath. ‘People were coming.’ Her voice became deep and grave. ‘Someone talked about you, Henry. We don’t know who, it could have been quite accidental. But anyway, these . . . these beasts got wind of you, who you are and how you haven’t grown. And they would have taken you, Henry, for . . .’ her hands tensed on the wheel, ‘who knows what. But certainly I couldn’t have stopped them.’

Henry shivered. He was suddenly wide awake. ‘The yellow letter,’ he said. ‘It was a warning.’

‘Yes, from Treasure. She tried to ring but our phone was out of order, and we don’t get a mobile signal in our faraway part of the world.’

‘But why, Auntie Pearl? Why were they so determined to take me?’

She took a moment to reply, and then she said quietly, ‘They believe that you, and others like you, hold the key to obtaining the greatest prize on earth.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Henry, somehow dreading the answer.

‘I think you can guess,’ his aunt said gravely. ‘The secret of eternal youth.’

‘Because I haven’t grown,’ Henry whispered.

They drove in silence for a while, and his mind raced so fast he began to feel dizzy. A loud noise from his stomach distracted him. He thought of the chocolate cake left in the oven. ‘Did you bring sandwiches?’ he asked, without much hope. ‘Or biscuits?’

Pearl shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Henry.’

Henry tried not to think about food, but he couldn’t help thinking of the chocolate cake, with loads of chocolate icing on the top. He could even taste it.

They drove through a dark, dense pine forest, emerging, at last, on to a wide road where lights twinkled in the distance.

‘There’ll be somewhere to eat,’ Pearl said cheerfully.

And there was. Halfway down the high street of a friendly-looking village they found a small, bright cafe with steamy windows and red checked tablecloths.

Henry tried to forget the people that were coming to get him, while he concentrated on his food. He had almost finished his large plate of sausages, chips and beans when he suddenly remembered his cat.

‘Enkidu!’ he cried, dropping his fork.

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Pearl, in a matter-of-fact voice.

‘He’s in the car,’ said Henry, ‘in my bag.’

‘What?’ Pearl scrunched up her eyes. ‘How could you be so stupid?’

‘You told me to bring something I loved,’ said Henry defiantly.

Pearl gave a loud sigh of exasperation. She put her keys on the table. ‘You’d better let him out. He’ll want to go for a pee.’

It sounded as if Pearl hoped Enkidu would go off and not return. Henry grabbed his remaining sausage and dashed outside. Enkidu ate the sausage gratefully, had a pee in a muddy verge, covered it with leaves and happily jumped back into the car.

Henry was about to run back into the cafe when Pearl came out of the door. ‘In the car, Henry,’ she said. ‘We must keep going.’

Henry hadn’t finished all his chips, but Pearl looked so stern, he didn’t like to mention it.

They drove through the darkness, their headlights shining on long, winter grass and high, wild hedges. On and on.

‘How d’you know where to go, Auntie Pearl?’ Henry’s voice sounded small and fearful.

‘A map in my head,’ she said. ‘My sister put it there.’ And there was the ghost of a smile in her voice. ‘We’re looking for an arch with carvings on it, birds and beasts and flowers and things.’

Henry became aware of a wall beside them. Not the usual kind of wall, but a screen of trees, laced with stone. A wall that vanished now and then, like a memory, a dream, a wall that could never be touched, a wall that would never let you through. And, all at once, there was the arch that would allow them into a place that had appeared to be forbidden.

‘Not birds and beasts,’ Henry whispered. For the carvings in the pale stone pillars of the arch were not birds, they were the bones of sad, fragile creatures that perhaps no longer existed.

‘It’s nearly midnight,’ said Pearl. ‘We’re just in time.’

‘Midnight already?’ Henry sat up very straight in his seat. Pearl accelerated a little, as though she wanted to get through the arch as soon as possible. They passed under the big, ghostly stones and emerged into total darkness.

The engine stopped. The headlights went out. Perhaps they were not in the car at all, for Henry couldn’t feel the rim of his seat, or his safety belt. He could hardly breathe. The darkness all about them was so dense and so black it seemed to smother them.

Enkidu growled.

Henry reached for Pearl’s hand. He could feel nothing.

‘It’ll be all right, Henry.’ Her voice came from a long way away.

Slowly the impenetrable darkness began to lighten. The smothering feeling lifted and Henry could hear the reassuring purr of the engine. They were moving again, and as they moved a peculiar thing happened. Ahead of them the sun began to rise; higher and higher, faster and faster. The night clouds melted away, leaving the sky a clear ice-blue.

‘There,’ said Pearl, pulling down her sunshield. ‘All is well.’

‘Is it?’ Henry was baffled by the sudden appearance of the sun. What had happened to the hours between midnight and sunrise? ‘You said there were birds on the arch. Those weren’t birds.’

‘Treasure’s writing is a little . . . untidy.’ Pearl gave an unconvincing chuckle.

They were travelling along a road that ran between rows of warehouses. Beyond them a vast forest stretched as far as the eye could see. The huge doors in every warehouse had been thrown wide open, as though in expectation of some giant delivery.

‘Weird,’ said Henry. ‘We seem so far from anywhere.’

‘The equinox,’ his aunt murmured.

‘The equinox?’ Henry inquired.

‘The sun tips over the horizon,’ she said, ‘and night is as long as day.’ It was the only explanation that she seemed prepared to give.

When they had passed the warehouses, a church spire came into view, and then a cluster of roofs. Pearl was driving dangerously fast, Henry thought. Perhaps she was trying to catch a mirage before it disappeared. But as they drew closer to the buildings, Henry could see that it was a mirage; they were about to enter a small town.

‘Timeless’ said a sign beside the road.

Henry could see nothing special about the place, except that the frost and sunlight made it look very bright.

‘There it is,’ cried Pearl. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

They stopped outside a cafe with a pink and orange awning. Above the awning, the words, ‘Martha’s Cafe’ had been painted in blue and orange, the top of each letter decorated with a pink cupcake. Behind the cafe, trees loomed – their naked branches festooned with ivy.

Henry was hungry again. Pearl ordered eggs on toast for them both, tea for herself and hot chocolate for Henry. Her mood had changed again. Her smile had gone. She ate quickly and when she had finished her breakfast, she stood up, saying, ‘I’m just going to tidy my hair.’ And then she came round the table and kissed Henry’s cheek.

It was the first time that Pearl had kissed him before going to the toilet. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of it.

Henry finished his meal and drained his cup. Pearl was taking a long time. Her hair had looked perfectly tidy. After all she’d been inside a car all day, or was it all night? He noticed two children sitting at a table by the window: a boy and a girl, about his age. They wore purple-coloured sweaters and grey trousers. The girl had long brown hair, a small nose and a wide, serious face. They boy looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. They were both staring at him.

Henry returned their stare and then, feeling self-conscious looked down at his plate. Several minutes passed. What was Pearl doing? He didn’t like to go and look in the Ladies’ cloakroom.

The children were still staring at him. Henry felt uncomfortable. All at once the girl stood up and came over to his table.

‘Are you meeting someone here?’ she asked.

‘Er, no,’ said Henry.

‘Was that your gran who just went to the cloakroom?’

‘My aunt,’ said Henry.

‘Well . . .’ The girl swung from foot to foot. ‘I think she’s forgotten you.’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Henry indignantly. ‘She’s just taking a long time.’

The girl shook her head regretfully. ‘We just saw her get into a blue car that was parked outside.’

‘I expect she was fetching something she’d forgotten,’ said Henry, wondering why Pearl had gone out without telling him. He had his back to the entrance and couldn’t see the cloakroom door.

‘She drove away,’ said the girl.

Henry felt a bit sick. He chewed his lip. ‘She couldn’t have.’

The girl pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, then the boy came over and stood between them. He had a calm, confident expression. ‘She hasn’t come back,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching.’

Henry was slightly annoyed. What business did these children have, watching him and his aunt? He felt his heart thumping and told himself he wasn’t worried.

‘D’you want to come home with us?’ asked the girl.

‘No,’ Henry said fiercely. ‘I’ll wait here. I know my aunt will come back.’

‘We’ll wait with you.’ The boy pulled a chair across from another table and sat down.

Henry could see now that the boy was older than the girl; he was also quite a bit taller. He obviously liked to take control of certain situations.

‘My name’s Peter,’ said the boy. ‘Peter Reed. And this is Penny.’ He nodded at the girl who gave Henry a weak smile.

Henry thought it would be churlish not to give them a bit more information about himself, so he told them his name and where he had come from. When he described the hurried drive through the night, Peter gave Penny a slightly furtive smile. Henry kept his secret to himself. In the friendly school at home, they were used to him and never pried. But now he was in unfamiliar territory and he knew he must be ‘on his guard’.

‘We always come here early on Sunday mornings,’ said Peter. ‘You get the best doughnuts.’

‘Want one?’ asked Penny.

Henry hesitated. Nothing wrong with a doughnut, he thought. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

Peter went to the counter to buy three doughnuts. When he came back, Henry glanced at the clock on the wall. It had said half-past twelve when he and Pearl had come in. It still did. He looked at his watch: half-past twelve.

‘The clock’s stopped,’ Henry remarked. ‘So has my watch.’

‘No time here,’ said Penny. ‘Not in Timeless.’

‘No time like the present,’ Peter said with a grin.

‘Time flies,’ trilled Penny. ‘Time stands still.’

Henry had an urge to tell them both to shut up. He felt angry and confused.

‘You’d better come home with us,’ said Peter. ‘Our parents will help you.’

Henry didn’t like being bossed. ‘I think I should stay and wait for my aunt,’ he said, biting in to his doughnut.

‘Leave a note for your aunt with Martha,’ Penny suggested. ‘Tell her you’ve gone to Number Five, Ruby Drive. You can’t stay here all day.’

Henry could see that she had a point. The cafe was filling up and people were searching for spare tables. When the doughnuts were eaten, he went to the counter and left a note with the friendly woman called Martha. The note said:

Dear Auntie Pearl,

You didn’t come back, so I’ve gone to Number Five, Ruby Drive. I’ll wait for you there.

Love from Henry

When they stepped outside a large black and white cat came running up to them.

‘Enkidu!’ Henry knelt and flung his arms around the cat, burying his face in the long, soft fur. ‘Did Pearl throw you out?’

‘He was already out when the car left,’ said Peter. ‘I noticed him sitting behind the bins.’

‘Hiding,’ said Penny. ‘He wanted to stay.’

Henry gathered Enkidu into his arms. ‘Thank you! Thank you, Enkidu,’ he whispered in the cat’s hairy ear.

Number Five, Ruby Drive was only a few minutes away. It was a red brick, modern-looking house with a small front garden and a path paved with red and black tiles.

Peter unlocked the front door and Penny followed him into the house. Henry hesitated on the doorstep.

‘Come on,’ said the Reeds.

Henry carried Enkidu into Number Five. It seemed welcoming. There were red tiles on the floor and the wall was covered with framed photos of Peter and Penny holding silver cups, bronze medals and official-looking certificates. Henry had never won anything.

Peter and Penny led Henry past a red-carpeted staircase to a room at the back of the house.

‘Look, Mum,’ said Peter, opening the door with a bit of a flourish, ‘another one. Ta da!’ He shoved Henry into a room that seemed to be crammed with children; three small ones to be precise.

Two toddlers and a baby were playing on the floor. A woman with short brown hair and spectacles stood at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes. She turned to Henry and said, ‘Ah! I see. What’s your name, dear?’ Her eyebrows were raised in an interested but not exactly friendly way.

Henry didn’t reply. He was wondering what they meant by ‘another one’.

‘His name is Henry Yewbeam,’ Peter told his mother.

‘Come in, dear, and have a cup of something,’ said Mrs Reed.

‘Tea,’ said Penny firmly. She filled a kettle and put it on the gas stove.

Peter pulled out a chair, saying, ‘Sit down, Henry. You’ll be OK. We’ll try to make sure of that.’

Try? thought Henry. He sat down and put Enkidu on his lap.

‘That’s a very fine animal,’ Mrs Reed remarked.

‘His name’s Enkidu,’ said Henry. ‘I hope you don’t mind cats.’

‘Not at all.’ Mrs Reed smiled. ‘Our old tabby died a month ago, and we’ve been looking for a replacement. Your cat can use Tibby’s cat-flap.’

Henry’s grip on Enkidu tightened. ‘What did you mean when you said you’d found another one?’ he asked Peter.

Penny put a cup of tea in front of Henry. ‘There was a girl,’ she explained. ‘Just like you, left in Martha’s cafe, all alone, no mum or dad, just a suitcase. Mum brought her home, didn’t you, Mum?’

Henry stared at Mrs Reed. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She disappeared,’ said Mrs Reed in a matter-of-fact way.

‘Disappeared?’ Henry’s voice was tight and dry. ‘Did you phone the police?’

There was a troubling silence while Mrs Reed took off her apron and sat at the table. ‘There are no police here, dear,’ she said, patting Henry’s hand.

‘No police,’ Henry croaked. ‘None at all? Not even one?’

‘We have the mayor and his councillors,’ Mrs Reed told him in a firm voice. ‘They uphold the law. And then there are the henchmen, of course. Even they couldn’t find the girl.’

‘Oh.’ Henry felt weighed down by all this unwelcome news. The faces round the table were friendly enough, and the noise of chortling toddlers and boiling potatoes, and the sunshine outside the window should have made him feel cheerful, but he couldn’t rid himself of the thought that if someone else had been left in Martha’s Cafe, and then disappeared, he might disappear too.

Mrs Reed suggested that the children should go into the garden until lunchtime. Henry refused. So Peter took him up to his bedroom. Enkidu followed. He was keen on bedrooms.

There was a spare bed in Peter’s room, already made up for his friend, Bill, who often slept over. ‘So we’re always prepared, you see,’ said Peter.

Enkidu jumped on the bed, curled up and closed his eyes.

Lunch wasn’t tasty but it was very filling. In the afternoon Peter and Penny persuaded Henry to walk between them a little way up the road. Timeless looked like any other small town. A few of the neighbours waved, and a friend cycling past cried, ‘Hi, Peter!’

Henry noticed that there were very few cars, and several people were pale and dishevelled. Peter saw Henry staring at a woman whose face was so white she looked like a ghost. She appeared to be exhausted and could barely put one foot in front of the other.

‘She tried to get through,’ Peter said with a grin.

‘Through?’ said Henry. ‘Through what?’

‘You’ll find out.’ Penny gave a giggle. ‘You’d think they’d know better by now.’

Henry felt very uneasy. He wanted to ask more, but guessed that no one would tell him anything – yet. He’d have to find out for himself.

At the end of the road a sharp rise led to a grand house standing behind ornate iron railings. It was four storeys high, with a steep slate roof and many sparkling windows. Shiny brass studs decorated the tall front door, and there were two door knockers. One a plain ring, the other a large hand.

‘The mayor’s house,’ Polly told Henry.

As she spoke the door opened and two men walked out. They wore midnight-blue suits, the jackets covered in gleaming insignia and the breeches tucked into tall polished boots. Each man carried an iron club and wore a steel helmet.

‘Henchmen,’ Peter said, almost reverently. ‘They keep the law very efficiently.’

I bet they do, thought Henry, observing the long, thick clubs.

The children turned and walked back to Number Five. A cold wind had sprung up and Henry put his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. His fingers curled around a scrap of paper.

At first he thought it was an old note from school that he’d forgotten to give Pearl. But when he opened the folded paper he saw that the note was from Pearl. She had obviously been in a hurry; the writing was slanting and spidery. It said:

Forgive me, Henry. I did it for the best. I’ve no time to explain. I have to be out within the hour. Go round to the trees behind the cafe. Keep yourself hidden and wait for Mr Lazlo. Ask him where the white bird flies. He must reply, ‘In the Little House.’ Anything else and he’s the wrong person. Tell no one!

I’ll think of you every day.

Your loving aunt,

Pearl x

Henry pushed the note back into his pocket and kept on walking. Polly and Peter paid no attention. They probably thought he’d found an old message from a friend.

They reached the gate at Number Five and, all at once, Henry felt uncomfortably shaky. He stood by the gate while the others walked up to the front door. I’m in the wrong place, he thought. Tell no one, the note said. So how could he explain it if he decided to return to the hiding place behind the cafe?

‘You OK, Henry?’ Peter asked.

Henry nodded. He smiled uncertainly.

‘Maybe it’s jet lag?’ Penny offered.

‘I didn’t fly here,’ Henry mumbled. Pearl wasn’t coming back and he’d missed the person he was supposed to meet. He followed the Reeds into the house. Where else could he go?

Mr Reed appeared at suppertime. He had a wide face and thinning black hair. His cheeks were rosy and he smiled easily. He shook Henry’s hand and patted his shoulder, saying, ‘Things will be all right, Henry. We’ll make sure of that.’

How? Henry wondered.

‘Should we let the mayor know?’ Mrs Reed asked her husband.

Mr Reed shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He darted a look at Henry and smiled. ‘We haven’t heard Henry’s story.’

Henry had nothing more to tell. He certainly wasn’t going to reveal his secret to these strangers, or mention Pearl’s note.

They sat round the kitchen table, eating bacon, beans and eggs. Enkidu was given some bacon fat. The smallest baby was in bed, the toddlers ate noisily. No one else said much. Henry kept thinking of the note in his anorak pocket.

‘So are you going to tell us why your aunt brought you here?’ Mr Reed asked Henry halfway through the meal.

Henry hesitated. He had to say something, and he wouldn’t be giving anything away by describing his journey. ‘She got a letter, my aunt. I don’t know what it said. She never told me. She was in an awful hurry. We drove all day and then went through an arch carved with bones and stuff. The next moment we were in total darkness, and the car was floating, then suddenly it was morning.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We went to Martha’s Cafe, and when I wasn’t looking my aunt left.’

Mr Reed nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised. ‘And your aunt gave you no instructions, nothing to indicate where you should go, what you were to do?’

Henry thought of the note. Tell no one. He shook his head.

Peter gave him an odd look. It made Henry feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop his cheeks from reddening. He wondered if the Reeds noticed. He felt very hot.

‘Just like the other one,’ Penny said thoughtfully. ‘She disappeared in the night, after curfew.’

‘Curfew?’ Henry said. ‘Curfews are for prisons and . . . and wars, not normal towns.’

The Reeds all laughed. What was so funny? No one explained.

After supper, Mr and Mrs Reed took the toddlers upstairs for their bath. Penny did her homework at one end of the kitchen table, while Henry taught Peter how to play Battleships at the other end. The room was lit by gas lamps that popped and fizzed from the wall. Henry found that he could hardly keep his eyes open and remembered that he and Pearl had driven through the night. A large old clock hung above the stove. It was stained and rusty and, like the clock in Martha’s Cafe, it had stopped at half past twelve. He asked Peter if he knew the time.

‘We won’t know for sure until the town crier comes round,’ Peter replied casually.

‘Don’t any of your clocks work? Don’t you have a watch?’ Henry asked anxiously.

‘Mm, no,’ said Peter, concentrating on his next move.

Henry felt a bit light-headed. ‘I think I’d like to go to bed,’ he said.

‘Good idea.’ Peter put down his pencil. ‘I want to finish my book before curfew.’

That word again. Henry asked, ‘What happens at curfew?’

‘Of course, you don’t have curfew, do you?’ Peter said in a patronising voice.

‘I have bedtime,’ said Henry. ‘At least I used to.’

‘Ah, well, the town crier comes round ringing his bell and telling us it’s ten o’clock. Everyone has to be indoors, and all the lamps and candles out.’ Peter said this as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

‘Even the street lights?’

‘The gas lights? Of course. And then the henchmen come round with a lantern, checking for curfew breakers.’

‘And if anyone breaks the curfew? What then?’

‘Don’t ask,’ said Peter. An unsatisfactory answer.

They were given candles in brass saucers to take to bed.

‘I expect you have e-l-e-c-t-r-i-c-i-t-y at home,’ said Peter, enunciating jokingly.

Puzzled, Henry said, ‘Most people do.’

Peter chuckled. ‘Not us. We do have a telephone, though. Just us and a few others. The mayor has a generator.’

Henry was glad to see that Enkidu hadn’t moved from the bed. The big cat was obviously making up for his undignified journey. When Henry got into bed he pushed his feet under Enkidu’s heavy body. It was comforting to feel his friend so close.

‘Don’t think I’ll read tonight,’ said Peter, blowing out his candle.

Henry did the same, but he lay awake, staring into the dark. Was he safe in this house? And if he got back to the cafe, would Mr Lazlo be there? He doubted it. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard a bell ringing outside the house. A voice called, ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well.’ Soon after this, the rhythmic sound of marching boots grew louder and louder. Tired as he was, curiosity drove Henry to the window. He looked down on a column of men, their helmets glinting in the fitful light of the moon. Henchmen.

Later, much later, Henry’s eyes opened again. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. But he was suddenly wide awake. He went to the window.

The moon was higher and brighter now. Peering through a gap in the curtains, Henry looked down at the road. A black horse stood by the garden gate. Its rider, a cloaked figure in a large beret, was looking up at Henry’s window. The man had a thick black beard and one gloved hand covered his mouth, as though he were puzzled or uncertain. In spite of the man’s forbidding appearance, Henry had to restrain a sudden urge to call out to him.

The man turned his head and looked up the road. The next minute he and the horse were gone. If it hadn’t been for the fading clatter of hooves, Henry might have believed that horse and rider had never existed.

And then came another sound. The heavy tread of approaching henchmen.

Henry slept deeply. When he woke up Peter had gone. Henry crept downstairs, wondering what time it was. The sun was high. Perhaps it was lunchtime. There was no sign of Enkidu.

The kitchen was deserted but breakfast hadn’t been cleared away. The table was strewn with boxes of cereal, jams, butter and a rack of toast.

Mrs Reed popped her head round the door and said, ‘Help yourself, Henry. Peter and Penny have gone to school.’

‘Have you seen my cat?’ asked Henry.

‘Not a whisker,’ said Mrs Reed. It was difficult to tell if she was joking.

After a large bowl of cereal and several pieces of toast, Henry was just wondering what to drink when Mrs Reed looked in again and asked, ‘How old are you, Henry? The headmaster will want to know.’

Henry reached for the orange juice. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Am I going to school?’

‘Just a thought.’ Mrs Reed gave him her cool smile. ‘We have to find something for you to do, don’t we, until . . .?’ She seemed unable to finish her sentence.

Until what? Henry wondered. How long am I going to be here?

‘Nine?’ asked Mrs Reed impatiently. ‘Ten? Have you forgotten how old you are?’

Henry couldn’t see the point of lying. His brain was older than a ten-year-old’s. She would think he was small for his age. Nothing more. ‘Twelve,’ he said quickly.

‘Ah.’ Mrs Reed retreated.

After breakfast Henry wandered into the hall. What was he to do with himself ? The Reeds didn’t appear to own a television set or a radio, or even an electronic game. He was about to mount the stairs when Mrs Reed came out of a bedroom. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a book to read,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the headmaster in a minute. Don’t leave the house, will you?’

‘I want to look for my cat,’ said Henry.

‘Don’t leave the house,’ Mrs Reed said harshly. ‘The cat will come back.’

Henry went into the sitting room. The shelves were full of rather dull-looking books. Henry pulled out a heavy volume entitled, Sailing Ships of the World. Some of the ships popped up when the book was laid flat on the table. He was admiring a sixteenth-century galleon when Mrs Reed made her phone call from the hall. There was something quiet and sly in her tone. Henry could only make out the occasional word. He assumed she felt awkward explaining his small size, and didn’t want him to overhear.

The phone call ended and Mrs Reed went back upstairs to where the baby was screaming.

For several minutes Henry continued to admire the Tudor galleon, observing the construction of the sails and the multitude of ropes and knots. A sudden tap on the window made him look round. Enkidu was outside, staring in at him from the sill.

Henry jumped up. ‘Enkidu!’ he mouthed. He walked slowly and stealthily into the hall, then crept to the back door, opened it quietly, turned and closed it. The latch clicked but the sound was drowned by the loud shouting of the baby.

As soon as Henry tried to grab Enkidu, the big cat leapt off the sill and bounded across the lawn.

‘Enkidu!’ Henry whispered as he gave chase.

Enkidu jumped over the gate. Henry opened it and ran through. The big cat waited while Henry closed the gate behind him. He found himself in a narrow, muddy lane. Enkidu immediately took off again, but at a more sedate pace. Henry trotted after him.

They were passing a patch of waste-ground between Number Five and Number Four when Henry heard the heavy tramp of iron-studded boots. He stopped and glanced up at the road. The footsteps ceased. Curious to know where the henchmen had stopped, Henry crept through the long grass, dodging behind small bushes and leafless trees. Enkidu kept close to his heels.

At last Henry had a view of the gate to Number Five. Two henchmen stood before it, their faces concealed by their helmets. They were consulting a notebook. The man holding the notebook nodded and opened the gate. They marched up to the front door, and Henry heard the loud rat-tat of the door knocker. He caught the sound of a door opening, and a murmur of voices. The door closed.

The next moment Henry was startled to hear his name being called. All over the house. He saw the bedroom window open, and Mrs Reed lean out, shouting his name.

With sudden and chilling certainty Henry knew that Mrs Reed had not phoned the headmaster. She had called the henchmen. Why? Were they connected to the villains his aunt was so worried about? Was there no safety anywhere?

He couldn’t return to Number Five. Ever.

‘It’s just you and me now, Enkidu,’ Henry said quietly.

Henry knew all about fear. When the shocking change to his life had occurred he had been so frightened he thought he would never recover. But he did, thanks to his cousin. Charlie had been crossing the great hall when Henry had arrived from the past, breathless, shocked and very scared. Charlie had hidden Henry. He had rescued and protected him, and then become his greatest friend. Henry wished Charlie was beside him now.

Mrs Reed was still calling Henry’s name as he crept back to the lane. Once there, Enkidu took off again. This time the big cat sped away so fast Henry almost lost sight of him. The lane twisted and turned and Henry couldn’t keep the flying ball of fur in sight. But he dared not call out. He came to a fork in the lane. On the left it carried on behind the houses, on the right a narrow track led into a dark wood.

Henry peered into the wood. He could see nothing but giant trees, twisted moss-covered roots and fallen branches wrapped in ivy. Enkidu sat on the track, just inside the wood.

‘Enkidu, are you sure about this?’ asked Henry. He couldn’t go back to the cafe. Henchmen might be lurking there.

The big cat turned and began to bound up the track. This time Henry didn’t give chase. Wherever the track led, Enkidu obviously wanted him to follow. Henry paced slowly between the trees. If only he had found his aunt’s note sooner. She must have written it when he was outside feeding Enkidu. He remembered she had straightened his anorak when she stood up to leave. Why couldn’t she have told him what would happen? He wouldn’t have protested. But then again, perhaps he would have done.

‘Good day!’ The voice was a shrill, strangled sound.

There was no one on the track ahead of him, or behind. ‘Hullo!’ said Henry.

‘Toast and jam!’ The sound floated in the air.

Henry looked up. A ghostly white shape dipped and hovered through the upper branches. He ran beneath it, his eyes never leaving the flying shape. The next moment he almost fell over Enkidu, who was also gazing at the white thing.

‘A bird!’ Henry declared, as the ghost came to rest on a branch above them.

A white bird. ‘Ask where the white bird flies,’ his aunt had told him.

‘A thousand times good-night,’ said the bird.

‘A cockatoo!’ Henry glanced at Enkidu. He seemed mesmerised by the bird.

‘You were following it,’ said Henry.

The cockatoo took off and they followed. Henry noticed that the trees around them were larger and darker. This was no wood. It was a forest. An ancient forest where small, unseen creatures moved through the shadows. He could hear a rustling, pattering, scuffling and, sometimes, a light flapping of wings.

A forest without end, thought Henry. He was in a foreign country, a timeless place. On they went, on and on into the darkness.

‘You and me, and a cockatoo,’ Henry told Enkidu and, in spite of their tricky situation, he smiled to himself.

At that moment he would have liked to rest on a welcoming pile of leaves, but the trees had begun to thin a little, and in the distance Henry could see tall wrought-iron gates. Beyond the gates there was a grey stone building with many steeply angled roofs and even a tower.

‘Where have you brought me?’ Henry muttered. Enkidu ran to the gates.

There was nothing welcoming about the old neglected-looking house but, for some reason, Henry felt drawn to it. He took a few paces towards the ornate rusted gates. A bell pull hung from a pillar on one side, its iron handle encrusted with lichen.

Henry went right up to the gates. He saw that part of the pattern at the top was formed from letters. There was a T, an L and an H. The other letters were rusted and misshapen but when Henry screwed up his eyes they became clearer. He made out a word, then another and another. An unmistakable name: ‘The Littles’ House’. And there was the white bird, perched on the porch roof.

Was this the place Pearl had meant him to come to? It looked deserted. What was he supposed to do now?

Before he could decide an ancient front door began to open. Even from the gate Henry could see the scratches and deep scars in the wood. He imagined soldiers kicking and battering the door in some long-ago battle.

There was a creaking and a shuddering, then a white-haired man appeared in the entrance. Henry found that he couldn’t move. The man wore a white shirt, a long leather waistcoat and green velvet knee-breeches. He began to approach Henry along a mossy, paved walk. On either side thistles and tangled briars reached to the man’s waist. He arrived at the gate and stared at Henry through the curling iron-work. He was short and wide and his face had a weathered tan. His eyes were a curious yellow, his lashes long and white.

‘Spy or rover?’ asked the man.

Henry stood his ground. ‘If I was a spy I wouldn’t tell you, would I?’

‘Suit yourself.’ The man turned away.

‘Wait! Please!’ begged Henry. ‘I think my aunt wanted me to come here. I don’t know why, but she wrote down the name. Look!’ He held Pearl’s note up to the gate.

‘She’s left off an s, and an apostrophe,’ said the man.

‘I can see that, but she was in a hurry,’ said Henry.

‘You were supposed to wait for Mr Lazlo,’ said the man. ‘He was detained for a time – a problem with the mayor.’

‘I didn’t find my aunt’s note straight away, and then these children, the Reeds, said I should come home with them.’

‘Dratted kids,’ grunted the man. ‘They did that to Flora, but we managed to get her out.’ He reached under his waistcoat and unhitched a ring of heavy keys from his belt. Choosing the largest he pushed it into a lock in the centre of the gates and pulled one open. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to Henry. ‘My name’s Herbert. I’m porter, handy-man, jack-of-all-trades and more.’ He winked.

‘I’m Henry, and . . .’ Henry looked round for Enkidu but the black and white cat had leapt in from of him. The cockatoo flew into the open doorway calling, ‘A plague on both your houses,’ and Enkidu bounded after it.

‘We can’t have cats in here,’ said Herbert. ‘You’ll have to get it out.’

Henry had no intention of getting Enkidu out of the house. If he was going in, then so was his cat. He followed Herbert up the path. When he reached the ancient, scarred door, he had a moment’s doubt. But where else could he go?

‘Get a move on.’ Herbert spoke from the shadows beyond the door. ‘You’re letting the outside in.’

Nervously clenching his fists, Henry stepped over the threshold. He had the oddest sensation of moving backwards, not forwards. He shook his head, and hunched his shoulders as Herbert closed the door behind him. The air was filled with whispers.

Facing Henry, on the other side of a musty-smelling hallway, was a wide wooden staircase. It rose to a landing where a large gilt-framed mirror reflected nothing but dust. Henry’s legs felt all at sea as the flagstones beneath his feet dipped into hollows and then rose unexpectedly.

A shaft of light brightened the hall as Herbert opened a door and proudly announced, ‘The kitchen.’

Henry thought, It’s just a kitchen. But as he stepped into the room he realised that it was not just a kitchen. It could better be described as an experience. The walls rose up and up until they reached a domed glass ceiling. The huge skylight was made of hundreds of topaz-coloured panes, giving the whole place the look of an old-fashioned photograph.

Below the ceiling two great oak beams ran the length of the room. They were hung with copper saucepans, cauldrons, bowls, ladles and other utensils the like of which Henry had never come across. They were all so far out of reach he wondered if anyone ever used them. And then he became aware of a stepladder, the tallest he had ever seen, and almost at the top, a very, very tiny woman.

‘Hullo!’ the tiny person squeaked. ‘You’re late.’

‘I know,’ said Henry.

‘Better late than never, eh?’ said Herbert. ‘Henry, meet Twig.’

‘Are you hungry?’ asked Twig.

‘A bit,’ Henry admitted.

Twig then did the most extraordinary thing. She leapt from the ladder, on to the top of a vast dresser. Every shelf was crammed with cracked and stained crockery, all piled higgledy-piggledy; plates balanced on bowls, cups teetering on one another. How it all stayed put was a mystery.

Bending over, Twig selected a large plate from the top shelf. Tucking this under one arm she bounced back on to the ladder, skimmed halfway down, and jumped on to the impossibly long table. It was only then that Henry saw the girl. She sat at the very end of the table. Behind her a window as wide and as tall as four doors rose above a giant stone sink. The girl’s hair was as red as a flame. She was reading a book and took no notice of Henry whatsoever.

Twig ran across the table and peered into Henry’s face. Her own was brown and leathery, but she had gentle dark eyes and a kind smile. She wore a long pink dress, a blue checked apron and furry slippers. Her brown hair was cut very short and her small pink ears were set unusually high on her head. The tip of her long nose was as active as a finger.

‘Will eggs do?’ Twig asked Henry.

‘Eggs will do very well,’ he said. He had eaten rather a lot of eggs recently, but one more wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned, and he was very hungry again. He glanced at the red-haired girl and sat on a chair some distance from her.

‘Ankaret, it would be nice if you could be polite for once,’ Herbert said, throwing a disapproving look in the girl’s direction.

She didn’t respond.

‘Perhaps she’s deaf,’ said Henry.

That did the trick. The girl looked up with a scowl. Her face was as pale as paper, her eyes were green and her nose and cheeks were covered in freckles. ‘I happen to be reading a very interesting book,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t got time for small-talk.’

Henry had never been one to give up easily. ‘My name’s Henry,’ he said. ‘I suppose yours is Ankaret. Unusual name, if you don’t mind me saying.’

No response.

From the corner of his eye Henry had been watching Twig. In a matter of seconds she had shinned up the ladder, brought down a frying pan and rolled two eggs from under a chicken sitting in an old armchair. Now she was standing on a stool and frying the eggs in a peppery-smelling oil.

The stove crackled, the eggs sizzled and the topaz sunlight made the copper pans gleam. Henry felt almost at home.

At the very end of the room, half-hidden by the vast dresser, a door suddenly opened and a boy poked his head in. ‘I smell eggs,’ he said. ‘Can I have one?’ He came into the room and stood beside the stove.

‘You’ve just had tea,’ said Herbert.

‘Have I?’ The boy jerked his thumb at Henry. ‘Who’s he?’

‘Why don’t you ask him?’ said Herbert.

‘I’m Henry,’ said Henry, before he could be asked.

‘I’m Markendaya, or Mark,’ the boy said solemnly. ‘I come from India.’ He was small and rather skinny. ‘Are you the new rover?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Henry, without knowing what it was.

‘You were expected yesterday.’ Mark came round to Henry’s side of the table and sat next to him. ‘Did you get lost?’

‘I was hi-jacked,’ Henry stated.

Mark emitted a knowledgeable grunt. ‘That happened to someone else.’

‘What about you?’ asked Henry. ‘What did you –?’

‘Don’t!’ Mark stood up and made for the door. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he mumbled.’ I don’t want to talk about it.’ And then he was gone.

Herbert sighed and Twig tut-tutted.

Ankaret didn’t even raise her head.

After a moment Henry asked, ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘He doesn’t like to talk about his first life.’ Twig walked sedately across the table, carrying Henry’s plate of eggs. She set the plate before him and provided him with a knife and fork. Henry assumed it must be OK to walk on tables in this particular house. He wondered what Pearl would have said. At least Twig’s slippers looked reasonably clean.

There was a sudden loud shout from somewhere in the house. This was followed by several thumps on the staircase. The hanging pots and pans shivered and tinkled, but no one paid any attention.

Glancing nervously at the swinging pans above him, Henry thanked Twig for the eggs.

‘You’re welcome.’ Twig dipped her head. Then she screamed.

It was such a shrill, heart-stopping sound, Henry dropped his knife and fork. Ankaret raised her head at last, and put her hands over her ears.

Twig was staring at something behind Henry and, looking round, he saw that Enkidu had appeared in the doorway.

‘Cat! Cat!’ shrieked Twig, pointing a trembling finger at Enkidu.

‘Oh dear, I thought this might happen,’ said Herbert. ‘Twig, dear, stop screaming and we’ll do something about it.’

‘He’s never hurt a soul,’ said Henry. ‘Never.’

Unconvinced, Twig retreated across the table, her eyes never leaving the big black and white cat. ‘Out! Out! Out!’ she screamed.

Enkidu seemed to consider this an invitation. He ran in and jumped on Henry’s lap.

‘GET IT OUT!’ The voice behind Henry made him almost jump out of his chair. He turned to see a very tall man with a wiry black beard, and a navy-blue beret pulled over his curly black hair. He looked very like the man who had been standing outside Henry’s window the night before.

‘Cats are not allowed!’ boomed the man, not bothering to introduce himself.

Henry decided to show the man some manners. He stood up, placing Enkidu on his chair. ‘How do you do? I’m Henry,’ he said pleasantly.

‘I know who you are,’ the man said irritably. ‘Get that cat out of our house, out of our sight. Take it now, and make sure it never comes back.’

‘I can’t do that, sir,’ Henry said firmly. ‘Enkidu and I come together. If it wasn’t for him, I might not be here at all.’

‘Aargh!’ growled the man. ‘Didn’t I make myself clear? Cats are taboo. They upset people. Take it OUT!’

‘If my cat goes, then I go too,’ said Henry, without even considering where he might go.

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