It’s not a house at all.

Well, the first little bit of it is. The entrance hall, which looks very much like what an entrance should look like, with a hat rack and an umbrella stand and a mirror. But then there’s a door. Quite a modest little thing. Which of course we open, because why not? We’re from the bush and haven’t been raised along those lines of ‘children should be seen and not heard’ and all that, ‘children should just wait, patiently wait, in endless, non-fidgety stillness’ etc., etc. – oh no, we can’t possibly do any of that.

We push this door wide . . . and that’s when more gasps come in.

Before us: an enormous tower. As if we’re suddenly inside a lighthouse. But in the middle of a city. In what appears to be an extremely scruffy but utterly normal house – but it’s not. Wondrously. And from floor to ceiling are what look like cages. Containing, well, we can’t make out exactly what in the low honey light from hundreds of candles, all around us, right up to the sky. Someone likes their candles a lot here and I smile because I do too, much more than the harshness of electricity, as did Mum; the flickering softness of their lovely light.

The door shuts firmly behind us. We jump. Locked. Can’t get out.

Goosebumps.

Pin’s fingers find mine, the candles shiver as if from an invisible breath, the hairs rise on the back of my neck. We’re being watched. I just know it. We spin around.

‘Hello?’ I try saying but nothing comes out.

Heart’s pounding. Mustn’t let them know. Must be in control of this. The candles catch the gold in the tiles at our feet and the brass bars of the cages that reach up to a glittery golden dome high above us. It’s an enormous star with five plunging points and through huge slivers of glass is the London sky with its rain silently streaking, like enormous, fat tears. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and the saddest, all at once, like this whole place is crying.

Boom! The centre of the room bursts into a blinding white light. As if a war spotlight’s been switched on.

‘W-what’s that?’ Scruff grabs my arm. Points.

An enormous cage on a circular mahogany table. Dead centre.

A brass plaque resting in front of it.

Right. That’s saying it. Blood, pounding in my ears. Hands, trembling. And yep, this is the toughest girl in the desert here. The one who chases roos with woomeras and decapitates venomous snakes in a single blow, who tames dingos and rides emus and who always sets things right.

‘Kick?’ Bert urges. ‘Come on.’

Teeth, clenched. Reputation must be maintained. I step firmly towards the cage – and reel back. Because inside, staring with cool yellow eyes as knowing as a cat’s, is a cobra. Coil upon coil. In front of it is an extremely dead mouse on its back, red eyes wide in shock. And the clasp that holds the cage shut is just a tiny, breakable slither of a thread.

‘Kick, i-isn’t that one of the deadliest snakes in the world?’ Scruff whispers.

Can’t speak.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

Out flicks the snake’s tongue, tasting the new scent of very young – very fresh – flesh. That would be ours. Slowly I retreat, hands pulling Bert and Pin with me, soothing, ‘Sssshhhhhhh.’

‘Daddeeeeeeeeee!’ Pin suddenly wails, losing his nerve.

That’s it. It’s all on. Pin screaming, Bert jumping up and down and giggling – ‘New toy! This is more like it! None of that doll stuff!’ – and Scruff murmuring, terrified, ‘Nice snaky, nice snaky, she’ll be right.’

‘Can anyone help – I mean, hear?’ I yell loudly to the waiting house.

We spin around. In the long silence that follows are rustling and hissing, clicking and scrabbling noises. As if the place itself is alive, the very air of it. As if we’re deep in the Amazonian jungle and it feels like there are whispers over the animal sounds, we can almost make words out and turn in a mystified, horrified huddle. Because it feels like hundreds of eyes – thousands of them – from all manner of invisible creatures from around the building are looking straight at us. Checking us out. And licking their lips.

How to get out? Get a rescue happening here? Make us all safe? I look wildly around. There are wooden ladders on brass railings up to the ceiling and on various levels are doors leading off to goodness knows what. Need to move, think, fast, or Pin’s going to be swallowed up by fright and Bert’s going to let that cobra out. Scruff’s just standing behind me making a terrified humming noise and it’s getting louder and louder and the cobra’s now banging angrily against its cage; it wants the sound shut off as much as I do and it’s only a tiny thread holding it in, mate.

‘Scruuuuuuuuuuuff!’ I cry.

He jerks still.

‘I’m, I’m going –’

‘Where, Kick, where?’ He looks up at the cages in terror.

‘I don’t know,’ I cry.

Bert stamps her foot crossly, exasperated – ‘You two’ – and heads straight to a ladder.

It snaps me to attention. ‘I’m first, missy miss.’

‘Why you?’ Bert snaps. ‘Are you leaving us down here by ourselves to get killed, perhaps? That’d be right. Miss Bossy Boots, the champion of bossy boots.’

Pin wails.

‘Whatever’s up there, I’ll be harder to swallow, all right? Listen. Stay right behind me. The lot of you.’

Bert sticks out her tongue at me then at the cobra. The snake responds with another cool flick of its tongue as if to say, yes, little minx, we’ll see about that, I’ll tell you who’s boss.

There’s a sudden, piercing whistle from above. We jump. Gaze skyward.

Hurtling down from the ceiling is a huge hook on a brass chain. Speared on it, a piece of old parchment. It stops at eye-level. Jiggles. I step back. It jiggles more urgently.

‘I think it likes you,’ Scruff says.

It jiggles again as if in approval. I extract the paper from the hook.

It’s an ad. An extremely old one . . .

Bert exclaims ecstatically at the announcement of each new creature – she can’t wait to go exploring. Pushes me impatiently. I start climbing the nearest ladder, accompanied by an enormous swelling of clicking and scrabbling and hissing sounds; on and on, Bert jumpy with impatience behind me. The first-floor platform. Now eye to eye with snakes and chameleons and . . . rats. Yep. Rats. Hate them. It’s just a thing I have.

I grip the ladder tighter, break out in a sweat, can’t go on, can’t climb higher, this is horrible. Bert pokes me sharply. Ow! No choice. On I go. The creatures are from all over the world; some I recognise from Australia, some from Alice. Home. My mouth goes dry. This is too mysterious. Why are we here? Really. Did Dad know about all this? How are we connected with this place? Everyone’s bunching up the ladder behind me. I climb across to another ladder and whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiz!

Goodness. Gobsmacked. Because I’ve just zoomed across the room. At astonishing speed.

It’s like a secret button’s been activated. In a flash we’re jumping on new ladders, sliding across brass railings to other parts of the building and gliding to smooth exact stops right by ladders waiting patiently to take us to another level, and another, higher and higher. Right up to the glass roof, we can almost touch it and the place is now ringing with our glee. It’s ingenious! Amazing! Someone’s had an awful lot of giggles designing this, someone who knows a lot about kids . . .

‘I’m staying here foreveeeeeeeeeeeeeer!’ Scruff sings as he flies across the room, stopping now and then to announce the occupant of another cage, and another, from their little brass plaques attached to the bars.

‘Taipan – Deadliest Snake in the World. Well, hello, little boy . . . Goat-Eating Serpent. My, how pretty you are . . . Bearded Dragon. Show me your necklace. Come on . . . Man-eating Python. Not the Scruffter, lovely. My sisters, yes . . . Tiger spider. Death in three minutes. How about two? . . . King Brown – Second Deadliest Snake in the World. Woohoo, this boy’s from home!’ Scruff stops. ‘But . . . hang on. Only Daddy’s ever caught one alive . . . he’s world-famous for it. We have the newspaper story – how did this one . . .?’

I shake my head, bewildered. It’s all too mysterious. The low sky’s right above me, I put up both palms, touch the raindrop tears through the glass, they fall and fall.

Hang on –

A sound –

‘Ssssh!’

Is it possible to hear through your skin . . . with your whole being . . . with goosebumps? It’s a strange, soothing singing wrapped up like a cocoon of loveliness within the very core of the reptilian noise, like a lullaby inside a shell inside an ocean’s inky depths. It makes me feel very safe. I just want to curl up inside it and close my eyes, and sleep.

‘I hear it too,’ Scruff whispers in wonder.

‘Mama,’ Pin cries. He’s never said that in his life; my heart snags.

Bert moves across, cuddles him fiercely. ‘It’s okay, little man, it’s all right. Where’s it coming from, troops?’

‘There.’ Pin points. At a beautifully carved door two floors down, smaller than the rest, with swirling snakes and lizards picked out in paint. I whistle low – it’s the hunting signal used to track roos; we’re going in.

We glide like swans to the door from our different ladders. Four sets of ears press to the wood. Yep, Pin’s right, the sound’s inside. I knock gently. The singing stops. Bert thumps loudly, can’t help herself, still refusing to believe – ‘Daddy! Basti!’

I wince.

‘Should we just open it?’ Scruff whispers.

I nod. Reluctantly. The singing sounds so private and personal, it’s not for us. But Bert’s had enough, there’s too much at stake here, she flings open the door . . .

‘Golly galoshes,’ she whispers. The last time she said that was when a willy-willy tore our water tower clean into the sky.