‘That’s the toy Miss Clabbity gave you,’ said Archie. ‘The puzzle. You said you’d lost it.’

‘I had,’ said Fliss. ‘Or at least, I thought I had, but I must have left it here on purpose, after we visited the dragons. It wasn’t a toy at all, it was another bit of nasty magic! When Miss Clabbity said the lady and the dragon were her favourite puppets, she was talking about me and Cogswallop! We were her puppets. Archie, what have I done?’ Fliss sank to her knees. She looked distraught. Blossom landed softly on her shoulder and licked her cheek.

‘You’ve always supported me,’ said Archie gently. ‘Always pushed me along to do the right thing, made me see sense. You know this isn’t your fault. Preen, the Mirk – they were controlling you.’

‘But this is like what happened to Belle. She faced the Mirk with just one dragon, and look what happened! I don’t want to lose Blossom!’

‘You won’t! There’s a team of us here and no one is going to die.’ Archie pulled her to her feet. ‘Don’t be sad, Fliss. Don’t be scared – be angry! Proper, Felicity Fairbairn angry!’

She looked at him and grinned.

‘You’re completely bonkers, Archie McBudge,’ she said. Then a cry echoed from across the water.

‘We’re wasting time!’ snapped Mrs Puddingham-Pye. The children climbed back into the coffins and they rose once more into the air, speeding towards the old forest.

There was no mistaking the Wyrdie Tree itself. Towering over everything else, with its bright red foliage, it stood out like a beacon ablaze. But there were bare patches visible up and down its length, as leaves fell and were cast about in the breeze. The moment of Renewal was approaching.

They raced over the treetops towards it, spiralling around the Tree’s vast crown as they carefully descended on to the circle of grass beneath, now carpeted with crimson leaves. The leaves were falling faster, revealing more of the Tree underneath. There were little windows in parts of its aged and cracked trunk, perhaps the home of the brownies or other magical folk. The brownies themselves were waiting on the ground, their eyes fearful. They had been in this situation before, hundreds of years earlier.

‘The Mirk is upon us!’ cried Dubbeljøk, as Archie jumped out of the coffin. The squirrel sat on the brownie’s head, squeaking in agitation. ‘Its cries get ever closer. It’s destroying everything in its path! Do you have the Treeheart?’

‘I … did,’ said Archie. ‘The Mirk stole it from us. But we’ll get it back, I promise.’

The brownies clasped their hands together and looked at each other in despair.

‘We’re doomed!’ said Jøkchip. ‘The Tree will be infested with darkness! All magic shall be controlled by the Mirk. And we shall be devoured by the monster.’

‘Cheer up!’ said Billy, popping a Fizzfire into his mouth. ‘It’s not over yet – try one of these. And we brought reinforcements.’

The brownies viewed Mrs Puddingham-Pye and Garstigan with distrust.

‘You shall rue the day you made a pact with this dark-hearted harridan and her sky-rat,’ grumbled Jøknut. Mrs Puddingham-Pye rolled her eyes and Garstigan glared at the man’s robin like it was a potential snack.

‘Magical types are always so overdramatic,’ Mrs Puddingham-Pye yawned. ‘And less of the “harridan”, if you please, mud-pixie. You need all the help you can get, like it or lump it, and you’ll need it very soon or you’ll all be garden ornaments.’

The Mirk’s choking fog was seeping into the clearing and coiling around the stone circle. Then, with a noise of sawing and grinding, a cluster of trees suddenly crashed to the forest floor at the circle’s edge, their leaves shrivelling and dropping to the ground as their trunks ruptured and turned black. The Mirk was rotting everything it touched.

Billy and Fliss – with Sherbet and Blossom – took up position on either side of Archie on the leaf-strewn slope, whilst Mrs Puddingham-Pye whispered to Garstigan behind them. The Fjurge Brownies kept close to the Tree, protective of their charge, as its last leaves rained down around them. Under a cloud of gloom, the Mirk’s monstrous form slunk out of the forest, surrounded by its clockwork army.

‘The Tree is mine,’ it growled, its voice full of hunger. It held the Treeheart up in a spiny claw, laughing at its victory. ‘You cannot stop me.’

‘I am still the Guardian and I will stop you,’ called Archie defiantly. His mind was churning with anger, and fear. He needed to concentrate but it was too hard: he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. Why did he have to be the Guardian? Why couldn’t someone smart like Fliss do it? Or someone knowledgeable, like Billy? He wasn’t up to the job. Doubt seeped in. The dread began to overwhelm him again.

Archie felt a stab of warmth at his chest, coming from his bag of Fizzfire. There was a scent of ginger in the air, just like when he had stood by Belle’s portrait. Maybe Belle was still looking out for him. Again, he felt his senses sharpen. His dread left him.

It’s a trick of the Mirk, he thought, sapping my confidence and making me question myself, just like Preen bewitched everybody. He ate a Fizzfire and felt its warmth flowing through him.

He silently called to the forest to help him. The leaves at his feet leaped into the air and flew at the approaching monster. Like a flock of birds, they raced around the Mirk, enclosing it in a tornado of red and gold, urged on by Archie’s willpower. The Mirk sneered, piercing the column of leaves with its claw and turning them to dust. But the distraction was working.

‘Blossom,’ Archie said. ‘Let’s give the toys a little heat.’

He threw the dragon another Fizzfire, which it happily gulped down. With a deep breath, Blossom sent an explosion of blue flame straight at the wooden toys, which were crawling like ants at the Mirk’s feet. The fire swamped them and they burned brightly, trapping the monster in a circle of flame. It snarled angrily.

‘You won’t stop me!’ it roared. Fingers of fog reached forward to dampen the bonfire of toys.

‘What can we do?’ yelled Billy, over the noise. Fliss grabbed a handful of Fizzfires from her bag.

‘Maybe these can help keep the fire going,’ she said. She hurled the sweets into the flames. They instantly exploded with an orange crackle and the fire burst back to life, stronger than before. Billy threw another handful of sweets, and the flames rose higher and brighter.

‘The Fizzfires really are weapons!’ he said with delight.

Archie glanced back at Mrs Puddingham-Pye.

‘How are we going to get the Treeheart?’ he said. ‘We can’t hold the Mirk off forever.’ The woman’s eyes glittered.

‘All is in hand, boy,’ she said. Archie noticed Garstigan had disappeared from her shoulder. He looked overhead and saw the bat-like creature silhouetted against the sky. It swooped over the wall of fire, as fast as a hawk, ripping the jewel from the distracted Mirk’s claw. The monster roared in fury, but Garstigan was gone, his ringlets slightly singed, back to his mistress’s outstretched hand. He dropped the green stone into her palm.

‘Pretty shiny thing for the mistress!’ he said.

Mrs Puddingham-Pye’s eyes coldly studied the Treeheart.

‘At last,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to think it would never happen. The power of the Wyrdie Tree is now in my grasp.’