Alfie couldn’t sleep. He lay in his hammock, staring at the walls of his alcove. They were lined with catapults, penknives, sea creatures carved from wood and, on Siddy’s insistence, shards of mirror – not for protection against evil spirits, as Mooshie assumed, but to help Hermit familiarise himself with his pincers so that he could be encouraged to move left and right as well as backwards.

Alfie glanced over at Siddy in the next-door hammock. Hermit was curled into his shell on his chest and Siddy was snoring, his flat cap pulled down over his eyes. Alfie sighed. Siddy knew who he was – knew he belonged to the camp of gypsies living in Tanglefern Forest up over the cliffs. But Alfie? Skull may have told him that he was an orphan while he’d been a prisoner of the witch doctor’s gang, but Alfie hadn’t believed him – that was a Shadowmask’s word and it counted for nothing.

For a second, Alfie’s mind wandered to the other things Skull had told him in the forest, then he pushed the thoughts back, tucking them into the darkest corner of his mind. He was happier and safer now Oak’s camp had taken him in, but there were secrets behind his beginning that he had to find out and, if this second amulet was the only thing that could bring him answers, he’d hunt it down to the ends of the earth.

He swung himself out of his hammock, threw on a crumpled shirt and a pair of trousers, and tiptoed from the alcove. The embers of a fire were still glowing in the middle of the cave, bathing the cavern orange, and the bone tablet, a puzzle of letters and scribbles, was where they’d left it at the foot of Moll’s stool.

Alfie scooped up the tablet. He ran a hand over the grooves filled with grey ash, then, tucking it under his arm, walked towards the tunnel. A ribbon of black lined the base of the rocks, where the tide had licked them wet, but above the sea the rocks were dry – and, through the biggest crack, sunlight poured in like liquid gold.

Balancing one foot across the tunnel, Alfie hauled himself over the water with his free hand, still gripping the tablet tightly under his other arm. Fingertips clinging to ledges, he hoisted himself up towards the crack and manoeuvred his body through the hole so that his head was poking up out of the rocks. The cool stillness of the cave vanished and a rush of salty air ruffled his hair. The sky was pink, streaked with pale clouds as the sun rose over the horizon, and spread out in the bay like a giant sheet of polished metal was the sea.

He twisted his head round to the cliffs; the gulls were perched on the highest crags again, their heads tucked under their wings. Whatever dark magic had disturbed the peace of Little Hollows the day before was not here now. But the gorse and bracken were still withered and brown: a reminder that the Shadowmasks would be back.

Alfie clambered out on to the sun-warmed rocks that jutted into the sea. They were smooth up here, broken only by rock pools filled with tiny fish and anemones, but the best thing about this place was the scalloped dish curved into the rock face where Gryff often came to rest. Behind this, the rocks climbed steeply upwards, until they met the cliff face of tangled bracken and gorse – but Gryff’s spot was shielded from sight and it gave the very best views over the bay.

Sheltering from the gusting wind, Alfie settled himself inside the dish, then, rolling up his shirtsleeves, he stared at the tablet in his lap, willing it to make sense. He sighed. Moll was right – this stuff was nonsense. He twisted his earring and looked out across the bay.

Waves spilled over the sand in foaming circles, but stopped before the red rowing boat positioned halfway down the beach. Oak had promised they’d restore it, give it a new lick of paint so that they could take it out to sea, but, now the Shadowmasks knew where they were, Alfie realised the boat trip was a long way off. He leant back against the rock, and then his eyes were drawn to the oars fixed into the boat’s brackets. He looked down at the tablet and his heart quickened.

The first squiggle wasn’t a squiggle at all: it was a picture of an oar! Alfie couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.

‘F,’ he murmured. ‘Then the oar.’ He was silent for several moments, chewing on his lip. ‘F – OAR.’ He gasped. ‘It – it could be FOUR!’ His eyes glittered and he blew his hair back from his face. ‘This may not be Oracle Bone script, but Siddy was right, it’s a code!’ Alfie felt so sure of it he bent over the next set of pictures and scribbles. ‘A small dot,’ he said, ‘“B” crossed out and then a “P”. The dot,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘It could be a—’

‘Owww,’ a voice hissed. ‘Your claw’s digging into my toe!’

Alfie watched as Gryff slipped silently from the crack in the cave. Moll followed, her nightdress snagging on ledges of rock, her hair bundled up on top of her head and tied with a piece of string.

‘You shouldn’t be out here,’ Alfie said. ‘It’s not safe for you or Gryff. Mooshie and Oak’ll go mad if they see you.’

‘I’ll go where I please,’ Moll snapped, squeezing her body out on to the rocks behind Gryff.

The wildcat tugged at her nightdress with his teeth and Moll ducked down, glancing around. Gryff settled himself on the rocks, a safe distance from Alfie, and began cleaning his fur. Moll scampered into the dished rock.

‘You take orders from Gryff, I see,’ Alfie said, shifting up to make room for her.

Moll faced him. ‘That’s because Gryff doesn’t steal my Oracle Bones.’

Alfie took a deep breath, then held out the tablet of bone towards Moll. She grabbed it, looked at it blankly for several seconds, then shoved it under her bottom.

‘Pile of rubbish,’ she mumbled, then, after a few seconds, ‘but it’s still mine so don’t you go snatching it while I’m asleep.’ She touched the smooth sides of the rock.

Alfie picked at his nails. ‘Worth snatching if you know what it means . . .’

Moll’s hand paused on the rock.

‘You’d get things done a lot more quickly if you let people help you once in a while,’ Alfie told her.

Moll raised her chin. She hated needing people – it made being cross so much more confusing. But Alfie was like an unexplored cave, full of secrets and adventure, and somehow he always managed to find his way back to Moll.

He nodded at the tablet. ‘It’s a code and, before you shoved the thing under your backside, I was getting some answers.’

Moll fixed Alfie with emerald eyes, glanced briefly at her bottom, then reached down and, as if it was her idea, held the tablet out to Alfie. ‘Let’s get started then.’

‘That “F” – followed by the picture of an oar – looks like it could mean four. Then there’s a gap, like it might mean there’s another word coming, and this dot. The dot could be a speck – or a bit of sand – or maybe a crumb? Only there’s a “B” crossed out and a “P” instead. I suppose crumb could be crump—’

Moll’s eyes widened. ‘So you join the scribbles and the words . . .’

Alfie nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘The picture beside the crumb, if that’s what it is – it’s . . .’ Moll squinted at the tablet. ‘It looks like a bed, doesn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘But there’s a “B” crossed out before it.’

‘So that leaves “ED”,’ Alfie replied.

Moll frowned hard at the tablet and then gasped. ‘And there’s an “L” instead – L.E.D . . . What if we joined that together with the last bit? You’d get crumpled!’

They looked at each other and grinned. Then Alfie pointed to the remaining inscriptions – one last word. ‘A pile of scruffy lines all bunched up together in a heap – and a fork beside it.’

Neither of them said anything for several seconds and then Moll cried, ‘It’s hay! Like the stacks the farmer makes up in the fields above the cliff – and that fork is a pitchfork!’

‘You’re right! But the “H” is crossed out – and we have a “W” instead.’

‘Way,’ Moll said.

‘Four crumpled way,’ Alfie whispered, and then he huddled smaller, as if the rocks might have ears. ‘It – it seems too easy. It took us over a week to crack the code on the first amulet. This only took a few minutes.’

Moll was silent for a while. ‘Let’s show Oak and Cinderella Bull and ask them what they make of it.’

They climbed out of the dish and slipped down the cracks back inside the cave.

Mooshie looked up from the fire. ‘Molly Pecksniff!’ she roared. ‘If I have to put you on a lead, I will, so help me. STAY INSIDE THE CAVE!’

But Moll wasn’t listening. She charged forward, holding out the tablet. Then, in a moment of rare thoughtfulness, she glanced back at Alfie. ‘You say. It was you who started it.’

Alfie looked up at Mooshie. ‘We’ve found a message in the bones,’ he said quietly. ‘Three words – we made them from the pictures and the letters – only they don’t make sense to us.’

Mooshie turned to Cinderella Bull who was sitting with Hard-Times Bob before the entrance to their alcove. She nodded. ‘The old magic isn’t straightforward, Moosh; if there’s a code there, then the bones meant it.’

Alfie pointed to the tablet. ‘We think it says FOUR CRUMPLED WAY.’

There was a silence in the cave; not even Mooshie spoke, though she raised her tea towel to her mouth.

Siddy ambled out of his alcove, yawning. He adjusted the bandage on his arm. ‘What are we talking about?’

‘The Crumpled Way,’ Cinderella Bull murmured, her voice laced with dread.

Hermit leapt from Siddy’s pocket and made a frantic beeline back towards the alcove.

Mooshie straightened herself up. ‘Moll’s not going; I won’t allow it. She’s only twelve!’

‘Twelve is the perfect age for following clues,’ Moll said.

Mooshie shook her head. ‘Not when they lead you to The Crumpled Way, it’s not.’

A voice came from inside an alcove. ‘I’ll take her.’ Oak walked towards them, holding a boot he’d been polishing. He wiped a stain from his chin. ‘I swore I’d follow those bones and find the amulets – and, if The Crumpled Way is where we’re headed, that’s where I’m going.’ He looked at Mooshie. ‘The bones don’t lie, Moosh.’