On the beach before the main entrance to the cave, rocks rose up in layers of grey and corridors of sand zigzagged between them. Mooshie had banned Moll from stepping out on to the open beach for now, but inside these hidden corridors of rock it was dry, sheltered from the wind and, above all, safe.

A few hours had passed since Alfie and Moll had unravelled the code on the bone tablet and now Moll sat cross-legged on the sand, beneath a washing line strung across the rocks. Hanging from the clothes pegs Mooshie had whittled from hazel was a row of fish Oak and Hard-Times Bob had caught – mackerel, sea bass, cod – all covered in salt so that they could be preserved for as long as they needed to be.

Moll tugged one down, slipped it across to Gryff, who was curled inside a scoop in the rock, then casually took a sip from her mug of nettle tea as if nothing had happened. She looked across at Oak who was tightening the straps on her catapult a few metres away. She smiled to herself. Oak always offered to mend anything she broke – which was most things. He’d even built the wheels of her wagon, back in the forest, extra thick so that, no matter how much she crashed around inside, it wouldn’t topple over. She jumped as Alfie and Siddy turned into the corridor of rock from the cave.

Alfie nodded to Oak. ‘We’ve sharpened the knives like you said.’

‘And we put them in sheaths outside your alcove,’ Siddy added, ‘because the blades were really starting to frighten Hermit – and the last thing I want right now is to knock his confidence. He’s been doing so well at confronting his fears recently.’

Oak smiled. ‘Well done, boys.’ He looked at Siddy’s bandaged arm. ‘Healing OK?’

Siddy nodded. ‘Much better, thanks to Mooshie’s herbs.’

Oak turned the catapult over in his hands, then, satisfied, tossed it back to Moll.

‘Thanks.’ She budged up so that Siddy and Alfie could sit beside her. ‘Why did Mooshie seem so scared of the message Alfie and me read in the tablet?’ She frowned. ‘Where are the Oracle Bones telling us to go?’

Oak put his hat back on and began to roll a cigarette. ‘The Crumpled Way is a road,’ he said quietly. ‘Up in Inchgrundle.’

Alfie flinched but said nothing.

Moll shrugged. ‘So we need to go up the track to the cliff tops, grab the cobs, ride into the village and snatch the amulet. Right?’

Hermit retreated nervously down Siddy’s leg. ‘If you’re going to say reckless stuff like that, please whisper,’ Siddy muttered. ‘Hermit’s only been awake for a few hours today and he’s already terrified.’

Oak shook his head. ‘The Crumpled Way isn’t just any old street, Moll. It’s the worst road in Inchgrundle.’ He lit his cigarette and sucked in the tobacco. ‘The one that runs from the harbour up through the far of side the village – the one the Dreads from Bootleggers Bay use to smuggle barrels of brandy and kegs of gin up before carting them off to bigger towns to sell.’

Hermit was frantically digging a hole in the ground now, specks of sand spraying up over Siddy’s toes.

Moll swallowed. Whenever Oak came back from Inchgrundle, he had tales of Barbarous Grudge and his gang of bloodthirsty smugglers. Rumour had it the Dreads had killed an entire family in their sleep because the father had leaked their names to the police. And villagers claimed the Dreads had drowned two dogs because they’d blown their cover on a raid in the harbour. And then there were the stories about Barbarous Grudge himself, tales that sent shivers rippling beneath Moll’s skin: that he’d fended off eight tax officials in a smuggling raid, then stolen their money and melted the coins down to cap eight of his teeth in gold. And the bone he chewed on – the finger of another tax official who’d locked him in jail several years before . . .

‘The Dreads control Inchgrundle now,’ Oak said, ‘and no one dares speak out against them and their smuggling. Word about town is that you’ll be dead before sunset if you do.’

Siddy took his flat cap off and fiddled with it nervously. ‘And the bones say the amulet is hidden there?’

Alfie shifted uneasily, plucking at the sand with his fingertips.

Oak nodded. ‘Seems so.’

‘Maybe we should look at the clues again . . .’ Siddy mumbled. ‘Spend a bit more time working out if The Crumpled Way is really where the old magic wants us to go.’

Beside him, Alfie was looking more and more uncomfortable. But still he stayed quiet.

Moll drained the last of her tea, pushed down her fear and looked at Siddy. ‘I’m not letting some gin-swigging smuggler stop me from righting what the Shadowmasks did to my parents.’ The thought of her ma’s soul trapped by their evil brought her to her feet. ‘No one faces problems sitting down,’ she said. ‘When can we leave?’

Oak adjusted his necktie. ‘Tonight; we’ll need the cover of darkness to get away before the Shadowmasks come looking for you and Gryff.’

Alfie started to say something, then decided against it and fiddled with his rings.

Moll set off towards the entrance to the cave. ‘I’m going to pack.’

Siddy frowned. ‘Pack what? All you own is a bunch of catapults.’

Moll glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘Exactly. And it sounds like I’m going to need them all.’

Oak, Siddy and Gryff followed her until it was just Alfie left. He let his head rest back against the rock, then he shut his eyes. A journey to Inchgrundle – that would change everything. It would mean telling Moll and Oak what Skull had told him – things so dark and strange not even Alfie wanted to remember them. He sat alone in silence for several minutes, then he picked himself up and walked back into the cave.

After an early supper, Mooshie ushered everyone, including Hard-Times Bob, to bed. Although he wasn’t going to Inchgrundle, his latest dislocation (through the handles of a wicker basket to ‘lighten the mood’) had left him with stomach cramps, and a lie-down in his hammock had seemed advisable.

But, only a few hours later, Cinderella Bull had woken. There were sounds in the cove again – sounds that made her throat turn dry. She was used to the sea spirits murmuring at night, lapping against the tunnel walls and crashing against the furthest point. But the sea was different tonight, full of unfamiliar whispers.

‘The thresholds are opening,’ she sighed to herself. ‘There’ll be dark magic waiting for Moll and Gryff outside the cove.’

Hard-Times Bob let out a muffled snore, then rolled over in his hammock, but Cinderella Bull crept out of bed and hastened towards the supplies Mooshie kept before the tunnel. She took a handful of ragwort from a sack and three iron nails from a jar. Then she climbed up on to the rocks lining the tunnel and dropped them into the sea. After a few minutes, she shuffled back to bed, drifted off to sleep and the night was once more still.

But, in the alcove next to Cinderella Bull’s, someone else was awake. Alfie swung his rucksack over his shoulders and lifted back the sheet that hung down over the entrance to his alcove. The cave was almost completely dark, but Alfie knew it by heart now, knew every crevice and crack, every good-luck omen placed round the walls. He bent down by the last embers of the fire and, using a small stick, he traced a pattern in the sand. He bit his lip and tried not to think about what Moll would say when she read it.

Then he tiptoed from the cave and vanished into the night.