Flint sat in the hammock in his bedroom, watching the long evening light beyond a circular window. A turret leaning out to the side of the tree house that he, Tomkin and Blu lived in, Flint’s bedroom was more of a laboratory really. Curved walls were lined with wooden cupboards and inside these were hundreds of bottles, jars, test tubes and funnels filled with bubbling liquids. They were inventions still in progress and Flint always left the cupboard doors open when he was at home; it was important to keep an eye on his contraptions just in case they misbehaved.

He plucked at the silver strands that made up his hammock. He had spun it from moonlight, the gossamer of rare – almost extinct, Flint suspected – ice spiders and after several weeks of experimenting, and consulting the bark which bore the carvings about Erkenwald’s magic, Flint had discovered that the strands guaranteed glorious dreams.

He gazed at some of his other creations lining the upper shelves. A football made of caribou hide and stuffed with a knot of wind which travelled so fast when kicked it was almost impossible for any opponent to stop; a clock that read the weather not the time – it poured snowflakes, fluttered sunbeams and oozed mist; a wooden chest in which he had trapped a thunderstorm (with the result that it let out a loud burp every now and again) and a pinch of stardust, and, if unleashed at precisely midnight, the chest rained silver coins for a month.

He sighed. There were lamps lit by sunbeams and rolls of string made from coils of mist. But everything remained locked inside this turret, usually behind closed cupboard doors, so that Tomkin didn’t fly off the handle when he saw the inventions still very much existed. Flint swayed back and forth in his hammock and wondered whether it was only magic that Tomkin distrusted. It felt a little as if it might be him, too.

‘What wrong, Flint?’ came a little voice from among the cushions on the floor.

The cushions were snow clouds dusted with sunbeams that Flint had invented for comfort and warmth and Blu was a huge fan. She hurled one at Flint, but missed and several jars toppled off a shelf.

‘Shhhhhh,’ Flint whispered, leaping out of his hammock to check that none of the jars had cracked. He placed them back where they belonged. ‘Tomkin’s having a meeting in the kitchen with Blade and – I’ve told you before – you’re only allowed to come in and see my inventions if you keep very, very quiet.’

Blu giggled as Pebble chewed on a cushion. It had been half an hour, at least, since his last meal and the fox pup was already feeling peckish. Blu lifted Pebble into her lap as Flint flopped back into his hammock.

‘You sad, Flint. I know you sad.’

Flint turned a magnifying glass over in his hand. It was infused with rainbow essence and could pick up footprints in the snow long after they had vanished from the naked eye. He’d used it earlier that day, reassuring Tomkin that it was the only one of his inventions that still existed and that it was an invaluable gadget when tracking animals for the tribe, but a small and very guarded part of him had been using it for another reason. To track Eska’s footprints. Because, no matter how hard he tried to stamp her out of his head, he couldn’t.

He thought back to their conversations on the sled. Eska’s ideas had been wild and full of cracks, but Flint knew the power of wild ideas. And, despite what he had said to her, the line between angry and interested had been blurring. What if Eska had been right? What if Tomkin needed more than just spears and shields to stage a successful rebellion? But how could he convince a whole tribe to trust in magic again on the word of a strange girl?

Flint shifted in his hammock. He’d allowed Eska to be driven out into the wild where he was sure she wouldn’t survive. And, though he’d found her tracks earlier that afternoon, there was now a curfew at the Labyrinth following his unsuccessful mission to Winterfang the day before and Blade had called Flint back before he could follow them for long. So – for all he knew – Eska might be dead already.

Flint swallowed. Outsider or not, she hadn’t deserved this.

Blu settled the fox pup on her brother’s chest, then wrapped her arms round them both. ‘Hug for you.’

Flint smiled.

‘Better?’ Blu asked as she drew back.

‘Better,’ Flint replied, ruffling her hair. ‘Always better after a Blu hug.’

There was a knock at the door – a quick, no-nonsense rap. Flint leapt up from his hammock and smacked a hand down on a wooden button on the wall. The cupboard doors closed, immediately hiding all his inventions from sight, then he shoved the cushions into a trunk, grabbed a spear and a polishing cloth, and turned the key in the door. Tomkin stood before him.

‘Yes?’ Flint asked, rubbing the cloth over the tip of his spear.

‘Lofty’s saying he found the tracks of a sleigh pulled by musk oxen in the forest,’ Tomkin muttered.

Immediately, Flint thought of Eska. There was no way she would have escaped if the Ice Queen had found her.

‘Blade thinks the Ice Queen was here looking for the girl you took from Winterfang.’

Blu cocked her head. ‘Eska. I like Eska.’

Tomkin gave her a stern look. ‘No, Blu. You don’t. She – and your brother – have got us into a mess.’

Blu frowned. ‘Everyone OK?’

‘Yes.’ Tomkin avoided her eyes. ‘But that’s not the point.’ Blu skipped from the room and Tomkin turned to Flint. ‘We need to be careful when hunting. If the Ice Queen found Eska in Deeproots, she’ll assume one of the tribes helped her and are hiding nearby. There’s no sign of the Ice Queen now, but you can bet she’ll send her Tusk guards back to the forest to search the area.’ He paused. ‘So, I’m telling everyone to select hunting grounds wisely and keep watch at all times.’

Flint nodded. It was an effort to keep his mind on his tribe and hunting when he knew for certain now that Eska was at the mercy of the Ice Queen.

‘Any sign of the girl?’ he asked as casually as he could.

‘No,’ Tomkin replied. ‘Lofty turned back at the sight of the sleigh marks.’

Flint scrubbed his spear harder, as if somehow that might undo the guilt he felt inside. He was a part of the Fur Tribe, but Eska’s words had made him question his place here. Why, when he tried so hard to harness the mind of a Fur Tribe warrior, did he end up feeling more and more like an inventor? And why, when the Feather Tribe might know important things – like how best to fight the Ice Queen – did his tribe insist on cutting themselves off? Flint couldn’t help feeling that he was as much of an outsider in the Labyrinth as Eska had been.

‘I’ve doubled the hours on weapon-making and added another fighting session before breakfast,’ Tomkin said. ‘We’ll need to be ready for the rebellion soon – and this time we won’t lose.’

With that, he left the room and Flint slumped on to his hammock. He’d been wary of detours after so many failed missions, but he couldn’t help feeling that Eska was a detour he should have pursued. Regardless of where it might have led him.